He tried not to think about how he and Charlotte were the only people not yet infected, how the cure hurt people even worse, how Mr.
Smiley seemed to be getting more and more desperate with his “up lifting” messages, Sal was coming back, he heard Charlotte’s music and it was as special as she had described it in her letter. friend?įor awhile things went along he got letters, he played his games, he looked out the window, Mr. And he still wasn’t happy, but at least he had another. Smiley that.Īnd then Charlotte’s first letter came, on pretty pink floral stationery and in a flowing, beautiful cursive writing. He wasn’t happy, he didn’t think, but he didn’t (couldn’t even if he had wanted to) tell Mr. The letters gave him a temporary joy, he supposed, but while he was waiting he felt sadness and even still, loneliness, creeping up on him. He would never get to see anyone he knew ever again. He was stuck here, in this prison, for the rest of his life, it seemed. Smiley himself, but then again, the other man only cared about him for his own safety. Sure he had Sal’s letters, and a brand new game system, and to some extent he had Mr. Money.Īnd then the question of was he happy? Was at the forefront of his mind when the letters came. Blackmail, he thought bitterly, and he began to harbor a grudge for Mr.
At first it was why would a random guy send a person he doesn’t even know messages to stay happy? That was soon answered by the letter from Mr. “You have to stay happy,” the messages would plead. One from his “happy buddy” who sent him borderline hysterical messages in a shaky font, nothing like Salvador’s distinguished writing. It was the letter that came after that that was new. The next few letters were probably also from Sal before he signed off for a little bit. He was glad that Sal got to do even a little of what he wanted before his death. “One day I’ll be a famous explorer, you’ll see!” He had exclaimed once when they were children.
The other had always had a knack for exploring. Sal and him had been friend's for as long as he could remember. At the words of his friend, far, far away on a journey, his heart lit up and he smiled for the first time since his imprisonment. And for that time, even if it was only half a day, all he felt was empty.Īfter everything that had happened, he had lost track of who had sent the first one, but he was fairly sure it had been Salvador. There was nothing here, so high up and isolated, with only a small window and the slits in the door to interact with the outside. It seemed that for while all he knew was a crushing loneliness that filled up that empty cell of his more than he ever could.
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