Xeron
Tennesse City, Hiatus Hospital, 12 noon
The ambulance shook vigorously, never keeping pace with Xeron's pace of nausea and headache. Partially hoping that he wouldn't puke during such a dreadful time, he felt like eating a clock. It would have been time-consuming enough because his interlocked fingers in blood and sweat, was tightening the hold whenever the ambulance would jerk a little.
The doctors in masks, breathing in the used to suffocating air, and Xeron who hadn't unmasked himself yet but was overwhelmed with sorrow and affliction, sat across each other with their eyes never once averting from the dying man whose chest kept he
