9 October 2012
The clock struck thirteen. She awakened slowly, head rising. She stroked her warm finger across his ice cold cheeks, a few sole tears falling from her swollen eyes. The monotonous tone of the hospital's heart rate monitor beeped, a stopwatch for how long they've been apart. Each rise of his chest another battle foreshadowing the next. His eyes were wedged tight-as-a-vice, the breaths from his nose whistling as they rustled through his unkempt moustache underneath the mouthpiece of the respiratory system. The clock ticks a sweet melody. A ballad of a man who's mind has long since been separated from our world.
*
K1 • Opuss № I