It’s Saturday, July 21st, 1946. The sun shining so damn bright that it almost blinded me when I woke up, and the sky the type of deep blue that Allie gets a kick out of. You’d probably love Allie, he’s this real smart, real funny kid and-- well, I guess it doesn't actually matter. Because Allie’s dead, he’s dead. The hospital I'm staying in is white, all white. White walls, white floors, white beds, white lights. It's enough to make a guy lose his mind. Whenever I look down at my screwed up hands I almost expect them to be some sort of sanitary, paper white too-- like those pill bottles with the big warnings on the side. I got thrown in here a couple days ago; I sort of forgot how long it's exactly been. It’s like some insane asylum here, I…show more content… I will be back. Oh, I forgot to tell you, but Allie left me another thing before he died: a letter. It's folded very carefully in my pocket right now; I don't know how I still have it, but I guess I must've saved it from getting blood stained because it's still perfectly untouched. I’ve read and reread it at least a thousand times since I woke up here. It's been a bit of a pain, folding it back up every time-- but it's the last thing Allie ever really said to me, and I’d break all the damn bones in my body to keep it pristine. I’m not religious, but I hope Allie went somewhere nice. I hope he’s happy with it. I hope that, somewhere, he’s playing all the damn baseball he wants and reading all the poems he can dream of and I hope he’s not missing being alive too terribly. Allie was my little brother, my best friend, and my greatest joy, and I miss him every single day. So, with trembling, broken, bleeding hands, I unfold the letter-- and this is what I read, for the thousandth
