Dear Diary,

Should I be writing that as a 20 year old, maybe not but it works. Today I had a patient, a young boy. He was fighting a very ill sickness. Poor boy couldn’t move much but his fingers. I had to give him a syringe everyday, for the past months. He hated them. Tears would string down his face, turning at the sides. Though every time he would see me, his heart would flutter a bit. It showed on his face and the machine. Although when I walked in today to that old, rusty, sad, and depressing hospital room. I didn’t see his heartbeat. It stayed still, not like mine. Not like anyone’s working, flat lined, no spikes. I felt the tears rush down my face down, ruining my favorite part of the day. I went immediately on the walkie (idk how you spell that) and said in my unsteady voice, “Please come to room…129.. please.” The tears rushed more and more to escape every time I spoke. I wiped them away begging to stop. My head started to hurt.

Once someone came by, the lost heart beat flat lined for minutes. Not doing anything, not going anywhere. I death stared into the closed eyes and still body. Minutes later I was told my break was going on someone else’s if I don’t use it, so I stepped out the room 129 slowly, and sadly. Staring straight at the ground. The day slowed after that. After the little boy lost his life, mind, voice, soul, thoughts, and family.