I was inspired to write this story after two friends of mine started a plot on their AU floater accounts on Tumblr. It had the pen pal element to it, so I'd have to say that spurred this whole concept. I feel the need to give credit where credit is due. But, I took my plot in an entirely different direction, making it so Eli is guilty of a crime, however unintentional it was. What was the crime? You'll find out in chapters to come. Each chapter will contain one letter, and will shift perspectives between Eli and Clare. This story might also have a rating change as the chapters go on, depending.

I've blabbed enough, enjoy. And please, if you have any critiques, don't be afraid to review it. I really love getting feedback and opinions on my writing to improve, so it would be greatly appreciated.

The springs in the bed kept pressing into Eli's back, adding to the minor case of scoliosis he had. He could only blame himself, as he'd spent the better part of his life hunched over in front of a TV, playing video games for hours on end. He had deemed it a decent way of living, using his gaming as a mini escape from the everyday, the mundane. Most of all, the bullies. The minute he'd get home after having run from his school, all the way to his home, he'd settle down in front of his Nintendo 64. There, nothing could chase him, batter him, or belittle him. For once, he managed to be in control of what happened, and that sated his need for control. That is, until things escalated to a point he couldn't have predicted.

He turned around, letting out a small groan of annoyance as one of the springs poked into his back uncomfortably. The time spent in between the four walls was beginning to become taxing to him. Though he could admit that life at home was hell, being wrongfully accused of a crime he certainly had no intention of committing was worse. The memories of the day it all came to pass were still fresh in his mind.

The punch to his gut that started it all. The slew of curse words spilling from his lips.

The swing of his fist to the side of Mike's face that decided it all.

Shooing the thoughts away, Eli once again turned, listening as the mattress squeaked beneath him. It was a quiet day, which wasn't usual in the center, but he cherished it while it lasted. A knocking at the side of his door shook him from his thoughts.

"Hey, Eli." his mentor said, peeking his head into the door that had been left ajar.

Eli sat up from his bed, a hand lifting to his neck to rub out the kink that had been created. "Yeah?" he replied, mild annoyance in his tone.

His mentor, formally known as Jack, was holding an envelope. "I know you're leaving in three weeks, give or take, but we included you in the anonymous pen pal event." With that, he handed Eli an envelope with the return address scribbled out thoroughly. He eyed it blankly, somehow not expecting to truly get a letter from anyone. The idea of corresponding with anyone at all was becoming foreign to him after being away for nearly a year, never mind by post.

"Here." he persisted, thrusting it gently into his hand, offering him a smile. "You've made a lot of progress, Eli. Let this be a little treat in the meanwhile. You'll be home soon."

The words made a chill run up Eli's spine, as he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to return home so soon. Too many skeletons locked up in that metaphorical closet of a town he'd left. Too many what ifs for his old life, and too many uncertainties about what would come. It set him on edge to dwell on it, so he decided not to.

With a nod of thanks, Jack returned the gesture and left, leaving Eli to the usual quietness of his room. His attention returned to the envelope, his eyes skimming over the clear writing on the front of it. The address of the center was printed in blue ink, curvy letters with curly ends adorning it. It was clearly a girl's hand that had written it, and the thought of speaking to any girl almost made him ache. After everything he'd gone through, he didn't know if he had it in him to speak to another again, at least so soon.

But a pen pal wasn't a commitment, nor was it an obligation. It could end any time he wanted, or she wanted. The latter made him feel uneasy, and this was before he could even open the damned thing and read the contents.

His fingers tore at the side of the envelope, opening up one end of it to slide the folded letter out. It was a single page, one sided. With curious eyes, he opened the folded paper, holding it out before him so he could read it.

Dear Stranger,

It's rather odd to be writing that. Actually, it's rather odd to be writing a letter at all. It's the technological age, shouldn't we be emailing or texting? I'm being facetious, but I can honestly say this is refreshing. I haven't written a letter since I was…ten, maybe? Perhaps even younger.

I'm going on a bit of a tangent, aren't I? You must forgive me for that, as I do it often. But you don't even know who I am, do you? I should probably fill you in on all the necessary but boring details of myself.

Already Eli's eyes were rolling at this girl's inability to stay on a subject, or rather, stay on the subject at hand. He found it endearing nonetheless. He skimmed over it, glad to see that he hadn't even covered three quarters of it yet.

I'm Clare. I'd give my last name, but for some reason I was told not to? I'll just chalk that up to the fact that we're strangers. Anyway, I'm Clare. I'm sixteen years old, and in grade ten. I suppose letting you know why I'm writing to you would also be helpful, yes? I'm in a youth group at church, and we're always doing little community service or charity projects. It's all volunteer based of course, but when this project was mentioned, I knew I wanted to do it. To write to a troubled youth in a juvenile correctional facility, to gain a better knowledge of what life is like for someone else. And, perhaps to make their day a little brighter, if I can. I've always liked the idea of having a pen pal, even if I've never actually given it a shot. So, stranger I'm writing to, I'm honored to be your pen pal for however long you'd like.

Maybe it'd be good to throw in a few more details, so we have more to discuss. I'll just run down the generic list of getting-to-know-you facts. I was born in April. April 9th. My favorite colour is periwinkle. I know, I know. Bizarre and very specific favourite to have, but it is. I'm 5'3 and a half. My favorite food is yogurt, strawberry to be specific. As far as academics go, I'd have to say I'm a dedicated, straight A student. English and literature studies comes the most easily to me. I'd have to say that I actually have a very strong passion for writing. I'm thinking about pursuing a career in Journalism. I know I must sound overly ambitious, seeing as though it's a competitive field, but it's my hope to make it.

In the way of family, I live with my mom and dad, and I have an older sister. She lived with us until she moved to Kenya, to do some work building schools and such for underprivileged children. I look up to her so much, you couldn't imagine. And I miss her terribly, my goodness. It's been a couple years since we've seen each other, but we talk as frequently as we can, at least once a week.

I've written quite a bit so far! My goodness, I can just go on and on sometimes, I hope you don't mind. I guess I should wrap this up though. I have to leave some things to the imagination, don't I?

I can't wait to hear from you, Mystery Pen Pal. Please do tell me your name when you reply, so I can stop referring to you as that. And feel free to include any and all facts about yourself that you want. As you can clearly tell, I did.

Until next time!

Clare

Beside her name sat the tiniest heart. Eli couldn't help but hang on it for a moment, a fond expression painting his features as he stared at it. Snapping himself out of his reverie, he placed the letter down on his bed carefully, reaching down into his drawer for his notebook. He tore a piece of paper out from it, then ripping off the loose edges, tossing them in the trash near his bed.

After snatching a pen off his table, Eli got to work on his reply to this girl, Clare. This girl who, for whatever reason, thought it wise to write to a juvenile detention center inmate. He could already tell that they were worlds apart, both physically and mentally, but that didn't deter him. As he began writing, he wore a grin, something he couldn't say had graced his features genuinely in quite some time.

He only hoped it would have something worthwhile to say, and that she would deem him worthy enough to keep writing with. It could be enough to carry him through the last few weeks, he realized. That alone was enough inspiration to put pen to paper once more, not to write and vent, but to speak. To actually speak to another person, however anonymous it was. Reading over her "Until next time!" was more than enough inspiration to begin writing furiously, the promise of continual correspondence looming large for him.