Hoping this letter is still legible, after 80 years in the agreed upon place for communications. If, indeed, you even exist. I have to tell you I’m in a bind.
I know, we agreed that, in going back to 1934 in the time machine we invented, I would have to be super careful not to do anything that might change the course of events, that I was to be an observer only, and that the only way to do that was to be as inconspicuous as possible. We thought that should be easy enough, given my natural tendency to disappear into the wallpaper.
Well, something has come up, and I need you to transfer me back to 2014 ASAP.
Remember how we made sure I had plenty of money, and how we thought ordinary dollars would be fine, since the dollar was the same currency then as it is now (or in my case, now as it will be then, or something)? Well, we forgot something.
See, I’m in prison for trying to pass counterfeit currency. Not only that, but I’m a laughingstock for making such obviously fake bills, that they had colors other than green, and were dated in the 21st century.
Actually, not a complete laughingstock. Some people here believe I’m from the future, and are working to spring me, convinced I’ve been sent here to save them. From what isn’t clear, but there it is. Then there are others, who I suspect are completely capable of imprisoning me and capitalizing on this by forging writings they will purport to have come from me. I know, I know, I can’t write a thank you note to Aunt Sally, let alone a book, but nobody knows that here.
So I’m caught in this situation where, to keep from inadvertently making a big whoopsie change to the future (where you and I live, or, rather, where I used to live, and you may not ever have even been born), I have to try to convince people that I’m not really from the future. Of course, that would mean I’m a counterfeiter, and not a very good one at that.
Already, I’m anything but inconspicuous, but, can you imagine if they manage to spring me?
Please, please, bring me back immediately. If you don’t do it soon, I’ll be stuck here, and, who knows, I might become the center of some kind of weird cult, or something.
In sincere hope you’ll find this,
L. Ron Hubbard