Hall 12

The Letter (REVISED)

I find it sitting on my pillow.

I've heard of people getting letters from family, but I never thought that I'd ever get one. It's not just a letter either, an entire box. There's no way Mr. Jones would send me this much, especially since I was a bit of a...handful, to say the least.

"What's that?" Smokey asks from where she's perched on my desk. "Did you get some stuff? Any food?"

"Of course that's your main concern," I say, teasing. I sit on my bed and cut the box with my nail, slowly opening it as Smokey watches intently.

"You've gotta be shitting me!"

"What, what's wrong?" Smokey asks, jumping from the desk and sitting next to me. "What's with the...that?"

"This," I say, holding up a tattered stuffed bunny, "is Samuel! He's the last thing left from my parents, he was one of the only things to survive the fire and I can't believe he's here, I thought Jones would've tossed him out!"

I'm almost crying with joy, holding Samuel close to my chest and hugging him. He feels soft, gentle on my skin and it smells like home. I place him in my lap, eager to go through the rest of the box.

There are a few letters from my Nan and a couple from some former drug buddies, a bag of various pieces of jewelry, and lastly...

"Oh my god," I whisper, pulling out the most shocking gift. Tears well in my eyes immediately, and I struggle to wipe them away.

"Who are they?" Smokey asks quietly, grabbing the picture from my hands. It's an old one, so old that it almost doesn't feel real.

"They're...that's my mom and dad. The ones who died in the fire, I thought I lost that picture but..."

Smokey instantly silences.

"I haven't seen them in so long, fuck," I mumble shakily, sniffling, "Christ, my mom was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Smokey nods, holding my kneecap as a way of support. "You're both gorgeous. You have your dad's eyes though."

I nod, feeling my lip quiver uncontrollably before I collapse onto Smokey, near-sobbing as I clutch Samuel. She holds me close and rubs my shoulder soothingly, keeping me steady and reminding me to breathe.

"I always gotta wonder, you know?" I tell her, hiccuping a little. "What if I never lost them, what if I had them to guide me? I wouldn't have been such a fuckup, right? Do you think they'll forgive me for this?" I ask, my fingers digging into Samuel as my entire body trembles with the sobs. "Do you think they'll ever love me?"

Smokey wipes a few of my tears, holding my face in her hands. "They always have and always will, Shakey. You make them so, so proud."

I cry harder, letting my sadness drown me and to make matters worse, I stare harder at the picture. Mom looked so happy. Dad never lost that smile. I was so innocent. Things were better, better than they would ever get.

"I found this at the bottom of the box, Shakey," Smokey says softly. "You don't have to read it yet, but-"

I'm snatching the letter from her hands before she finishes her sentence. I open it and begin reading the old handwriting.

It reads:

To our lovely Allison,

If you're reading this, it's because it's your fifteenth birthday! Our beautiful little girl has become so grown up, and we're sure that you've become everything we hoped you'd be. This may have been written a bit early (14 years too early!) but we know that you're just as wonderful as you are to us now, as a beautiful baby girl.

Allison, we are so proud of you. Since the day you were born, we knew you were destined to do beautiful things in this world. Your existence, your compassion, and your intelligence make you everything we had dreamed for, and we cannot thank you enough.

One day, a few weeks ago, you cried for three hours straight while you held Samuel in your little fist. While we tried so hard to figure out what was wrong, you were telling us all along. He had a tear! You watched with big, curious eyes as we fixed him, and flashed us a big old smile when we handed him back. We can only pray that you hold that sort of demanding, thankful nature as a young woman.

We know you're going through a tough transition from child to young woman, but we know you'll do great. The world is in your palm, Allison. Cultivate it's power.

Love from,

Mom and Dad ♡

I almost can't believe it. I almost try to wake myself up, or shake myself of the delusion or smack myself out of it. That's my mother's handwriting, and my father's signature and their words written on a piece of thin paper. It's one of the only things I have left of them.

"It's a beautiful letter, Shakey," Smokey tells me, "they loved you so much."

"I guess they did."

"They would've been so proud of who you became. Addict or not. I promise."

I don't respond. I don't bother. I just hold the letter close, and peer into the box one last time. A postcard lies on the bottom. When I pick it up, the words written make me stiff. They stop my heart. They stun me.

Greetings from Hall 20. You're next.