Day 7
The tooth is gone.
A molar is not an easy tooth to pull without proper tools, but I had determination, grit, and a flathead screwdriver. Performing such a task without anesthesia was an act of self-inflicted cruelty followed immediately by relief. I cannot stop tonguing the bloody, soft wound with ragged edges left behind. The metallic tinge of blood. The long, slow throb. I may have passed out; I'm not entirely sure.
The left side of my mouth is packed with ground ginger and coconut oil that dribbles from between my lips. The poultice seems to help with the pain, and the scent reminds me of my home on the southern tip of Florida, the one I sold before mission departure. The one that is no longer "home" for me.
Today marks one Earth week on planet S2215C. At least, I think it's been an Earth week. Time makes no sense on the gray planet with ever-present blue light that keeps me awake. There is no night here, no true darkness, only endless days. The silence is full of buzzing energy and won't quiet my mind. Sleep is borne of nervous exhaustion. The nightmares prevent much else, nondescript as they may be: colors, shapes, a prickly feeling of something hidden in the shadows, ancient, unnamed, and wild.
The cavern whispers to me, drawing me forward into its psychosphere, tangible, sulphuric, strange, thick, and unwieldy; a being of its own. The dark is so complete that I would have slept in the cavern were it not for the weight of gravity that makes me feel a kinship with the beached whales of Earth. Each step into the cave is crushing. Each step adds lead to my boots and limbs. Each step saps so much energy that I am fatigued before I cross the threshold, after which the light disappears, and the path spirals down into the unknown. It is neither kind nor unkind, moral nor immoral. The cavern is both palatial and ruined, a home for the darkness, a snare for the darkness. While the air is sweet, the taste in my mouth is like ash and bits of shaved steel. Yet, I must continue.
Yesterday, I sat on the sponge as near to the tree as I could and watched the swirling mass as it wound round and round the trunk and noticed no breaks, no evidence of individual forms or bodies. I'm not sure whether the black swirls are moving or still, whether they are part of the tree or apart. I wondered briefly if the swirling black was a mirage, but the sound—like a hive full of bees with scissors—is dreadfully loud so that I no longer desire to be near it.
The specimens, the chunk of spongy ground material and the ooze, dried up within a day. Rather than a three-centimeter sod chunk and full goo vial, I am left with a wafer-thin, wrinkled scab and a few flakes of shimmering violet dust. Even the patch of crust from which I carved the specimen of gray, spongy material crusted over scablike as if the planet is healing itself. Perhaps it is. Or maybe I am losing my mind in the vast gray nothing with the single tree ringed with writhing black snakes. Or eels. Or slugs.
I have yet to find water to finish my mission. I have yet to earn my journey back to Earth and the home that is no longer home. I need to find water, hopefully potable, mineral-rich water. Life-sustaining water. When I left Earth, the water supply for awake time was sufficient for three months. Factoring in the energy sink of extreme gravitational force, I have now estimated my water supply to be a measly twenty days. A little water would be a boon for HQ, something to provide hope to the people of Earth who face the inevitability of an expanding red giant sun star and the possibility of being swallowed up by it. Like the cavern swallows the light.
The cavern will have water; I must traverse it. I must explore every inch of space within it, every nook and hollow pocket and twisting stone path. Despite the weight of gravity, I will sleep in the cavern tonight or be crushed by it. I cannot be certain which. Regardless, I must continue. Home is nowhere but here now.
I have a purpose, a canteen, and a flashlight with which to explore my new cave home. I shall make the best of it.
Signing off,
CB