[ WP ] Humans have made contact with extraterrestrial life . You have been given the responsibility of writing the first letter of contact to the extraterrestrials .

The government had obtained very little information on our newly-found friends. What information they did have was said to be very important, though. They knew that the extraterrestrials were extremely smart, could read, write, speak, and understand any language, and were able to identify many things in the Universe with minimal information. How this knowledge on the alien lifeforms was obtained was classified, but we were guaranteed that this form of communication was a necessity. 
 
 I was chosen to be the first. With a PhD in English, Psychology, and Linguistics, as well as many noted awards and friends in high places, they said I had the privilege. *Privilege*. That's what they called it. So there I was, sitting at a dimly lit wooden desk at 4 AM with a quill in hand, thousands of miles from my family. Behind me, countless professors, scholars, and *worthy* people standing in line. But I... I was the first. As I stared at the one-way mirror to my left, wondering what incompetence could be going on behind it, a droplet of sweat rolled down my cheek. Why was I so nervous? This was obviously ridiculous, unneeded, and just plain *stupid*, right? No directions. No orders, save for one. 
 
 Turning my head back to the table, I dipped the quill in the vial of ink and pressed it to the parchment. The room fell silent as I began my stroke, and I could feel the eyes of the thousands waiting, gazing in my direction. They were probably as confused, eager, and dumbfounded as I was. This made no sense. No sense at all. Despite that, I did as I was told. When I was finished, the official surveying my progress from the back of the desk nodded, which I knew as my cue to get up and leave. As I walked through the darkness, passing the line of seemingly endless individuals, I wondered what would come of this whole ordeal. What did the aliens want? Were they really that intelligent? Was this all really necessary? In any case, my letter kept racing through my mind, over and over, over and over. What would become of it? What would they do with it? 
 
 I was sent back home immediately on a private jet. I assumed this was a special case, but had no way of knowing. Dropped off close to home, I walked in the house around 6:30 AM. As I closed the door, I heard slow footsteps coming from upstairs. Turning the corner on the stairs, my wife was dragging her feet to greet me, somewhat knowing what had happened. I was n't told to keep anything a secret; what did I know, anyway? She greeted me as much as she could, hair disheveled and her nightgown half-open. 
 
 `` So... welcome home, honey. What happened? What was that all *really* about?'' She yawned as she hugged me, and her breath smelled as bad as it always did when she did n't brush. 
 
 `` They wanted me to write... a letter. A letter, that was going to go to extraterrestrial beings.'' As she heard the longer word in that sentence, her eyes widened and she let me go in surprise. 
 
 `` Wait, what? What? Extra... what are you saying? We're not alone? Wait. You? A letter? What did you write?!'' She was awake now, almost in a state of panic. I put my hands on her shoulders, with enough strength to let her know she had to calm down. 
 
 `` I do n't know anything, dear. I really do n't. All they wanted was a letter. So I gave them what they wanted.'' 
 
 `` Well, then, what in God's name did you write?!'' She lowered her voice as she said'God', realizing it was Sunday and she'd probably wake the kids if she kept speaking at the same volume. 
 
 `` W.'' 
 
 She looked at me, dumbfounded; probably looking like what I looked like when I was asked to write one letter on a piece of parchment with a quill, using ink, that would be somehow sent to extraterrestrial beings. 
 
 ``..What?'' 
 
 `` W.'' 
 
 `` I...'' 
 
 `` I know. I do n't know... I'm going to bed.'' 
 
 Letting go of her shoulders, I kissed her on the cheek and made my way toward my room, thinking of my'W', what it could turn into, and what the hell was the point of all this in relation to the aliens.
