A plea for help

Strangers, friends, and good Samaritans:

This is Special Agent Dale Cooper. You may have seen or heard of me "living" in this place, casually referred to as a 'pet' or my current species, 'Hermit Crab'.

I'm not sure where to begin, and my time here is short. If you're reading this, I may very well already be dead. It has been days without food or water, and after Sylvia succumbed to these horrid conditions in the heat of the summer, I can only fear that the winter will be worse. Drastic situations call for drastic measures, so I am pleading for aid wherever it may be found.

The short one left this communication portal open. I've seen and heard the tall one with the immaculate phalanges communicate like this, and the language is not unfamiliar to me after my time at sea with many great scholars and explorers.

But that time has passed, and what will happen next is far too precious to tarry on about history.

While this note will more than likely take a slow moving creature like myself several hours to properly articulate, my resolve to survive, my faith, and my love for Sylvia will sustain me to the last alpha-numeric character.

In short, I need your help. My journey to this communication device was a long one, fraught with peril on all sides.

I miss the days of living in that plastic inverted dome where the woman fed us regularly. Yes, there were massive feline beasts watching our every move, but we were safe in the place the humans referred to as 'Punch Bowl'

Sylvia and I exchanged great stories, and learned a lot from each other about our adventures, our families, the wider arch of the cosmic drama, this planet, but most of all, love.

But she's gone now. All of that is gone.

For the first weeks alone, all I could do was mourn my loss. I tried on several occasions, I'm not proud to admit, to commit suicide. Unfortunately, my protective build made such attempts folly. It was only after I was taken from my prison to the wider realm of this domicile that my fervor for life and survival was rekindled.

All I have are my memories, my stories, and my desire to move on. These wretched merchants must have purchased us as slaves for their exotic collection. All around there are strange creatures, some seemingly human, some aquatic, many of a more morbid variety. Many were obviously petrified at an early age, and from the look of their weaponry would have grown to be mighty warriors, but now they are merely on display, sick playthings in a sick den of despair and depravity.

I'm not sure how I managed to escape the terrarium. Divine intervention, or outright delirium are my best guesses. I blacked out, and found myself on the ground-level.

In the long plains of the hall way, golden, aluminum structures strewn about carelessly have posed threats like I've never encountered in my centuries on this planet. The liquid inside, I found not to be life giving water, but some sort of intoxicating amber fluid that only quenched my thirst for a moment before I realized it would only make my problems worse. I would liken it to the lagers and ales of the Renaissance, only diluted in some sort of corrosive stinging water.

Everything's fading now... the walls move in patterns, shadows and ghosts of the mind are eroding my ability to stay coherent.

If you find this, avail me of my circumstances. The reward may seem to be nothing more than my companionship, but I bring good fortune to those that earn my respect or my gratitude.

I assisted Plato in the early days of his first lectures, gave Da Vinci notions of machines from other worlds that I found suitable for this environment, and went on Dolly Parton's first musical tour of the United States.

However, know this. If I am rescued, after I regain my health, I will use the gifts I have brought to your race to rain hell and vengeance down upon these ogres, these beasts of booze and late night escapades, loud noises and their juvenile artistic endeavors.

For my Sylvia, and before her, the lovely couple that took such good care of us in our time of need (for they were obviously slain or poisoned by that clear liquid, they haven't been seen since we were captured).

The skies will rain with their blood, and all that this place represents will burn to the ground with the structure itself.

Save me. Save us all. May God Bless you for any charity toward me that you find in your heart.

- Special Agent Dale Cooper, Hermit Crab

PS: If anyone knows the outcome of the last season of America's Next Top Model, I'd be most appreciative of a recap. These oafs aren't much for quality television.