One's last moments.
| They call it the 16hr disease. A positive person may see that as having the disease for 16 hours then recovering but my negative self had been correct.
"16 hours then your dead! At least it's a quick death." My grandfather beamed. I had never seen someone hours away from death so happy. Had he accepted his fate, conceded defeat? No, he was a fighter. He lay in bed in his private hospital room, watching comedy from at least 20 years ago. "This stuff never gets old!" He bellowed out laughing. I felt a sharp pain. Hearing his voice only reminded me of what was to come. 14hours had already passed and the disease was taking its toll. At 10 hours he had lost the ability to eat or go to the bathroom, by 12 hours his limbs would not move. He had become paralysed save his voice, he definitely still had that. 2 hours to go, 2 hours until he would leave us and go on to whatever lies beyond.
"It just ticked over my boy! 15 hours gone, 1 to go." I looked down at his pale face, a thin smile lingered. I grabbed his hand and squeezed hard hoping to bring some kind of colour back into his fingers. "My time is passing, there is no use In trying to bring the colour back, trying to extend my time..." My mouth quivered. Before I could answer the world went still. Coughs and spasms erupted from his body making me jerk upright. A BEEP sound overtook the room. He lay dead in front of me a small note in his lifeless hand.
I will fight every last of these 10 hours I have left. I smile in the face of death...love you always.
And with that I wept.