The 17th of April 1999 – Staten Island, New York

(found by a bucket of water and some twitching remains)


Who’d have dreamt up this, and sue as hell, you know I’ve done a lot of dreaming. But who’d have dreamt this up?

I can’t feel anything anymore. My fingers are numb, and my toes. I remember when I first got to this place, how rough the stone was on the walls and how smooth the grout was in between the stones that were on the walls. And the floors! I would have sent you letters about the floors! Except I couldn’t get my hands on a piece of paper. Except I hadn’t figure out how to do any writing. But now I have this penknife, and I have plenty of ink.

But now it’s ending. The man with the hose says he’s all out of food, and he’s soon going to run out of water. The asylum got shut down is what he says. So he took the others, saying that they would come back soon, but maybe with food. But they haven’t come back yet – any of them – and there’s no more food.

I’ve seen him with a big knife, big long knife. Butchering a pig.

So I’m here in the dark, hopefully you get to read this, know that there was a chance, that your boy didn’t need to be abandoned like you did.

I’m here in the dark, and my hands and feet are numb and the clothes I wear are wearing through. I think. I think they are. They should be, at this time – at least I’d imagine that they are. It feels like it’s been long. I think that it’s been long.

But here I am. I can hear footsteps.

See you soon.




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