Dear Barbara,

I apologize for this letter taking so long to reach you, but things out on the mountainside have been rough these past few weeks. Our radio was destroyed when the plane crashed and nobody can get a cell phone signal out here. Not really a surprise, but still disappointing.

We’ve been forced to wait for the occasional mountain hawk to come by so that we can strap a message to its leg in the hopes that it reaches civilization. You should feel fortunate; this last round, it came down to this letter to you or a scroll listing a rough estimate of our coordinates made by the surviving co-pilot. It probably would have been a lost cause had I not killed him before he had a chance to show anybody else the scroll. Whew! And, as a bonus, he was fat, so we have food for at least another four or five days!

I, of course, have no way of knowing how close the mountain hawk will get to delivering this, so I’ve included my own scroll of mailing instructions in case a rando finds this. To rando: please see attached scroll. I tried just telling the hawk where to fly, but he wouldn’t make eye contact and so I fear he didn’t comprehend.

Anyway, enough about me and my stuff. How are things? I’ll assume you said “good” or “really good.” But enough small talk. I’ll get to my point, since I have limited writing space. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve met someone. Her name is Fay and she was one of the flight attendants.

For the first week or so, you were all I could think about, to the point where it would disturb the others when I would yell your name while masturbating. I’d think about your body, your athletic thighs and stomach, your breasts, and occasionally even your face.

But time started passing and rescue didn’t seem to be anywhere on the horizon, so I started to get to know some of the people here. You would probably really like some of them. It’s such a diverse group. There was an old guy who was actually a band player for Perry Como back in the early ’50s. We killed him and ate him a week or two ago, but he had some great stories which we continue to tell as our own. There was another girl who wrote crossword puzzles for the New York Times. We ate her too, but not before we got her to write out a couple of one-of-a-kind puzzles to keep us busy.

What’s a five letter word for dinner? “Diane.” Haha, we get a kick out of that one.

And then there’s Fay. I can’t really explain what happened. When you’re forced to spend so much time with someone, especially in such an intimate setting, maybe it’s natural for something like this to develop. Kind of like what happened to those partners on Dancing With the Stars, except with more cannibalism.

We do have a lot in common, though. I’m an accountant, she’s a writer on Sesame Street…so both of our jobs involve numbers. We’re both allergic to calzones or calzone-flavored foods. We both hate saddling horses. We’ve both developed a taste for human flesh. It’s those little things that really start to add up, y’know?

I could lie to you and say we haven’t had sex, but I won’t. Because we did. And it was super good, despite all the physical trauma we suffered in the crash. Nothing makes a gaping leg wound feel better than a layer of snow to numb the pain and a good orgasm. I hope that’s not too uncomfortable to share, but I feel like you deserve honesty and I really have nobody else to talk about this stuff with.

Anyway, I really thing we have a future together. Fay and I, not you and I. Just to be clear. We’re down to seven of us here, and I think everyone’s leaning towards Asshole Steve in the next “Who Do We Eat?” vote…so, barring a sudden hawk shortage, I should have enough time to get that scroll of coordinates out before we have to turn on each other for survival. I would include it on this hawk, but two scrolls is already asking a lot for a single bird. We don’t want to develop a reputation as “the people with tons of scrolls,” y’know?

If we DO have to turn on each other, I’m confident I can overpower her with my man strength, at which point I may ask you to disavow this letter as the crazed ramblings of a man suffering from mild hypothermia and a fair amount of blood loss. But until that happens…yeah. I’m with Fay now.

Don’t wait for me. I’m confident you’ll find someone else who will appreciate those athletic thighs and breasts as much as I did. We had a magical four dates and I’m sorry we weren’t able to make it to a fifth. I was going to take you to a make-your-own stir fry place.

It looks like everyone is gathering by the fire to divy up the pilot meat, so I better let you go. Wish me luck and I’ll try and look you up if/when/if I make it back!

Love, but not like that,

Harold

P.S. I’m sorry for the texture of these scrolls. We ran out of paper awhile ago, so I had to use some leftover skin from the old guy and a Sharpie I found. Talk about unique stationery! You can forward it to his family if you want, but I don’t really know his full name. Dave something? Roger maybe? Also, black out that part about us killing and eating him and that joke I just made about the stationery. Thanks, you’re the best!