Title: Apathy
Author: Debb
Archive: PK Elite only please.
Summary: Harry's been alone for so long that living no longer matters.

They're closing in on me even as I write this. I've always suspected that they'd be the ones. I'll try and escape, of course, but I don't think I'll succeed. Not this time. I've got a game leg, and there are dozens of them surrounding me. At least I can say I've had an effect on this world. The natives are banding together for the first time in the years that I've been stranded here. I presume they're a sentient species, although my attempts at contacting them seem to have failed. But then, I haven't tried very hard in recent years.

Voyager was attacked and, I presume, destroyed roughly 8 years ago. At least, I'd like to think that they wouldn't just have abandoned us here. Ten of us. Me, Tom, Neelix. Susan Nicoletti. Michaelson and Phillips. Sara and Rory and Adam. Jake. Jake was the first to die. He almost made it; escaped being seriously wounded by the creature, but the poison in its claws got him in the end.

We started a sort of colony, instituting a careful breeding program to ensure that all of our children would have at least one potential mate. We lost Sara and her baby in childbirth. Mary Phillips lived for several weeks, but eventually we lost her, too. The baby survived for three years. Longer than any of the others.

Neelix, damn him, got killed trying to spice up our meals. Brownroot is edible until you cook it, but steamed it'll eat you from the inside out. Well, now we know.

Rory and Adam. Our first introduction to the Cat People of this world. Rory was trying to find some sign of sentience; he was sure they were a developing species. Adam tried to rescue him, but... well anyway. I think Rory was right. They are a sentient species. And they hate us.

James Michaelson just sort of... stopped living after the last of the children died. After awhile his body followed the mind, and we buried him alongside the rest of them.

Susan stopped eating.

After five years, it was just me and Tom. He always was a survivor. Right up until the end, as odd as that sounds. It was my fault, really. I'd gotten to the point where surviving was just a habit. It had stopped really mattering if I lived or not. He was trying to prove to me that this place could be beautiful, if you looked in the right places. He was wrong, though. This place is all ugly. There isn't anything here that hasn't stolen happiness or love from me in some way. I can't bring myself to cry anymore. I don't think I even cried when Tom died. I miss him, but it's distant, like it's happening to someone else. I don't really feel anything anymore. I'm just waiting for something to outsmart me because breaking this habit of staying alive takes too much will power to do more than contemplate.

It should be easier for them now. A Tree cat got me a few weeks ago, and my leg isn't healing properly. It won't support my full weight anymore. I suspect it never will.

I can hear them now. They're digging their way under the house; prowling around on the outside... everywhere I look. I hate them. For the first time in a long time I actually feel something, and it's hate. How horrible. I've never really hated anything before. Why couldn't they just have left us alone?

Maybe if I die this way I'll get to see Tom again. I'm not counting on the others. I'm not hoping for anything. I haven't done that in the two years since Tom died. They're almost here now. I can actually hear them growling. If I win, I'll write some more. If I don't... well. Then this is goodbye. To whomever might read this in the future.