Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just borrowing 'em for a little fun, etc.
I can't sleep at night. And when I do, I find myself on Earth. A wasteland of my own doing. My hands covered in blood. The blood of all those who have died because of me and of all those who will die because of me. Generations will never be born because of what I know and what I've done. And those who would not have lived do, and in turn generations that were never suppose to come into existence will. I'm only human. And I've changed the course of the universe by doing nothing more than surviving.
Survival of the fittest, they say. Then why am I alive, I ask. I'm weak, deficient. I'm not alien enough to do what needs to be done. Guilt consumes me. Guilt for what I've done, guilt for what I haven't done. Guilt for what I might do. Zhaan had said there is no guilt, there is no blame, only what is meant to be. She also called me innocent. How can I be when I've caused so much pain? So much death? No one's safe from John Crichton, scourge of the universe. Not even the woman I love. I'm a plague upon us all.
What would Mom think of her little boy now?
Fin