"I'll tell you the truth. Seventy-five percent
chance of living, yet you never know what
life throws at us though I do
believe that she has a mild concussion.
Her eyes are empty of life but her body
still breathes. Please wait here, sir, please."
Words pour across my ears,
entering through one and
rushing out of the other.
no, no, no.
Light as a feather, floating through the
whispering air; gravity lost control
and life didn't play fair.
"She's pregnant, yet weak. Did she tell you
that she has back problems? Her spine is damaged
from physical impact. Do you know who or what
could have done that? It'll be incredibly hard
for her to give birth. In the end,
whose life are we saving?"