The doctor came in a while ago, he told me I was dying.

Like I didn't already know that, I had thought bitterly. I hadn't said anything, just shut my eyes. If I could of rolled over, away from him, I would have. The more I thought about the doctor's words, the more I began to realize: this was it.

I was only sixteen, and I was dying. If anyone had of told me yesterday that I'd be in this position, I would of thought they were crazy. I knew I was bad off. I knew, even the minute I was struck in the back, that I wasn't going to make it out of this alive. Premonition, I guess. I didn't want to die, but I had murdered a kid just a little over a week ago, and even if I did live, I'd be living with that. The burden of guilt. Guilt that I'd killed a kid, a kid that had so much going for him.

I thought about that some more, and I thought about the kids that Ponyboy and I had saved in the church yesterday. Was it really just yesterday?

It seemed so long ago.

The kids had something to live for though. Surely they had parents who cared about them, brothers and sisters maybe. Thinking about that, it was enough. Enough for me to say, I had a purpose in life.

I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had redeemed myself.

While I came to terms with everything, a nurse walked in. She came over to me.

"You need anything, hon?" she asked. She looked sad. I vaguely wondered if she also knew I was going to die soon.

"Yes," my voice cracked. "A piece of paper, and a pen."

XxXxXx

I wasn't exactly sure how to end the note, should I say goodbye, or just sign "Johnny"?

Your friend, Johnny

That sounded good. I took Gone with the Wind off the table next to me, and stuck the note in it. I prayed Ponyboy would get here before I was gone, I needed to tell him something. I needed to see him..one last time..