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Show 361 Will to Live There are vast quantities of Versed in my body, as I can tell by the number on the IV pump, and Dr. Emerson is standing in front of me, casually swinging his stethoscope in circles, a habit of his. Maybe I have misunderstood him. "This could all just end, if you want," is what I have just heard. It is somehow echoing through my body. The Versed is erasing any conversation that possibly came before, anything that would put this fragmented threat into some sort of reasonable context, but this sentence alone is drilling itself into me, letter by letter, until even my toes reverberate with its terrible pulsing. Of course, I have no possibility of memory with this much Versed, but this thread of what must have been a larger conversation is remaining, nevertheless, moment by moment. "It could be that the shock of hearing this somehow chemically stored the sentence in your long-term memory before the Versed could erase it," Faith is saying as we discuss this sometime later. I have no idea when this sentence was spoken or if, indeed, it was spoken at all. Still, it has seemed so terrifyingly real that I have called Faith. |