It was a mild spring day in the month of May, Timothy was energetic and youthful. He became ensnared on what would inevidably be the hook of Death, dragging the life out of him. He came to me for help. Little did he know, that would be the last thing he would ever freely do. I evaluated the extent of his injuries. As soon as I saw the depth of the wound, I knew the chances were slim. I prepped him for surgery. Once Timothy's life was in my hand, I panicked. With no other options, I inquired the wisdom of those who were previously advised on the subject. I then knew what I had to do. Timothy's time was about to run out and no matter what I did, Timothy wouldn't have survived. The question was no longer 'How do I save him?'... no... now it was more like 'How do I end his misery?'. I was forced to cut the line that was holding him so high above his friends and family. Timothy's spirit came crashing down with the strength of a tidal wave and silence struck the operating room. Timothy was in the height of his youth and a single tragedy robbed him of all he ever knew. His mourners all gathered around his corps and each of his friends left with a small peice of him in their hearts. He was the first pacient I had ever lost in surgery and his memory will forever haunt me. He trusted me with his life and I let him down. I'm sure he is looking up through the murky depths, searching for a second chance... another chance to frolic among the lily pads and sunglasses.
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