Matrosha's Bucket (Peditse tsi Matrosha)

Context

Matrosha's Bucket is a journal entry by Matrosha Vetensija, a mixed Dalkaisk-Carthyan teenage girl residing on the S.S. Trevenitsa during The Great Migration. Her parents fled the planet of Taurus, from a rural field southwest of Blemie on the Dalkaisk continent of Reicala.

Translated and annotated by Dalkaisk Linguist Petir Bajean;

Carthyan Version available by Tauran Language professor Telenos Porsevon (Τελενος Πορσεβ’ον);

Catain Version available by Dalkaisk-Catain translator Retus Penemus;

Avenian Version available by Avenian Language Preservationist Prmonen Klevn-Amiodps (Прмонен Клевн-Амиодпс)

Entry

I am Matrosha.

It has been 13 years since my departure from the place I call home. I remember not how the look of endless fields of snow is. I do not remember the view of a horizon created by the distant view of trees. I do not recall the feeling of walking on sand or dirt. I do not know how a normal person should live out his life. I am choked of these experiences.

I live the life of a traveler, one that leaves his home in the memories of other generations.

I am not rich, nor do I have power. I am not an Oscdean, a Gerbian, or a Havenian. I am Dalkaisk, and I am Carthyan.

I woke up to the sound of commutance this morning. My crowded room, of which I share with 32, soon 33 people, echoes with noise in the morning. This is the sound of people inching to their jobs, collecting their loaves of bread, refilling their containers with shots of the precious flowing liquid of life.

Here I am, walking down the hallway, eyeing sharply for any changes as I did yesterday. Change means danger. Danger means only living 17 years of my leznojous* life. A man with a Sentson Accent asks me for a slice of bread; I keep walking without looking back. He means nothing but trouble for the collective.

I arrive at the central hall of the ship; it’s a view I never enjoy putting my eyes upon. I bump and scoot past people twice my size, yet half the resolve dragging strenuously their pointless machine parts. Approaching a window, I see the reflective light of an Oscdean ship. It’s no use to wonder what exists on their stage. Be it better or disastrously worse, these titanium walls keep me in nevertheless.

Am I scared of what will come once we arrive to a new world? Why should I fear something that will never enter my vision nor ever be tangible as is in my hopes, as tenuous as they already are.

As I snap out of my trance of unreached idealism, 

Footnotes

*Leznojous, (Dalkaisk: Leznojije) - Monotonous, yet meaningful, and without a tangible knowledge of what meaning is present.