By the time you get this message, I will no longer exist. But rest assured, among my final thoughts will be the knowledge that you were right.
I made it to Cygnus, and was on my way back, when I detected a galaxy no one had seen before. From home, it's obscured by the turbulence of Kepler's Singularity. I almost missed it myself, or dismissed it as a faulty reading. But it was real - a galaxy that no one knew existed... a galaxy I could claim for my own. I could not see that she was already spoken for. I set an approach that I intended would counteract the singularity's pull; I underestimated that force.
I identified a planet to crash on, and write these words. I have tried to fix my ship, to no avail. There is no escape from this planet, orbiting this final star, as we circle around the singularity. But it is a beautiful prison: a constant pink sky, breathable air, resources for food and shelter, and no one to compete with. I will die peacefully here.
If I remember my studies, I will die of old age here, in the space between your heartbeats. The stars in my sky do not twinkle - they tear, jagged rips of light in the sky. And in my time, I an half-certain that they are growing longer. But I think I will pass before the darkness claims this place. The only hope I allow myself is that each time I send this message, it may be the one to reach you.
You were right about so many things; I hope you are right about the rest. As stardust or as I am, I will return to you...
inspired by Discover Magazine article, "The Tiniest Galaxy in the Universe"
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