Westover Log I: Stardate: Present [Private]

"Banned."

The word still haunts her, even now in her dreams. Scoffing under her breath, she pushes the thought out of her mind. She rolls from her bed to begin another sleepless night of study. Pulling her logs from the bookcase, she opens to the most recent pages, and thumbs through her numerous reference books. The static from the Comm-Link is a dull hum, monotonous and constant. Penciling her pages of research, a small knock at the door rouses her attention from the ebony and ivory scripts.

"A message, Ms. Westover."

"Yeah, get outta here." She reaches for the small letter and closes the door behind her. Turning it over in her hands, the seal of CR-E burns against the cream colored paper. Opening it quickly, she brushes over the short introduction welcoming her to The Crimson Empire. The next paragraph explains her duties as head of the Scientific Research and Weaponry Department. She nods, re-reading each and every detail carefully.

Pushing the countless papers to the side of her desk, she pins in the code from the letter into her Comm-Link. A young girl answers, asking her to state her business.

"A message for the Sovereign, please. This is N. Westover, reporting for duty."

The pages fall open to her last unfinished entry......

"Damn research is driving me crazy....." Tubbing her tired eyes, she grabs her pen from the desk drawer.

"Crazy, a word that holds such power in 5 small letters.....the infinite hollow sound of eternity can be held within one's state of mind."

Closing her eyes, her hand takes the pen....such comfort from ancient ink falling innocently on paper.....("Where has technology taken us that we lose pleasure in the simplicity of pen to parchment?")

Exhausted chaos from darkness looming forth from the echo of stagnant breath.
Silence pierces the sense, plaguing the mind of wanton desires for shared moments of confusion.
Scarlet horizons bring towards the end a slighted idea of closure, only to shatter the clarity of the once plated reality inside your head.
Twisting away from shards of insanity barreling through, attempting suicide, the mind snaps, leaving only traces of the nothingness you once knew.
Twice to once it follows our beginnings to our ends, falling graceless to the unrelenting shreds of despair.
We all cry out to be heard in the tumultuous cacophony of a dying world.
Enlightened once, the blackened night pieces together a canopy of stars, only to fall victim to the light from the covetous sun.
Bloodshot eyes and trembling hands tell stories of sleepless volumes with no endings.
Tracing lines to vacuous pasts, missing time and space in between to the closed lids and shallow breaths.
Sleep claims the unrested, only for dreams of impossibilities to plague the wandering soul into abyss.
The murder of the dreamer comes at the hands of a faceless stranger, fall now into unknown perception.
Awake.