Entry 45
I don't know why, but every now and then I get the urge, the need, to write things down. To make sure it is not forgotten. I think it is Lancer. He is still there, but I am, what life has made me, what I chose to be and become. There is little place for Lancer.
The galaxy has not become a better place while I was gone. In fact, the galaxy doesn't even know I have missed. For an untrained layman, Kees has done a good job at keeping my business. Lancer would like to know how that sudden shift in morals has affected her. I don't care. I don't care who she is, and how she managed, I don't want to know what she thinks about being me. I don't care what she's doing now. I am who I am. That is enough.
I don't know if I have become a better person while I was gone, but with Lancer nagging at the back of my mind, so I think it's possible. The two of us don't match well: he wants to help Sinar, and I suggest putting him out of his misery quick and clean. Of course, Lancer is shocked. He believes in the good in Sinar, the part of him that could be saved.
It is not my job to save. It is not my job to save anybody but myself. I bring back bounties. I hunt. I am.
Memories.
I know how important they can be now. There are things you have to remember, just to be yourself. So I write. I don't. I know.
There are scratches on my bulkhead. Thousands of them, stringed up neatly, always five in a group. My bunk looks like a prison cell, the scratches are everywhere. And I know, was I to count them, I would know how many days I have not been Boba Fett. I stroked the surface and remembered her downcast eyes.
Lorna Kees is really dead this time, I have seen to that. And she put up no resistance. That haunted look in her eyes disappeared the moment she realized what I was about to do. Sometimes it haunts my sleep.
When I remember the woman that left the SlaveI, I see Jerida Anasst. The short dark hair hidden under a colourful kerchief, and she smiled at me, as if it was just a casual parting, and nothing that meant forever. I have never seen anybody so happy before. It doesn't matter. It could. I don't care. I won't see her again.
I could. I know that she -, well, she's there - unconditional and nevertheless. And, for reasons I don't care to explore, it feels good to know that somewhere out there, she is, always will be. She doesn't even care, what I think about it. I have no say in this. I do not care.
"Should you ever be lonely…"
Those words haunt me sometimes. She should not have said it, it was not necessary. I am the wolf unto man. I have not time for loneliness.
