Day #1

I behold liquid drugs forced into every inch of his veins. Needles & pins re-stabbing his hands numerous times.  They're so wrinkled that they hardly resembles skin anymore. So hoarse, yet so so pale at the same time. I can't bear to watch, really . He is now like some kind of mannequin ( or at least being treated as one ). Just laying, in silence. Hardly uttering. A living corpse, almost. He's in a major amount of pain. Oh I can tell. And those men in white - though they seem to be in such a hassle working against the clock ( saving lives, I supposed ) along with their fancy medical toys - I think they have forgotten one little important fact. My grandfather is still alive.