Sunday, November 23, 2003
Deprived of internet for 2 days, well sort of. Either cannot use IE or problem with the mouse or lots of program abortion box popping up, forcing me to close my programs and ending up listening to mp3s. Luckily I have the TV.
Then I realised that there's no place for me at home, no place for me to sleep. I let my sis sleep in my room, while I tried to share my mum's bed. Slept for 3h, but I know I wasn't fully asleep, kept tossing and turning. I don't want to disrupt anyone's sleep, I really don't want to, and I don't want to have people worry for me, but I seem to always make people do so. I really don't mean it.
She lingered, unwilling to believe that such perfection of body could simple die. Why had he shot himself? It was a mystery that lured her mothlike to a candle flame. "Don't die, elegant man. You are too beautiful to die!"
Suddenly his eyes opened, focusing on her. She was startled and frightened, for it was the first motion he had made on his own. The nurse returned and checked the man's pulse and eyes. There was no reaction. But she knew the man had looked at her. She went to the bed and pleaded for him to open his eyes. His eyes opened. But when he saw the nurse, his eyes closed. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
The nurse was staring. In all her decades of experience, it seemed she had never before seen this happen. Next week the man remained, undead. It seemed he had not moved a limb or an eyelash in the intervening time. But when she took his hand and spoke to him, his eyes opened, and his mouth tried to smile. Week by week he improved, most dramatically when she was present, until he was well enough to be taken home.
Two weeks later came the news: the beautiful man had gotten his hands on another gun. This time his shot had been all the way true, and he was dead.
Suicide. What was its attraction?
Then I realised that there's no place for me at home, no place for me to sleep. I let my sis sleep in my room, while I tried to share my mum's bed. Slept for 3h, but I know I wasn't fully asleep, kept tossing and turning. I don't want to disrupt anyone's sleep, I really don't want to, and I don't want to have people worry for me, but I seem to always make people do so. I really don't mean it.
She lingered, unwilling to believe that such perfection of body could simple die. Why had he shot himself? It was a mystery that lured her mothlike to a candle flame. "Don't die, elegant man. You are too beautiful to die!"
Suddenly his eyes opened, focusing on her. She was startled and frightened, for it was the first motion he had made on his own. The nurse returned and checked the man's pulse and eyes. There was no reaction. But she knew the man had looked at her. She went to the bed and pleaded for him to open his eyes. His eyes opened. But when he saw the nurse, his eyes closed. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
The nurse was staring. In all her decades of experience, it seemed she had never before seen this happen. Next week the man remained, undead. It seemed he had not moved a limb or an eyelash in the intervening time. But when she took his hand and spoke to him, his eyes opened, and his mouth tried to smile. Week by week he improved, most dramatically when she was present, until he was well enough to be taken home.
Two weeks later came the news: the beautiful man had gotten his hands on another gun. This time his shot had been all the way true, and he was dead.
Suicide. What was its attraction?
