It all started with a pen, a piece of paper, a lock of hair, and a chunk of dark chocolate.

You were on my mind, and well, I wrote those words down. With dark chocolate melting on my tongue, I taped the lock of hair to the piece of paper, and I wrote you a letter.

“Letter #1,” it said, in my scratchy handwriting that I know only you can read. “Dearest You,” it said, with my emotions just waiting to push through the doors. “I love you,” it said, and with a wave of preemptive regret, I snuck the letter into your locker.

The next day I was gone, traveling by myself on this dusty bike with a hundred dollars in my pocket and a destination in mind. I was headed to the beach. This is a problem, I found, when you live in D.C. 2 and you want to get to California 2.

So I turned back and went home. Therefore I started “Letter #2”

Dearest You:


You bring life to every inanimate object, sunlight to the darkest corners of my mind, and happy music to the depressed streets of my heart.


Okay, maybe you find this a little creepy. But I love you, I really do, and I don’t know how else to show you that I do.


I guess it started when we fought a dragon together in 2nd grade. Or maybe that time we shared a yellow crayon in kindergarten. Or maybe it was last year, when I finally moved back here and saw you again.


You don’t remember me now. And I guess that’s what hurts the most.

Love,
Me


At school the next day, I saw you all alone in a corner. I came over to you, hoping your eyes would turn bright with recognition, hoping you would come running and kiss me like you used to. I remember the way your hair flowed around us the first time we kissed on that windy day. But you didn’t. You don’t remember, you don’t feel, and you don’t know what you used to have.

Letter #3

Dearest You,


Ever since that guy threw his TV out of a window you’ve been like this. Reaching, reaching for anything. You don’t even know your real name. All of us at school, we’re supposed to treat you like you’re a new student. You don’t remember anything from your past life. You think you’re from Minnesota 2, you just moved here.



I guess you could blame science for that. It brought you back to life; I mean that’s good. It gave you fake memories, that’s cool.


Don’t show this to anyone. I could be arrested for messing up the system.



But just in case you want to know, your name was Charlotte.

Love,
Me


The system is screwed. Everyone is screwed. In fact, you and I, we used to question who we were and what the heck everyone was thinking together. Maybe that’s why the TV was thrown at you and not at me. Everyone thinks I’m insane, I guess that’s the only thing that’s kept me alive. “That boy…always muttering to himself…never has any friends…except for her…he questions The Him”
Who’s “The Him”? “The Him” is our leader. He’s “saved us from the rotting earth” and “guarded us from ourselves”. “The Him” invented us. “The Him” brought us from Earth 1 to Earth 2. Ever since scientists discovered the absence of a greater being, they figured out the layout of the universe. Which is, of course, classified information. But they moved selected humans from Earth 1 to Earth 2- where we have become a “smarter, better race.” Yet here we are, locked in our own little world, without any hope or belief in something greater than life. We just live, and make money, reproduce and die.

Letter#4

Dearest You:


The reason I started writing these letters is to see if I could bring you back. I want Charlotte back, the only person that could make me happy enough to get through the day.


We had a plan, you and I, to go back to Earth 1 and create a happier race. Maybe that’s why the agents found you, why they dropped the TV on your beautiful head. Sometimes I can still see it in slow motion; the TV dropping, throwing it off your face as you lay on the gray concrete, the way the sunlight reflected off your brown eyes before they closed. Picking up your nearly lifeless body and screaming for help. Watching the thick blood that ran down your chin and neck, as I stood there helpless.


I remember kissing your rosy lips one last time before they took you away in the hover car.

Love,
Me.


I saw you today in the library; you walked over to the teen romance section and grabbed a tablet. The old you hated silly romances. I guess they did more damage than I thought.

The urge to come up with a spectacular plan to sabotage The Him and his system becomes stronger every day. Something inside me is telling me that if I conquer The Him you’ll come back to me. It’s probably silly, I know, but it’s a tugging feeling that won’t disappear.

Letter #5

Dearest You,


Five was our lucky number. I miss you.


By now you probably think I’m either a crazy stalker, or you’ve realized the truth. Here’s my plan for conquering The Him:


I have a team. We meet in the basement of the abandoned factory building.


I trust you. I believe that deep down inside, you’re still you. You will come back to me. Please come and help us. You always had the best ideas.


We’ll be there at 4 p.m. I’ll see you soon?

Love,
Me


I waited and waited, and you never showed up. But “The Him’s” militia did. I forgive you. I hope that when they convert me, I’ll still remember you. And we’ll live in peace as his mindless minions, together.