Dear journal,

     I don't know what happened. . . One moment he was staring at me with the fakest smile yet, and next he was on the floor.

     He ran up to me and started to say, " I don't want to go—" and then he gave me this weirdly big smile and just stared at me. I can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner.

    He couldn't speak to me. And now I'm in the hospital. God, this brings back horrible memories. The doctors have him right now, but I hate being here.

    I held him in my arms while the ambulance sped to us. My dress is covered in the blood he coughed up. Then he passed out and they took him into the emergency room. I'll. . . I'll write more when they bring me more news.

     The nurse just came out to tell me he's stable. They think he had a stroke, but the nurse explained that they didn't think that could happen to someone so young and fit. Heh, young. It's been awhile since someone called me that.

     There was evidence of blood clotting, but it's mysteriously gone away. The doctor's are all freaked out, but I know that this was no natural phenomenon. It can't have been. If I wasn't so worried, I'd laugh. Of course. He said he wouldn't leave, and he left. Just like everyone else. That sounds selfish, I'm sorry.

     They let me visit him earlier. Some people say that death makes people look as thought they're sleeping, but I know better. And I knew the moment I saw him, that Daniel is not dead. He still has color in his cheeks and the machine's constant beeping insured a heartbeat, albeit slow.

     His hands are cold and he isn't waking up. When I first walked in, my heart stopped for a moment. I thought he was transparent, but he's just paled. What a horrible thought. . . To think that he could fade if his condition is critical enough.

     I wasn't awake for it, but Daniel tells me that after my car crash, we all started to fade. Darryl and Julia did too. I imagine all versions of myself did. I am the original. . . Unfortunately, I know what would happen if Daniel were to ever fade. . . Not like I'd want to talk about that.

     [The writing gets sloppier]

     I am writing with my left hand now. I'm holding Daniel's hand with my right one. He's so cold. I know you're probably thinking that I should go around to the other side of the bed and sit there so I can write with my dominant hand.

     Well, distressed reader, I can't. We have been put into a very tiny room. The doctors pity me, so they've given us a free room to stay as long as we'd like. They're going to treat him normally and give me a 50% discount in the spirit of Christmas.

Heh, what a gift. I'm very appreciative, but nothing could make this better. No one. . . Could change this horrible feeling in my gut.

Daniel isn't waking up. Szent-este is in 3 days. I will not leave his side. I plan to sleep in this chair every night until he wakes up.

     I refuse to give up on my brother.

-Hungary