They call me a scavenger.
I guess that is fair.
Yes, I go salvage the fields of battles and the forgotten disasters.
Places which rarely, if ever, see any living ship passing by.
It is a hard job.
I cut into dead hulls and twisted wrecks.
Harvest the metals, the fuel, whole components if I can.
Anything that can be reused, recycled, resold.
It is a grim job.
There are times, I do find the remains.
The ones who weren’t fast enough, good enough, or simply, lucky enough.
They are biomatter, puritans might not like it, but in the depths of space, resources are scarce.
It is a dangerous job.
I get where most can’t or won’t.
Wormholes with dying star, spasming with their last breath.
Theatres of events lost to the memories of men.
It is a solitary job.
I travel far from civilization.
There is no one to talk to out there.
But then, there is also no one to fight over the findings.
It is an honest job.
Entry in the Prose/Poetry category for YC 128 New Eden Capsuleers Writing Contest .
OOC Commentary
Words: 171
The soundtrack: In The Depths of Space
