A Letter Home

Dear Phoebe,
 
I have been staring at this blank document for far too long trying to figure out what to write. I won't lie and say that I'm well, because I'm not, but I'm alive, and that is what I've - ironically - been dying to assure you of for the past month. I'm certain it's been all over the news by now, but I thought you might like a note all the same.
 
I'm alive, but possibly not for much longer, because I've found myself in the company of an extremely...I feel like calling him "dangerous" is overstating matters. Careless might be a better descriptor. I've found myself in the company of an extremely careless man, who appears prone to doing many stupid things in rapid succession. I understand that he's been doing many stupid things in rapid succession for at least one hundred years now. I'm astonished that he's survived for so long.
 
My other two companions for the time being are, as of this writing, less volatile. Or at least more sensible? So far. They've both saved my life once each, one during the break out and one right before. I'm more inclined to trust them at the moment, although I'll be frank, and I'm sure this will be no surprise to you - allocating my trust in such a way is terrifying, but I feel I have no alternative.
 
I want to leave, but I have nowhere to go. Coming home would be a singularly stupid thing to do, so that's out of the question. I'm writing to you mere hours before I embark on a different, equally stupid venture. We are at the moment pursuing a rogue planet that is hurtling through space at high velocity, and we intend to land on it and search its depths for lost treasure.
 
I can't believe i just wrote that, but as wild as it sounds, it is the truth.
 
If we survive this, I will write you again. I'm sorry I can't be more explicit - I want to tell you every horrid detail of every horrid thing that's happened to me since the trial, but I'm afraid of saying too much.
 
If you don't hear from me again, please remember that I love you. Give my love to Mom and Dad.