Her body jutted from side to side as the rain poured over her running soul. The building behind her harbored her dying husband. The building . . . that building . . . a death bed . . . a slaughter house . . . sick . . . disabled . . . dying . . . confused . . . old . . . young . . . dead . . . barren . . . fertile . . . helpless . . . hopeless . . . infected . . . mutilated . . . mutated . . . too-feeble-for-the-atmosphere . . . Still-Born's . . . workers . . . helpers . . . volunteers . . . birth . . . this building was the home for all; all stages of life or death, people who work, people who did everything possible for their patients yet still were punished for their good deeds. Nothing makes sense in this world anymore . . . nothing . . . how could anybody let stuff like this happen? How can anybody make sense of their life in a world spinning into chaos at the speed of light?
She splashed, she slipped, into the puddle of life. She cried out to someone, anyone to help.
"Nnoooo, GOD, you can't . . . you wouldn't . . . please don't . . . I'll do anything for . . . bring life please . . . HELP ME!!!" Her cry out to God would bring men of power to their knees, would soften the very hardest of hearts, make tremble the most emotionally stable. "Please, kill me instead . . . I couldn't possibly go on with my life . . . No hope . . . none at all . . . HELP ME, PPLLLEEASSE. AAAAAHHHH!!!"
She slammed her fists in the puddle of life, as she screamed, pleaded, cried out, demanded that God help her. No not her, him. As her hands hit the jagged bottom, the pit was becoming a puddle of life, the deep red spread out in veins of color away from her hands. The muddy water, was becoming a crimson twisted puddle of her life.
The color filled her vision, it was coming too quickly, what had she done, as she lifted her hands out of the pool of death she saw the large piece jutting out of the side of her hand. She hadn't felt it, hadn't felt a thing, she was numb from the emotional pain overriding her mind. As she looked, the river of life was running from her delicate layers of pale covering, the letters illuminated on the jutting piece of crystal.
She read them, "H.O.S.P.I.T.A.L. Oh, God, help."
With that very last breath, she uttered for help, she fell into the crimson pool of . . . Death. Lights coming quickly towards her illuminated the clear refreshing liquid of life on her body. She was about to be impacted by the . . . Light.
Ha, God gave me a little shimmer of hope. Lord, be merciful please.
With that thought, darkness settled upon her weary soul. Falling, Falling, who can stop me, who can help me, is the answer out there somewhere? Yes, no one.