Homeland

Letter Two

Citudaolle,

            Today is the third day in the twelfth month two thousand years after the humans' 'savior' died.  You should know this, because your job is to keep track of the other worlds outside of your world, but I felt it important to remind you.  There are twelve months in a year.  Fifty-two weeks in a year.  Three hundred sixty five days in a normal year.  It is the 13th day of the last month of the 2000th year after their 'savior' died.  And as you know, every universe counts the days, hours, minutes, and seconds in the same amount of time.  It is so amusing, though.  The humans have come up with such a thing as a nanosecond.  It is one billionth of a second.  It is so odd.  What is the point of counting so small, anyway? 

            Sometimes I think the human race is slightly stupid.  There are times that I think your world is better.  Do not gasp, or laugh, or do whatever victory dance you made up yesterday.  I am not blind to the truth.  Neither am I sticking up for your world.  So sit down and continue reading.

            Yes, I remember your happy dances (the humans have come up with a name for your meaningless prancing.  Which further emphasizes my low opinion of their overly expansive vocabulary).  I remember how you would jump up and shout and yell for a while when I agreed with you on some trivial topic.  I remember I used to think it was sweet, that you so highly valued my opinion.

            But anyway, I do have a point I want to make for this letter.  It has been about seven hundred years since I was exiled from your world.  You know, the humans have a name for it.  Your world.  The story does not quite fit, as we have no Satan and are ruled by no God (though I think your ruler would like to make himself one), but they say demons live in Hell.  Demons wreck havoc on whoever and whatever they can.  We are demons.  Therefore, you live in Hell.  I have escaped from Hell.  You have no idea how fitting the name is. 

            Based on the date, I escaped from Hell 700 years ago.  Do you miss me?  Do you think of me every day?  I'm sure you do.  The potion they fed us has not worn off on me, and I doubt it has worn off you.

Humans call it a love potion.  In their stories, the people who drink the potion never have

a good ending.  I just thought I would let you know.

Khlamuherguetora

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Yay!  Letter two!  Sorry I took a while to upload, my computer went berserk and descided to delete all my files.  Then I went berserk, and I drove my family berserk so... thank you to a certain genius in my family that retrieved my files, and thank you green-tea for putting up with my berserk-ness.