Every day is the same here.
Dark.
It's so, so dark. The only wisps of light to pierce the thick, black water are entirely artificial. Fabricated. Manmade. Unnatural.
Every day during lunch period I find myself on the observation deck, staring out into the water. The opposite cliff face of the trench that the Abyss Complex is built into is not even a hundred meters away, and yet it is invisible, hidden behind the blanket of water. I find myself thinking, my mind wandering to every corner of this steel casket I've come to call home.
If we weren't here, it would be completely and utterly dark. No light. At all. None of this would be seen. Hell, there might be nobody to even know that there might be something down here to see. It would be less than dust. Not even a memory. Just a dream. A thought experiment.
This always leads me down a trail as dark as the Abyss, ending in one, final thought: if a tree falls down in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
Yes. The tree does make a sound. But without anyone around to hear it, it's inconsequential. Nothing. Less than nothing. Not even a scream, but an agonized whisper, reaching into the void for the nothing that greets it.
Down here, I'm the same as that tree. There's the fall and the sound, but nobody to hear it. So, it is nothing. Less than nothing. Not even a thought. That's us. Nothing. Not so much as a speck of dust floating adrift on an ocean current.
I wonder if that's what keeps the others up at night, too.