I rushed into the doors of the hospital, almost slipping in my haste to get to room 203. Surely the doctor couldn’t have been right. He had been as healthy as a lark the last time I saw him!

Not wanting to wait on the slowness of the elevators, I sprinted up the steps two at a time, swiftly arriving to the second floor. Trying to appear as calm as possible, I quickly turned around the last corner to face door 203.

I didn’t bother to knock; the door was already partly open. Barely pushing myself through the entrance of the room, I found myself unable to move any further. Contrasting to the rush I had felt only seconds earlier, I now feared the worst. What if something had happened? The doctor had only said that his condition had deteriorated a bit. Slightly reassured by this thought, I ventured forward.

His face was pale, a little paler than how I had seen it last. Apart from that, he appeared normal. Normal and asleep. I stepped forward to place my hand gently on his cheek. It was ice cold. I stepped back, now taking a closer look.

Something had changed. Now, he wasn’t only pale and cold; I noticed his chest wasn’t moving with the intake of breath, and he wasn’t tossing and turning in his sleep like he had been for the past few weeks.

My hand reached out of its own accord. I had no feeling of its movement. I couldn’t feel anything. My hand placed itself once more onto his cheek.

It was as cold as death.