My name is Billy Evans. I am a very sick little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She is crying. The reason she is so sad is because I'm so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn't hurt, except when I try to breathe.
The doctors gave me an artificial body. It is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was the best they could do on account of us having no money or insurance.
Every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can take more prayers to the angels and my dream will be closer to coming true. Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don't want my leaves to rot and my body turn into mulch before I turn ten. If you can only send it to a few people at least maybe we can get a new bigger burlap bag for me as I get older.
If you can only send it to a few people at least maybe we can get a new bigger burlap bag for me as I get older.
If you don't forward this email, that's okay, I'll understand. But my Mommy says you're a mean and heartless bastard who doesn't care about a poor little boy with only a head. She says that if you don't stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you die a long slow, horrible death and then burn forever in hell. What kind of self centered cruel person are you that you can't take five FREAKIN' minutes out of your happy day to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame about ignoring a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy too?
Please help me. I try to be happy, but it's hard. I wish I had a kitty. I wish I could hold a kitty. I wish I could hold a kitty that wouldn't scratch and claw and chew on me and try to bury its turds in the leaves of my burlap body. I wish that very much.
Billy "Smiles" Evans