Lord of the flotsam

day 10

The past few days have been a blur of monotonous but necessary tasks. In this desolate pocket dimension, even the simplest routines take on a vital significance. I've spent my time tending to my small garden, nurturing the plants that might one day sustain me. Their green shoots are a rare and hopeful sight amidst the endless mounds of refuse.

My injury has been healing well. With careful management and rest, I’ve regained most of my strength. I can move more freely now, and the constant ache has subsided to a manageable level. This newfound mobility has allowed me to focus on longer-term survival strategies.

I've filled more buckets with compostable material and urine, some of which I've already started to use as fertilizer for my plants. The rest is left to ferment, slowly turning into potassium nitrate. It’s a slow process, but patience is a virtue in this place.

During my spare moments, I’ve put my hands to work crafting small wooden barrels. The planks I salvaged were sturdy enough for the task, and the result is a set of containers that will be invaluable for storage and future projects. The act of creating something tangible, something useful, has been a balm for my restless mind.

Despite the relative quiet of these past few days, I remain vigilant. Every now and then, I catch glimpses of movement in the distance—shadows that flit across the edges of my vision, the faint sounds of the recycling drones somewhere beyond the heaps of trash. I haven’t encountered them yet, but I know that confrontation is inevitable.

For now, my focus remains on preparation. I have food, water, and a growing arsenal of makeshift tools and materials. My body is mending, and my determination is unwavering. The days might blend into one another in this forsaken place, but each one brings me a step closer to my goal