Return to Sender
Original artwork by Kyle Newbridge
My Dear Tomas,
I realize it’s incredibly gauche to open another’s correspondence, but I confess when I saw this half-dissolved bottle floating down the river I couldn’t fathom who else the letter inside could be meant for besides myself. Imagine my surprise once I unraveled the parchment and saw “Samantha” scrawled in the header! At any rate, I find myself overjoyed to have received your communication—even though I am not the intended recipient. Companionship of any kind is always welcome and, as my mother once said, it’s horrid luck to leave a letter without a response. For these reasons, I have penned my own letter—which I hope reaches you in good health.
I suppose I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? My name is Yohan Lockeschmidt, I’ve been down here in the depths for going on a year—after I fell down a hole. I assume my story before that is much like your own. I quickly found that the creatures in the river provide little sustenance and, in fact, cause crippling nausea and uncomfortable bowel movements—I do hope this letter reaches you before you learn it yourself the hard way.
Further downstream from where I found your letter, presumably further still from where you stand currently, is a small forest of sorts. The trees, as I have come to think of them anyways, reach far into the void above and, though hard and stable at the base, sway wildly at their tapered ends as some foul breeze, far above us, assaults them. It’s in this forest that I have made my home.
It’s a simple camp. My house is constructed from the shell of some large creature whose remains I discovered, which I tarped using the dried skin of several of the small human-sized predators that scour the forest—they used to stalk me in the night, but I haven’t seen any for a long time now. Their meat is gamy and tough, but hunger is the best spice.
I collect my water from the forest. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the river is polluted beyond hope, but every twelve hours water pools around the base of these trees. It gives off a foul odor and is warm upon collection, but after thorough boiling it is perfectly safe. I would be overjoyed to host you should you make your way this direction.
Before I end this letter I do have one piece of advice—and forgive me if this is uncouth—but you do seem to be in low spirits. I urge you to keep your head up. We all have our dark times, but I’ve found that smiling—especially in the face of such adversity—makes one less appetizing! Just food for thought.
Sincerely yours, Yohan Lockeschmidt,
P.s. There’s so much dust here. Did you know that dust is mostly just dead skin? And there’s so much of it, everywhere, down here! Where did it all come from? Whose skin is this?
