Letters from Callisto
I can’t believe I might die, Claire, or how much that’s made me miss you. Remembering how we fought as children—how distant we’ve become ever since—well…it’s hard for me to believe as well. But I need you now more than ever, sis. I can’t leave this letter for mom; she couldn’t handle it. Especially since I was on my way back to Earth to visit her when we crashed. She will feel responsible; I just know it.
The captain says that we’re going to be okay—that soon, they’ll send someone out to rescue us. But we all know better. He’s just doing his job, giving us hope, but we probably won't survive long enough for anyone to reach us. So I'm leaving this for you, Claire, and trusting you to tell the rest of the family how much I loved you all.
I am going to write slowly and try to keep this legible, but who writes in longhand anymore? And the darkness is making it difficult to see as well. The energy surge wiped out everything, and what battery power we have left we’re trickling through the ship’s heaters. Without them, we’ll freeze to death long before we have a chance to suffocate.
We can’t waste power using any of the terminals, and have come to realize that the only way our words will outlive us is to write them down on these few paltry pieces of paper; using a pen and notebook belonging to one of the other passengers. We’re sharing everything we have now, Claire, roughing it, like a camp out.
Do you remember the time mom and dad sent us off to camp? My god how we hated it, and how I hated you for stealing that cute little boy away from me. What was his name? Steven, that's right. It all seems so silly now, doesn’t it? He’s off somewhere else and probably doesn't remember either of us. Oh well, you can't live in the past. And sometimes, you can't live in the present either, that's why I need to tell you a few things while I still have the chance.