Slowly sinking, wasting. Crumbling like pastries. And they scream the worst things in life come free to us.
he stands there at the door, fighting for his breath.
everything seems to be happening in slow motion.
the doctor checking her pulse,
and then shaking his head no.
she's gone.
but-
no, she can't be.
she isn't dead.
this isn't fair.
maybe they didn't look properly.
it's not over yet.
it can't be.
they have to do something. Don't they?
after all, they are the experts...
'wake her up', he said.
but it just came out as a feeble whisper,
Like a solitary snowflake,
That disappears from view,
No sooner that it comes to life.
'wake her up, goddammit!'
a scream,
a call for help.
'I SAID BRING HER BACK!'
but why doesn't anyone do something?
he runs to her
and begins shaking her.
unaware of the blood
that now soaked his clothes too.
not even a single tear escaped his eyes,
and somewhere in the chaos of the room,
he wondered,
If it was even possible to cry
when you can't feel a thing?
suddenly, two strong hands grip his shoulders
and gently lead him out of the room.
'it won't change a thing, sir'
they tell him.
as if,
he didn't know.