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Twelve hours

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Twelve hours 6.42 p.m. January 17th The doors signalled the end. They signalled the end of the journey, the end of the obsessive excuse making and theory-formulating process that had lead him here. It was these doors that told him it was over; he had now to face reality. He often considered them as the gates to hell, by the very nature of what goes on behind them. His hatred for the place ran deep; it was a constant occurrence on his timeline that now rested at June 17th, 1989. 1989, he thought to himself. 2 years now this place had been part of his life. Two years of visits, crying and emotional breakdown. Two years of constant fluctuations in his marital life that lead him to question his sanity. The close examination of the degree of sanity that he may possess that had brought him here thus far. Madness? He sometimes thought so. Now, yet again, the outlook was bleak. Was this a chapter in his life that was going to be closed here tonight, on this very godforsaken night? So, here he was, in front of those doors again. I look back fondly. When life was to be lived and where death was something that never touched you or affected you in anyway. ...read more.


He briefly scanned it and slowly got the gist, that of the successful nature of the local hospital, The Albert general. He felt a bitter pang of irony; his wife was dying upstairs whilst the hospital wallowed in its self-pride. It was only the click of the door that broke his consternation. 'Mr. Jacques?' The small man asked, with a hint of trepidation on his voice, just in case this did turn out to be the poor sod he had to talk to. With a nod for an answer the doctor slowly slid into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. 'Please sit down sir' he gestured, taking the opposite seat. After he had sat down the doctor made sure that Mr. Jacques had done likewise, he continued his dialogue. 'I am afraid we have some terrible news and it is with great anguish I have to deliver it to you'. With this the doctor watched him stand up and continue pacing the room. 'I always feared the worse, just to prepare myself.' He stammered trying to avert the doctor's gaze as his face creased into emotional turmoil. 'I am sorry I am the one to tell you sir. There was nothing we could do. The drugs and the therapy could not stop it. ...read more.


My eyes started closing again though, they felt heavier this time. A smile was styled on my face though and I was warm inside again. I was prepared for what come next... 6.42 a.m. January 18th Freeze frame. This is where we leave the scene. This is where we leave the husband grieving over his lost wife. This is the time we see him question himself, question why he left it so late to tell the woman he loved just how much he loved her. The scene rests on the moment he laid himself over his wife. We sit still watching the quiet crying of a man in great pain. The memories he held of her would be with him forever. As the scene gently fades into obscurity and the colour is washed out into a grey nostalgic item a sense of calm quells up inside. The loss of human life means so much more than this sentence would suggest. No words can describe what emotions we have without someway distorting the truth and removing the uniqueness and individuality of the love. That is why I will not end this story with a common and mediocre ending, for it deserves so much more. That is why I will leave it up to you and let you decide an ending that is justified and meaningful to you. ...read more.

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