I lay in two realizing what I have come to be. There wasn’t merely a strand of hope, more a struggle. The thought passed my mind seventy-two times, my life is at it’s end I struggled to stay close to the bottom half of me, seventy-two centimeters away from me. It was a bile scene swimming in the puddle of the sour remains that bled as my hearts impulse beat. The more I reached the faster my heart beat, seventy-two beats a minute. Cold sweats streamed down my pale skin deprived of color and sanity, I began at the ceiling dazing, feeling sick spinning about the room, catching my eyes heavy, not daring to shut them completely. Each blink was a challenge as white flashes blinded me, furthering me into my childhood as I seamlessly counted from zero to seventy-two left on the despair of the earth lifeless, my memories within a flash. Pain wasn’t the worst part, but dejection was, the hurt was a swelling crater of tenderness, at least that’s what I told my self hurts more. The world talks about life and death situations as the unknown, the reality behind this truth was death awaiting me. I remembered my mother she was a sweat old women, who never failed, but failed to stay with me. Our lucky number was seventy-two, and still remained to this day as when she died at the age of seventy-two. I am the soul of the Gods returning back to my home in ownership of the heavens, beyond the horizon so graceful and white. I’d find my place within the blink of an eye. My last wishes were to take my life rather than give that opportunity to my killer. Locked in the vein of fear I shall soon flee of the booming door behind, that made my hairs stand straight up. I took seventy-two blinks and on the last I fled that dream, awake above, soul alive, body dead, eyes wide open in the horror peering intently.