Blackout

Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back alive. Please make it back…

—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, July 26, 2041. Unpublished.

My dearest Nandini;

You will only see this letter if I die during the fool’s errand I am about to undertake—one more foolish quest in a life that has been defined by them. Do you ever regret that you chose a husband who would forever be leaving you to chase some elusive platonic ideal of the truth? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Please, consider this letter my blessing, and remarry when you’re ready. Find an accountant or a computer programmer—a nice, stable profession that won’t lend itself to this breed of madness.

Oh, but I loved you. Maybe not at first, when our parents brought us together and said we should marry, but it didn’t take me as long as some thought it would. I am truly sorry I have not been the husband you deserved. You were always more wife than I was worthy of. I love you, my Nan. Believe me, even if you believe nothing else I have ever said. I love you, and I am blessed beyond all words that you were willing to take a risk, and marry me.

—Taken from an e-mail composed by Mahir Gowda, July 26, 2041. Unsent.