Write a Fan Letter

There hadn't been one in her room, so it had taken Fred four trips down the stairs, in the early hours of morning to find everything she needed. She'd tried late at night first, falling back of old habits that sent her scurrying through farms and shacks and homes with a desperate sense for survival. Of course, she'd stopped short, head barely clearing the stairwell at the sight of the activity bustling downstairs.

Didn't these people sleep at night? She might have forgotten a lot of things through the years. The smell of clean, the way whipped cream can tickle your tongue in that airs way, even her own name. But at least she still knew that nighttime was for sleeping. Or at least listening for the things that weren't, curled up in your bed all the same.

But no, they didn't sleep. At least not then. She waited and watched, and observed a sort of early morning exhaustion that struck them all. The hotel fell quiet, and that's when she took action. Pens, and more pens...because she didn't need paper but everything was so empty and she knew it would take a lot to fill it up. Her head was spinning and Fred needed to make sense of it. Desperately. There was food, and water, and even a weapon or three. The important things.

Finally, she had everything. And what followed was simple enough, at least to her.

The wall was blank, and then it wasn't.

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