Blackness. The world is dark, my life is dark. I hear my sister weeping next to me. I know that our family is financially in trouble; they can barely afford to pay the hospital bills. I’m immoble, lying on a creaky bed. I can hear a distant beeping, but it’s slow. I use all my energy to force my eyes open. It’s too bright. My sister sees that I wince so she runs to turns off the lights. Now I am able to squint. My sister’s eyes are red. Probably because of the condition I am in. There’s a big tube attached to my face, helping me breathe and stay alive. I cough. I can taste the blood in my mouth. I groan. This is painful. I’m at the verge of dying. Why can’t I just die? I hear the nurse come in and consult my crying sister. The nurse says, “At least he is still living. At least he is not dead yet, honey,” But this is not life. This is not living.