I sobbed uncontrollably as I knelt by his bed and grasped his hand in mine. Some were pulling me away, some were just watching me curiously. I ran to his bed, the doctors surprised to see me. Suddenly I felt the urge to run to him, squeeze him, love him, kiss him, anything, protect him from his own death. I felt tears streaming down my face involuntarily, realizing that I saw the man die twice now. His jaw was sharp as always but his lips were lightly pressed in a tranquil manner, their corners turned a bit up.įor a second I stood speechless in the doorway, unnoticed by the doctors there. His blonde hair was nicely combed as usual and his eyebrows were for once relaxed. He bore a face of innocence, a gentleman calmly sleeping, dreaming of maybe his next beautiful car he would want, or his wife, maybe just a pretty landscape. His arms and hands lay on the blanket, just like when you are sleeping, and his eyes were closed. He was under his blanket, cozy and taken care of, a hospital gown on, the blood cleaned from his face, no visible wounds on the face noticeable anymore.

But here, it was something I was never ready to see anyone go through. At that moment, he was sweaty, clearly fighting from the inside and out, the suffering visible at a glance.

The door is wide open and I see the body lay still, a peaceful look on the handsome face. I am carried by hysteria when rip out the needles stuck into me and I run to the adjacent room where the still body of what once was a man named James Bond lies cold on the bed. I never knew I would experience such a thing ever since my mother's death. The pain I feel of James dead is horrible. I feel my eyes wet with tears almost instantly and I try to tear away from the bed as soon as I can. As I hear the beeping die down, my heart clenches into a ball of fire, going up to my throat.

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