The Journal of Samus Aran

Entry 2

Entry 2

Dr. White told me not to write my grocery lists in here anymore. It may sound crazy, but I have trouble remembering ordinary things like that. I guess after fighting space pirates practically my whole life, ordinary things are harder to remember than how many missiles kill which foes. Sometimes I wonder if my parents were still alive, how would they feel about this? About me? I didn't know them that well; I was only 3 when they died. But I remember that I have blonde hair like my mother, and green eyes like my father. And from what I've been told by people who knew them, I have my mother's smile, my father's nose, and I'm about as tall as he was, too. I'm actually taller than most of my crewmates, men, women, and other genders. Being 6'3" isn't as great as people seem to think though. I've hit my head on my fair share of doorways. Oh, and I suppose I should probably talk about my crew a little. We're a very diverse bunch, all different genders and races and sexualities. We all get along pretty well, and don't discriminate. After all, it's 2079. Why shouldn't we all get along? As this journal progresses, I find myself opening up more and more. I wonder why that is? In other news, I felt like the baby metroid deserved some kind of send off, so I did a makeshift 21-gun salute with one person. And one gun. It was kind of pathetic, but I felt like I owed it to him. Dr. White also said I should start signing these, so here you go.

Yours truly,

Samus Aran.