Their Tenth

Midweek Pick-Me-Up #5

They found his diary under his bed and they passed it around reading from its solitary pages:

Entry 1: I'm happy today. Today is a good day. 

Entry 2: I'm depressed today. Today is a good day. 

Entry 3: I'm in love today. Today is a good day. 

Entry 4: I'm lonely today. Today is a good day. 

They expected so much more from the diary - they had after all searched for it through the entire spaceship. Of course, all along it was hidden in the most obvious place. Under the bed, between the blue algae mattress and the heated coils of the frame.  

Entry 5: Yes. I too get angry. I get lonely. I fall in love a hundred times a day and wish to stay on every planet we have visited and every planet we have yet to visit. I too cower, dreaming of a hard fall, my wings shattering into hundreds of irreversible shards. And, like you, I wonder: Who will put my wings back together?

Entry 6: Today I looked at them and wished to say, to reveal to them, I’m who they think I’m only because they made me to be who they think I’m. In reality, I’m like them. I’m them. 

Entry 7: I have made seven trips around my orbit. Seven equals seven hundred human years and I’m finally free, though not sure any closer to being human. All I could have imagined has come to be. Now, I long to rest. 

Entry 8: I leave counting to you. Yes, you. I know you have found the diary and are eagerly reading through it, hoping it confirms sainthood. I’m afraid, I’ve failed you.  

Entry 9: I love this number. 

They gazed at each other. They counted nine of them. He was their tenth. They all looked the same. The latest model and, by now, the most primitive AI sent on an interstellar mission. They had all been programmed to take turns keeping a diary - supposedly writing would bring about individuation. They drew sticks, and Number 6 began keeping a diary. Six hundred years of good days later, Number 6 would hide the diary under its own bed. They would look for it all over the spaceship. And the day would come when there would be only one number left and it would keep its own diary, one that is infinitely long in pages and entries…

You have just read the series Midweek Pick-Me-Up. Always written to a prompt (in bold), in 5 minutes or else the screen goes blurry. An edit here, an edit there, and now it’s yours to share.