August 2, 1899
Dear Jack,
I'm out of The Refuge. Me, Crutchie Morris, did not die in there. You know this, I'm back on the penthouse with you right now. I can't believe it though. I'm out of there because we won the strike and The Spider got sent to jail and the place is shut down. All of the kids are free.
We're staying here in New York, too. I'm happy to just stay with you and the fellas, our family, and keep selling papes. No more Santa Fe. We're going to live here how we live here. A different place, no matter how clean the air, couldn't fix my leg. It's okay. How else would I be Crutchie?
I wish Frog had been able to get out too. I haven't told you about him yet or asked about the other letters I wrote though. I don't think I will. So I won't give you this letter, like the first one.
I really miss Frog. He was a real good pal.
I'm not sure what else to say. You won the strike. The Refuge is closed down. I can't really believe either one. I don't have to though, you're really happy to tell me and I like to hear it. It feels nice.
The end
Your brother,
Crutchie
YOU ARE READING
Santa Fe
FanfictionWe all know Crutchie was sent to The Refuge. This is the story of what happened there, written through letters. Trigger Warnings: young character death, abuse, imprisonment, referenced suicide, thoughts of suicide, neglect, mild cursing. I will post...
