K: Hey.
A: What.
K: You wanna write a memoir?
A: In here?
K: Well we've got pen and paper and way too much time on our hands. Sounds like the perfect thing to do.
A: ...Why not. Sounds more productive than trying out what would be the least painful and easiest way to kill ourselves in here.
K: Do we need a prologue?
A: I guess.
K: Hm. How's this?
Letting a couple of kids barely out of high school and desperate to pay for college tuition lead large-scale war on beings threatening our past, present, and future was probably a bad idea.
But holy fuck.
We were getting paid for this shit.
And that's what mattered.
K: Sound good? I feel like we need like a more serious follow up that foreshadows what's gonna happen.
A: Why the fuck do we need foreshadowing in a memoir? It's literally just a recollection of our lives.
K: Dunno, something about storytelling that we learned in Language Arts and forgot.
A: Not easy to remember that kinda shit when we're struggling to not eat the pen and paper we're writing with/on right now...here.
Or at least that's what we thought when we started out.
But sometimes things don't end in the same spirit that they started with, right?
So if this shitty little sentimental collection of ours ever finds its way out of this place and to whoever you are, we would highly appreciate it if you took the time to read it.
K: Perfect.
A: Thanks.