"I'll tell you the truth. Seventy-five percent

chance of living, yet you never know what

life throws at us though I do

believe that she has a mild concussion.

Her eyes are empty of life but her body

still breathes. Please wait here, sir, please."

Words pour across my ears,

entering through one and

rushing out of the other.

no, no, no.

Light as a feather, floating through the

whispering air; gravity lost control

and life didn't play fair.

"She's pregnant, yet weak. Did she tell you

that she has back problems? Her spine is damaged

from physical impact. Do you know who or what

could have done that? It'll be incredibly hard

for her to give birth. In the end,

whose life are we saving?"