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|The Fog of Life (standard:non fiction, 813 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Aug 20 2018||Views/Reads: 514/285||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story “May I feel your hand for a minute?” said the doctor. He took my hand and looked off into space, as if thinking of other things—or rather as if he had no thoughts whatever. I saw the doctor's fingers on my wrist. “You are a sick man,” he said. Cold shivers passed through me. His remark rang true: I knew that nothing good had turned up for him. I felt faint at looking into such an abyss of hopelessness. Instantly I saw that the truth of this delirious statement concerned me more than all the wisdom of the ages. “Give me another drink,” I said. If anyone had been able to communicate with me, whether they are right or wrong, the latest theories on how it feels to die. It has been my doctor. But, you know, I never felt the fog would one day come for me. I am a strong man, that is all I truly know about myself. I never had a day's sickness, not one, because of the grated frogs powder and grandma's kiss on my cheek at four in the afternoon. When did that remedy change in old age, to become expensive cigars and whisky? I have, in the last few years, enjoyed the experience of writing...most of it nonsense but hoping, in my way, to create something beautiful. The truth is, I did at least, if unsuccessful in everything else, understand the experience of what it is to be truly loved. Tweet
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