It’s getting to the point where I’m collecting my bearings and am aiming to not only survive, but to make the use of my supposed inherited resourcefulness (if it’s in there somewhere, now’s the time for it to make an appearance).
I’m looking around, observing, no longer in denial about the realities of this current fate. Acceptance is creeping in. Following it is a thin trickle of hope that if my wits form an allegiance with Fortune, I may eventually get out of this place. This ship.
Not that the trials have alleviated. If anything, some new challenges have arisen – I have now received my beatings along with everyone else. But through the daily burdens and constant slog of endless work, I’m becoming accustomed to the rhythm of life here and it’s beginning to form a background in my mind, a stage upon which I can start to think about other things.
And to start thinking about the others on this ship. Initially I kept to myself, not knowing if any form of trust or bond was ever possible here. I assumed everyone else functioned the same, more or less — out for oneself, due more to practical survival than any reflected character trait. At times I have acted in ways that later shamed me — such as sneaking away from conflict and leaving my fellow passengers to fend for themselves.
But glimpses of another way, another attitude, are being revealed. I am seeing some of the others here act as comrades, banding together and assisting one another.
Now if only I could defeat this fatigue.