199th Entry

May 30^th, 2037

1530

Dear Earth Diary.

Some men came and took 3.0 away. It didn’t sound like it was because we were communicating, I’m not sure they cared.

I still don’t know why she can’t talk. There’s only so much you can convey with taps, and while I can get a yes or a no out of her, I’m pretty sure neither of us feel like playing a game of 20 Disturbing Questions.

I feel bad for all those times I told her to shut up now.

Still, it’s good to know that she made it Earth in one… it’s good to know she made it to Earth.

I wonder if Mary’s okay.

“Hey!”

Yes?

“Delivery for you.”

I get deliveries?

“You get this one, at least.”

Oh. Well, thanks.

“No worries. We’re all big fans of you here, by the way.”

What?

“I said shut up, prisoner!”

Oh. I thought you said something else.

1532

It’s a letter from Mary!

Not Mary Mary. My fiancé Mary! Goodness, I’d almost forgotten about her.

Don’t tell her I said that.

You’re dead.

Oh God, she heard me. Wait, how can a letter hear me?

I mean it. They declared you dead. They told me you’d drifted off into space and probably will starve to death if you don’t hit an asteroid. They wanted to tell me you hadn’t suffered, but in all probability you suffered immensely.

So here I am, writing to a dead person. Hi, dead person.

It feels weird writing this. I guess I was expecting I would be more upset when I heard the news. My fiancé. Dead. My plans for the future. Gone. Nothing in front of me but a long, empty abyss of loneliness and despair.

Actually I’m feeling pretty good. Is that bad? Should I be guilty? Should I be guilty that I don’t feel guilty?

Sometimes you need a short sharp shock to realise that maybe the things you were certain about aren’t so certain after all. And I guess it doesn’t get shorter or sharper than “That guy you were going to marry? He’s dead.”

I’ve never been good at these types of letters. You’re never going to read it anyway. Being dead and all. NASA were nice, they said they would shoot this into space for me with their next launch. Send it out an airlock and let it drift. Maybe it’ll even run into you one day.

I really need to stop putting this off. I’m not glad you’re dead. But… I’m not upset that I won’t be marrying you. Does that make me a bad person? It probably does.

I guess I’m just a bad person then.

Hoping you enjoy eternity in space. And I hope you’re not too upset. I’d say there’s a wonderful girl around the corner, and there probably is. But she’s on Earth, and you’re in space. So it probably wouldn’t work.

Also you’re dead.

I should probably stop rubbing that part in.

Yours,

Mary.