Death. All I wanted was death. But for some reason, it wouldn't come.

It's been seven weeks since I was taken from my brothers. I haven't cried in three weeks, and I haven't slept for more than ten hours in the past four weeks.

I was just praying for death to come. At least then I'd be with family and friends. I'd see Mom and Dad and Johnny and Dallas. Then I could feel love. By now, I've forgotten what being loved feels like.

One day, during the fifth week, I thought I heard Darry and Soda calling my name. But I figured it was just my imagination brining me false hope, so I ignored the sound.

I was literally dying. I was numb to what was going on around me. I didn't even know what my voice sounded like anymore because I never used it. I looked like a ghost. My face was pale an bony, like the rest of me. I didn't eat, sleep, or talk. I hardly did anything anymore.

One day, I felt worse than usual (which is saying a lot). So I didn't go to school. I didn't expect anyone to notice or care, so I didn't tell anyone.

But much to my surprise, Mrs. McCool came into my room later that day.

"Ponyboy, why weren't you in school today?"

"I didn't feel well." I mumbled, my voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Well, you should have told the nurse and she would have given you something. Then, you could have made it to school."

"I don't care about school."

"Do you care about anything anymore?"

"No."

She sighed. "Pony, it's been seven weeks now. When are you going to start living again?"

"When I'm in my own home."

"We've been through this, Pony, you're not going home for at least three years."

"Then I won't live for three years, if I make it that long."

"Pony, you are in a wonderful place right now. Why can't you see that?"

Then, I exploded. Standing up, I yelled, "Because I had a great place to live! Then you took me from it! You took me from my family, my friends, and the only home I'd ever known! It's killing me! KILLING ME! Why can't you see that?"

She backed up a step.

"I'm sorry, Pony. I know how difficult this is for you. . ."

For some reason, I couldn't hear the rest. I grabbed a hold of the bed post to keep me from swaying. The last thing I heard was Mrs. McCool yell, "Are you even listening to me!"

Then, I fell to the ground. And that was the last thing I remembered.