Iz Me, from Space

This is for Heather Hubler's 'Write me a letter' Challenge. This came outta NOWHERE. Go check out the fine lady's Challenge here!

***

Hey, you!

...I forgot your name.

I have unwillingly unequivocally (I don't know what that word means, by the way, but I just add extra words to sound smart) ended up in the predicament of being stuck in outer space. How did I get up here? How am I going to send you a letter from space? Why am I currently writing this while in the bathtub?!

That last one, I don't quite have an answer for.

But I do have questions to answer the other answers in your he-- uh, I do have answers to answer the other questions in your head! And I can totally read your mind from the stratosphere! By the way, is this the stratosphere? I have no clue. I'll have to ask Siri.

So, if you're wondering who I am, I met you at a public... meeting... convention... thing... a few years back. Or maybe it was a lotta years back. To be honest, I don't really remember. I'm having trouble remembering things. And for some reason, you gave me your address!

Or was it your number?

Ah, who cares! I found out personal information either by hacking the main server system of the Internet or just... being a regular sociable kid.

But I forgot your name. But you also probably maybe forgot mine! So my name is Chloe. And your name is [please enter your name here once you get the letter!]!

[smudge]

Ignore that. I'm eating some chocolate... while in the bathtub... and stuck in space.

So how did I get here? I'll tell you how! I was accidentally shipped in a container... no, I mean I was strapped to a rocketship... no, I was sent in a space care package to the astronauts... no, I was... I'm... I'm on a mission to...

Um... ok, whatever-your-name-is. I actually don't remember how I got into space. See, I must be slowly losing my memory, because I do not remember your name, nor what you look like, nor how I got here five hours ago, but I do remember your address, for some reason, out of everything important I could remember. But actually, I suppose remembering your address is the most important thing, because then this letter will reach you.

I hope there's a space postal service, otherwise she'll never get this!

So, you might be wondering what to do with this letter once you get it. Well, to tell you the truth, I am writing this (in the bathtub eating chocolate) hoping that you will take up the initiative and rescue me, the kid you met at the convention-meeting-human-thingy several years ago, by strapping a rocket to your back-- I mean, getting strapped to a rocket and flying out into outer space.

Don't tell me you can't pay for that! When I met you, you were like a millionaire! ...Or something. What is your job, actually?

Be like Mr. East, or whatever that rich guy's name is. (Do you know it? What is it? Mr. Feast... Mr. Keast... Mr. Peast... Please tell me once you come and rescue me.)

I suppose if you're coming to rescue me that I should tell you my whereabouts. Well, currently I am stuck up in the space residency... or "space shuttle," as you fancy experts call it, up in... space.

You know where space is, right? It's above Earth. Like, way above. Probably like 10 feet or so. Definitely not any miles. (Which is longer, feet or miles? I think feet.)

I'm right by the moon. Just swing a left. Or a right. Bring a compass, because I'm bad with directions. Turn left before you end up hitting Mars and you should make it to me... By the way, when you get to Saturn, could you pick up some of those rings for me? I'd like to use one of them as a halo for my angel costume this Halloween. If it's not too big of an ask, of course.

Oh, and also, when you come to rescue me...

can you please bring me some Oreos?

Thank for everything, um... Beather? Leather? Meather...? Feather...?

-Chloe, space orphan