Letters to Hawthorne 1: Introductions
I hope you don’t mind that I have chosen to write to you. We didn’t get to talk much during the Red War, or rather my Ghost did the talking for me. So let me introduce myself again. My name is Nyannet-7. Scratch that, my designation is Nyannet-7. My name is lost somewhere in the reboots before the light woke me. My ghost found me, one of the ancient dead lying in the scrap fields outside the Cosmodrome what seems like yesterday.
I guess that is why I’m writing to you, the life of a Guardian is mostly spent abroad, and friendships are often forged under fire and all to often fleeting. Anyone that I could have written to is long dead, though I know not where or who. I get glimpses sometimes, a song, a face that looks familiar, a scent, and I remember something from before the collapse, when I was flesh and blood and bone.
The Farm reminded me of my humanity and I have you to thank for that. It was a refreshing change, a calm amidst a storm. I wanted to hold on to that Hawthorne. You don’t have to respond, its enough for me to write. Perhaps that’s selfish, I know you’re busy and I don’t want to impose. I mostly wanted to leave something behind that’s not tied to an engram or carved into a database. Just some pieces of paper to prove that I was real.
If you did feel like writing back I would ask you a question, Suraya Hawthorne: When you sleep, of what do you dream?