Log 1: Memento Mori

From my station, I see many people. They don black garments, and two are carrying a casing of sorts.

What is life?

A process they undergo. They take for granted. And as they see the writings on the wall, it all hits them like a tidal wave.

Only in the face of death, a human will start to repay all their debts.

For some, it takes the death of another for such a wave to hit.

Some project an image of immortality, such invulnerability to the world, and to see them end so mortality akin to that of an ordinary human, it must drive them insane.

Often, the loss of another saddens them, with the wave causing drastic changes to said person.
Although logically, a death simply means termination of another resource-consuming life, but the emotional capacity must link some form of attachment.

This one must have fathered the crying people in the corner.
Tears, tears, tears.
Often, they fail to see. With tears in their vision, they are blinded that there is no use for tears.
They should be glad to be alive, and keep moving forward.
In respect, time probably should stand still for a short while, and just let them let it out before the next wave comes,
before the tide pulls us in.

Log 1: Orbit

They scurry beneath me.
Like insects, all the people of the world rush on what they think is important.
What they think strands a balance between life and death.

As I look down below, no one sees me. Soon, I would have found an appropriate one. For the past 18 Lunar Cycles, I have waited. Observing. Watching.

For what reasons I have been placed here, I will not know. But any second, I am to walk among these people, and learn of their culture.

I see one.

As I descend from orbit, I must make sure I am not seen. Such knowledge as my presence would only destroy the very minds of these beings, who have yet gained such an ability as to comprehend my existence.