In this new world so many strange things had happened. It was therefore not so strange for me to find that an envelope had appeared in my hand. I had not been aware of anyone placing it in my grasp. I smelt the paper and it was crisp and fresh. I had always loved the smell. Where I had come from? There were so few trees. Books and paper based literature were things that were held in museums, something regarded with almost divine reverence. I opened its folded creases and was transported into another world.
I saw the girl who had written it. The words on the page seemed to hint at who she might have been. I imagined that light shone through her hair and created a spider web of patterns. I saw her hand move with such dexterity as it traced her innermost thoughts onto the paper. She was happy and yet frail at the same time. I did not know this from looking at her, for there was little I could see, but I surely felt it. I saw her as if through a camera, fixed upon a single position, determined by some director. I saw her write and I saw her writing.