Next victim

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The will to survive will always triumph.

Submitted: February 28, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 28, 2012



He didn’t even look human anymore, with all of those wires and tubes coming out of him, as if he were plugged into the wall, using the electrical current to survive. He had one divided  nasal-cannula in both nostrils, pumping 5 liters of oxygen into his lungs. It pained me to look at him. All he did was stare at me, his eyes weary from the morphine. His face was the worst thing to see. His mouth was open, lips dry, skin grayed, every bone visible underneath his thin membrane that was once skin.
I watched the life leave his eyes, the worst thing any person could ever go through.  As his grip on my hand weakened, I stared into his big drowsy sockets. Tears rolled down his face, and I knew he still was conscious enough to know what was happening to him. Death was visible in the air. He broke his gaze from me and stared at his feet hidden beneath the thin blanket that coated him. His eyes filled with terror, so I lifted the blanket to see what was causing this fear in him. Grayish-purple replaced the once beige colored skin on the tops of his feet. I looked back at him, and if he could speak, I know he’d be screaming. I looked back down and realized what had caused the sudden emotional change in him. Within the few seconds I had taken to gaze upon his sunken face, the grayish-purple had crept up to his calves, and the closer I watched, the faster it came. I screamed for the doctors, not wanting to accept what was happening. The circulation in his body was halting, feet first. As the color continued towards his abdomen, the grip in his hands tightened and then went limp. I looked and the color of death had reached the tips of his fingers. I watched as it crawled up his throat, to his nose, and eventually to his eyes. It was there I saw the life leave him. His eyes, once as blue as the pacific, turned gray and hollow. The man I once knew was gone.
Moments later, the medical staff arrived, asking me to leave, but I refused. I held his hand and wept. The doctor put the stethoscope on the man’s chest, and pronounced his death at 4:09am, and left us alone, closing the curtains behind him.
I gazed at the clock, watching the second hand tick-tock, until it stopped. It was then, I felt a pulse weak in the fragile hand I was holding. I stared at his wrist, convincing myself it was my own beating heart, then I looked upon his face. His eyes no longer gray, but that pacific blue stared into me. My heart started to race, and I felt my chest getting heavy. My arm started to numb and spots surrounded my vision. The bluer his eyes became, the more pain I felt.
The last thing I remember, before becoming death’s next victim, was a young man, with pacific blue eyes, leaning over me, in a white hospital gown. 

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