Its really a singular thing. My heart stopped, but was I dead? I mean thats considered clinically dead, textbook dead, good-bye, six feet under, youve had a nice life but it wasnt meant to last, dead. So why do I flirt with everything? I comprehend it, all of it. Every word mouth in that room, on the ambulance, the sound of the machines, every noise embed in my brain. Playing over, and over again, a constant reminder.
Shes make it to herself.
Just stop. Shes gone.
Someone should contact the parents.
No.
Zap. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Had I through this to myself? Yes. Intentionally? No. Never. But, who would believe that? They had given up, I had heard them. There were times shortly after that, in the hospital, when I wondered if they would have said those things knowing I could hear them. Would they have continued to express there opinions of me freely, or would they have tangle obligated to lie. Even if they didnt I could hear them the damage was done. They judged me. They darned me and, in my...If you want to get a full essay, point it on our website: Orderessay
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