A Walk Down Memory Lane


7/7/20233 min read

The Martian twilight ushered me back to the Nomad, our ship, our home that floated amidst the celestial seas. The orange hues reflecting off the reddened Martian landscape seemed an almost poetic setting, an alien sundown that held a strange sense of familiarity.

Inside the ship, the stillness felt amplified, an echo of the inner turmoil I was wrestling with. My footsteps led me to my quarters, each step resonating with the weight of the decision I had made.

I opened the drawer to my locker, and a rush of memories flooded my senses. The first item my fingers found was my father's old stopwatch. A rusted, brass piece, bearing the brunt of the ages, but the rhythmic ticking, a token from the past, provided a grounding sense of continuity. My father used to say, "Keep a tab on your time, Moe. Life has a knack for running away with it." I would keep it close, ensuring I didn't let the Martian mines steal my life like it had stolen Gramps' energy.

Next, my hands found Ravager's old pirate coat, a relic from his time with the Black Marauders. The worn, black leather held a faint trace of Ravager's scent - oil, smoke, and fried chicken. He'd handed it to me when he left with Elara, a piece of the past he wanted to leave behind. But for me, it served as a reminder of a friendship forged in the crucible of space. Ravager's voice echoed in my ears, "A man is only as good as the people he surrounds himself with."

Hidden in the corner of the drawer was my trusty Vortex-6. The first pistol I'd ever bought and my faithful companion through our adventures across the cosmos. The cool metal held stories of daring escapes and brave battles. It was a symbol of my survival and resilience in a universe that seemed to constantly test us. There was a time where I wanted nothing but to make sure this pistol never left my side. But after years of adventures, I was at a place where I wasn't sure I'd ever want to pick it up again.

Then, there was VenomJaw's knife, a somber memento from our encounter with the ruthless pirate. The sharp blade gleamed ominously, reminding me of how its predecessor had met its end; that old rusty shard piercing through VenomJaw's temple. The memory was gruesome, but it was a part of my journey and served as a reminder of the difficult choices we sometimes had to make.

My gaze fell on the golden-capped bottle, a souvenir from the bar night that had strengthened the bond between Fitt and me. We had shared tales, dreams, and fears. I had never had friends before I met Fitt. I had Gramps and I had Ravager, but Fitt had become something I needed in my life: a best friend. Not every adventure would end on a positive note, but that wasn't the point. The point was we had done it all together. We had grown and adapted to the worlds around us. And with that no longer going to be an option, it was good to take time to reflect on what made me "me".

Finally, my fingers brushed against the rough fabric of my blood-stained clothes. The red stains were a stark reminder of our escape from the labyrinthine depths and our near-death experience with the cannibals. Gramps' words resonated in my mind, "Life's about the choices we make, lad. In the face of death, we find out who we truly are." Those clothes were a testament to our courage and determination to survive, no matter what the odds.

As I packed these keepsakes, each item weaving a narrative of my journey through space, I felt a strange sense of calm. These items, each a piece of my past, were reminders of how far we had come.

The sound of the hatch door interrupted my reminiscences. Fitt and Chef stepped inside, the sight of my packed bag causing a ripple of surprise.

"Oh fuck" Fitt said. as realization set in.