Written by Violetofen4.
Entry 1, November 1937
All alone. I had stood for hours in the dark, grieving over my loss.
My wife, Silvine, has passed away.
So it leaves me with my 5-year-old daughter, who is so distant and cold, still only an innocent child.
I'm reaching, I'm reaching into the void. Where I pull out my sanity and realize I'm alone in the universe.
No one can save me then.
Entry 2, February 1938
Work started. Schuster and Groph know better than to pester me today. It's Silvine's birthday.
I'm told not to feel sorry, nothing could be done.
"Doctor Maxis," Anselm briefs to me, "What do you plan on Project 867, Element 98?"
"Cancelled." I signal him back to his work before he can utter another word. I don't care anymore.
Rolling thunder crosses the sky, its crashes and bursts of light and dark consume my heart.
All I can shout back to it is, "Why?"
Why. Why is a complicated word of sorts that shows nothing but the pain and misery of a broken, gnawed out soul. Why is the scream of loss. Why is the cry of the dead who lurk and wait for you to join their ranks.
This word is clawing me to shreds, from my chest out. Everything's shattered into pieces I clutch for with raspy, boney hands that can't grasp it without getting deep cuts. Blood begins to fall from those cuts, blood of grief that oozes from my eyes, my mouth, my nose, everywhere. I'm bleeding inside and out, bleeding out my love until it's gone.
But no one can see it.
Entry 3, March 1938
I've heard news from my friend Edward Richtofen on the battlefield. He lost use of his left leg after taking three shots to the knee. I think he's in the hospital right now. I don't want to tell my other childhood friend, Kramer.
It'd be too disappointing.
When he comes back, Richtofen will be in crutches, and it would make me feel worse to watch my poor comrade struggling day by day.
Not after Richtofen lost his love too.
So I diligently lock my door, gathering my metal scraps, and my only vials of Element 107.
"I'll make the best leg he'll ever have!" I whispered to the scraps. I don't get a reply, of course, from the dull metal. I polish it briefly before getting my welding machines.
"I won't let him down."
Entry 3, March 1939
I feel like everyone's getting hurt, and I'm oblivious to their pain. Kramer's gone to Russia and mysteriously vanished. For all I know, he's dead. Richtofen and his daughter Charlotte are here now.
Charlotte. I think immediately that she's great company for the lone Samantha.
But Richtofen's cheery and diligent at work. Charlotte and Samantha both go door-to-door cleaning up rooms and labs. I don't know if that's safe or not but I give him gas masks and cleaning equipment. They insisted they wanted to help, and I couldn't say no.
Richtofen's metal leg works like magic and wonders. I can't believe the progress he's made. I feel happy for him, but something in my heart is flickering miserably.
Then I remember.
I'm alone in the universe.
And he...is too.
Entry 4, June 1939
Charlotte. She's sixteen years old, and has the most beautiful golden-red hair. It bounces as she strides with high heart and looks after Samantha when I'm not avaliable.
Something about her makes me so comfortable being around her, like the emptiness of my fragmented soul have refilled from the damage I had absorbed.