He lays in the same spot, everyday, every morning, evening, and night. Handicaped in the same spot is all he is good at, in fact. Never sitting up, food is brought to him, test tubs and needles are surrounding him, in him, all around him. He is alone. Alone in a white played room. Unaware of his surroundings. Alone where he doesn't think, doesn't speak, and doesn't feel. No one comes to visit him, Shallow ones when they have to. Everyone carrying on with their lives, time still ticking. Alone in the same room. Alone in that very room for 9 years. Shouldn't somber fill this un-awakened man up? Shouldn't he beg for eyes to see and ears to hear and be woken up by his self conscience?
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The clock ticks. It ticks and lets him know how he's spending his life and his last days. He can hear, but all it is the clock ticking, & his lungs breathing, a faint sound of a television near by ever once in awhile. Its familiar to him, a reminder that it was the last sound he had heard before he went down into a never ending sleep.
And now, footsteps approaching.
