Hey. Looks like I’m going to die. Life support’s failed. Breathing on borrowed time, here. I’m scared. Never died before. Confession’s good for the soul. Going to record this. Maybe you hear it. Maybe not. I haven’t been perfectly truthful. When we all write letters, you know, before a mission, I never had anyone to send them to. I write them. Make up stories. Seal them. The address, it’s just a post office box. Mine. I was going to pick it up after the war. Burn them, I guess. Don’t know why. Didn’t want you to know I was alone.
Ad Astra
Tale Told 