Pen Truth Contributor
Two days he lay there, unconscious, labored breathing, skin clammy, his olive complexion now pale, face gaunt. The man that lay before me now was only half the man of my memories. Me, I sat there with him day and night for two days now with little sleep, not realize it at the time his unconscious state was drug induced. My thoughts drifting though my attention held fast, wondering how we ended up here in this desert, little sleep, listening to the gurgled tones rising from him, struck by the stark reality, he would soon die.
How does one comfort the dieing when it is the living who endure these gates of Hell. Anubis does not tend to us, only those spirits that pass through to the underworld. Morpheus has forsaken me, sleep is short, never complete or restorative, all around ghosts wailing, moving through the passage ways and walls. This is deaths door and I am an outsider while he straddles the two worlds, Charon waiting at the shore.
To be continued…