To whom it may concern:
My name is Louis. Here I sit; in this tiny room; at this small wooden night table; amongst the shadows that hide between the spaces of light and my sanity; trying to write. Here I sit; staring, for the last time out a porthole of a window into a world of whose pleasures I will no longer experience. It is so quiet. If not for the faint pattering of rain droplets upon the pane of glass, I fear that I will surely go insane. If I am not already. Sunken, am I, in my mind's misery. …
