Dear Me,

If you’re reading this, then it’s to late for me and my World 318. I can only hope you’ll survive. This will be a lot to take in, but I know you can get through it. I know because I did, and you’re me. Let’s just dive right in then. Your reality is one in a infinite universe. Mine is World 318, and if you’re reading this, then your world is World 319. I’m the Katherine Brown from my world, and you’re the Katherine Brown from yours. And your in danger. A blight, a terrible plague is spreading across the multiverse, consuming anything in its path and leaving ashes and dust behind. It’s already on my world, and if you’re reading the this it’s already on yours as well. My advice- run or fight. If you run, run like the devil’s behind you. But if you fight, hold your sword high and swing until your last breath.

- You

My hand shook as I read the letter I had received two months earlier. Drops of blood spilled on the singed paper as I shudders a breath.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, my voice like a heaving cough. “I tried. I fought, and I promise I fought till my last breath.” A tear ran down my cheek, wiping away some of the grime. “But I lost.”

And I had lost. Lost everything to the plague, and not just me. My world. World 319.

The air was thick with smoke as I laid there, trapped under the ruble. Skyscrapers were turned on their sides, showering the world with broken metal and glass. Small fires dotted my view, eating everything up in a hungry laugh. When the end of the world hit, I always pictured there would be screaming and cries. I was wrong. Instead it was just silence, and a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I found myself wishing there were screams, anything that let me know there were other survivors then me. But even I knew I was kidding myself. There was no one left.

I grimaced, shifting in my position. Searing pain shot through my body like an electrical shock. A shard of hot glass was stuck in my side, and the rubble felt like it was about to turn me into a Katherine pancake.

I inhaled sharply.

They called it a plague, but in that moment I knew it wasn’t. The “plague” wasn’t some illness that wiped out people. It was a burning disaster that killed worlds. But I knew why the other me had called it that. A small mercy blinding me from what’s to come.

It was time.

Gritting my teeth, I cried out as I pulled a small pen and notebook out of my pocket. I’d kept it on me at all times since I got the letter. Up until now I never really knew why. Now I did.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself one last moment before I surrendered. Then I began to write.

To me,

If you’re reading this, then it’s too late for me and my World 319...