Letters to People Left Behind

[hostileterritory]

A small collection of letters and notes left with Saga Anderson in case of his disappearance.

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To Hanna, folded into the shape of an origami fortune teller

[hostileterritory]

Dear Hanna,

I don't know how long this will be. I'm not much of a letter writer. I never had anyone to write letters for when I would have gotten the practice. If you're reading this, it means I'm gone and I didn't get to say goodbye. If you're reading this version of it, I'm gone and I hadn't graduated yet. I was going to write you a new one when I did.

[Roughness on the page, like a line was written and erased enough times to wear through the paper a little.

A small space, and then more words:]

It's harder to know what to say when I can feel it while I'm writing, but I promised myself I'd do this with things switched on. I can't write it out, explain what I mean, but Saga knows, and if I'm gone it means it's safe for you to know too. Maybe stop here and ask her, so you get what I say next isn't [more erasing] It's important.

I've never been that much of a talker. Shy kind of, except with specific people. Still shy even with Saga sometimes, and I imagine having her is like having a sister. But if she told you what I can do and why I can do it, it's important to me that you know you're a big piece of why I'm trying to fix things.

That felt stupid to write. Kind of embarrassing. Sorry.

It's still true though. You feel so much, and before I'd say 'too much,' but I don't know if that can actually happen, a person feeling too much. No, that's wrong, a person can definitely feel more than they're able to handle. What I mean by that I guess is that watching you care about people started making me want to remember what it felt like. The fire it gives you when someone is treated badly, the sadness when someone is hurt. Talking to you is like

This feels stupid to write too, but I guess it was like getting a tour through a museum. Following someone who knew about the things I hung up or kept in glass. You made me want to remember what it all looked like up close.

Yeah, I'm gone, and [erased words, barely discernible: 'that sucks'] it's strange to think of that mattering to anyone. But I feel like it does, like it would. I haven't had that in a while. I thought I'd be okay dying for something someone else told me to do, like that's what being part of something bigger meant, but it's not. I wasn't part of anything bigger in the army until I met Caleb and we had our squad. Then I was. Because people are the reason we keep going, and sometimes there's nothing bigger in the world than taking another step.

If I'm gone and you're reading this, you're part of why I'm okay with the idea of dying. That came out weird. Let me explain it better. I guess what I mean is, if this is as far as I get to go, you and Saga got me somewhere worth stopping at. So thanks. And you'd better keep at it until you get somewhere worth stopping at too.

I'd sign this but it wouldn't be [eraser marks so aggressive the paper is very slightly ripped] right. Saga can tell you that too if you want to know.

Take care, John Connor. Shit might be fucked up right now, but I'm pretty sure there's a lot more left for you to do.

PS. I know this is supposed to be a fortune teller or something but it's the best folding I can do.

To John

[hostileterritory]

Thanks, for giving my voice back. Tell Arthur I'll miss being surprised by the ways he can kick my ass.

To Saga

[hostileterritory]

You gave me back myself. Whatever else happens, that's more than I could have asked for.

Ps. Skull Island is still the best of those monster movies.