First Transmission
Any one of these days could be the last for me.
It's strange to think about. I know I won't be the only person, not by a long shot. I just don't know any other residents. Maybe I'll meet others here, but it's doubtful. My transmissions shouldn't reach Earth if I'm successful. I hope they make it somewhere far away, to extraterrestrial life.
They wouldn't understand any of this, but it's a comforting thought that someone, somewhere, might finally hear me. Even after I'm long gone, after this planet is long gone, and all the matter has reformed into new stars and new solar systems. Maybe there'll be a trace of me somewhere.
It's the only thing I can hold on to at this point, when death is so imminent. Every breath might be my last.
I'm not sure if they've worked out the exact date of when it will happen yet, and I don't think I want to know. Maybe it's another ten years, or just ten days. I'd rather live each day like it's my last, as much as I can do that.
I hope I can get out more in whatever time is left. I'd like to make another resident friend. I'm sure plenty of people are desperate, what with all the evacuations. There aren't many of us still here.
I went into town a few days ago, and it was almost entirely deserted. Save for the bar, of course. I've tried to avoid that place. It's just a pit of misery and sorrow. I could easily see myself falling into alcoholism if I let go enough. But I'm hanging on to the few things I have control of, which is why I've vowed to never pass through the entryway.
This is a lot of rambling for a message that will never be read. I'll end it here.