When I was four years old my father taught me a valuable lesson. When the world seems to be crumbling around you find a way to hold it up. I have lived by this lesson my whole life and it has hardly ever failed me until now.

He was dead. Dead as a dodo. Dead as a door knob. Dead, dead, dead… It had happened quickly, the Healer had said. Quickly… that can't be right, Death isn't quick. Nor is it cold, cold as ice. If it was I wouldn't feel pain I would feel blissfully numb. No death is warm and it burns, like nothing you have ever felt before. Anger is red and scorching hot so is death. I want to smash something and scream so loud the noise would reach him as he entered the pearly gates. I long to be four years old again so, that someone else could be strong for me. I can't do it, not this time. I am weak. So I simply stand and stare. Watching as the world comes crashing down around me. I am helpless. Death has won.