My eyes could only focus on an imperfection in the floorboards—a sort of buckle in which i ascertained sorrow encapsulated. It strained as i strained.

Without which i would have no recollection as I quite succumbed to the pressure of bronchial deficiancy in the face of immobility.

With each twist the pendulum swung to mark another second of pitiless prostrate incapacitation.

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