- True passengers / Chapter 1: Fuck it!
- True passengers / Chapter 2: I come to…
- True passengers / Chapter 3: Gradually…
- True passengers / Chapter 4: There is one thing
- True passengers / Chapter 5: Three days
- True passengers / Chapter 6: I wake up
- True passengers / Chapter 7: Let’s think
- True passengers / Chapter 8: I finally finish
- True passengers / Chapter 9: 2841 words
- True passengers / Chapter 10: Day 11
- True passengers / Chapter 11: Day 13
- True passengers / Chapter 12: Day 17
- True passengers / Chapter 13: Day 19
- True passengers / Chapter 14: Day 23
- True passengers / Chapter 15: Day 29
- True passengers / Chapter 16: Day 31
- True passengers / Chapter 17: Day 37
- True passengers / Chapter 18: Day 41
- True passengers / Chapter 19: Day 43
- True passengers / Chapter 20: Day 47
- True passengers / Chapter 21: Day 53
- True passengers / Chapter 22: Day 67
- True passengers / Chapter 23: Day 71
- True passengers / Chapter 24: Day 101
- True passengers / Chapter 25: Day 137
- True passengers / Chapter 26: Day 163
- True passengers / Chapter 27: Day 181
- True passengers / Chapter 28: Day 199
- True passengers / Chapter 29: Day 211
- True passengers / Chapter 30: Day 239
- True passengers / Chapter 31: Day 241
- True passengers / Chapter 32: Day 257
- True passengers / Chapter 33: Day 293
- True passengers / Chapter 34: Day 491
- True passengers / Chapter 35: Day 509
- True passengers / Chapter 36: Day 569
- True passengers / Chapter 37: Day 571
- True passengers / Chapter 38: I couldn’t bring myself
- True passengers / Chapter 39: When she comes to
- True passengers / Chapter 40: Day 577
- True passengers / Chapter 41: Day 593
- True passengers / Chapter 42: Day 599
- True passengers / Chapter 43: Day 601
- True passengers / Chapter 44: Like two clumsy helium-filled condoms
- True passengers / Chapter 45: Bitch!
Day 41. The second problem is — isolation — became most apparent. Robinson could walk along the shore, gaze at the horizon in anticipation of a white sail, or study the flora and fauna of his island. In my small world, I am deprived of all this.
The dark bowels of the circular corridor, filled with cryocapsule coffins, and a small bright spot, fenced off by the sheets of thermal insulation, where I exist — that’s my whole island. When you see all this day after day, without even being able to look out the window, it starts to weigh on you.
But now I have classical music playing softly from one of the stolen laptops. On another, I watch movies and play games. On the third, I read books before bed and, of course, write this diary.







