I own nothing.
Dear Chase Young,
You were always my hero. You lasted great Wars through out history. You saw people die for pointless things. I die because no one notices a weak, albino child. You saw what I could do. You saw what I was made of. And yet you did nothing because you knew. You knew I was slowly dying and no one could do anything. Thank you so much for letting me be. Thank you for not killing me for bothering you so much. Chase Young these are my last words. They were ment for the one I admired the most. These breaths are hurting me more and more. I managed to convince my parents to say one final goodbye. Same for the monks. When this letter reaches you, I will be in my bed with my very last breathes. To finish my letter, Chase Young, I, Jack Spicer, give you all of my personal belongings. If you do not want anything, give the things to the Xiaolin Monks. My final thank you for trying to help me with my "condition" is that I will be cremated, and it is up to you to decide what to do with me.
From,
Jack Spicer, troubled child genius
Chase Young stood in his study rereading the letter to be sure that it was real. He kept glancing at the light gray urn on the fireplace mantle, with teary eyes. His number one fan died a week ago, and yesterday the monks came with the urn. He wouldn't believe that he didn't even know the boy had a disease. He just pushed the boy away because he didn't want to get hurt. Chase knew that Jack would be reincarnated. Everyone was. Chase knew that the urn was going nowhere, but he kept thinking of places where Jack would love to be.