My mother and I held in our breath and watched the doctor carefully. My brother was injured during the war of Balbekahn Crest, and was just moments of slipping away. The deep gash on his chest wouldn't stop bleeding, and the doctor said he has been delirious for as long as twenty minutes.

"Save my baby boy," she kept shouting in between sobs.

"I'm doing all I can ma'am, but the blood won't subside. He's going to die any moment now, and I'd find it best to say your farewells before it gets too late."

"What kind of doctor are you," she cried hysterically. "Don't they have other specially trained doctors for soldiers in the war?"

"If they did, I would be helping your son. Unfortunately, I am the only kind that they have."

"Leave me be! Leave me be," my brother would scream out of nowhere, his eyes glazed over with fear. "Just get it over with!"

We don't know if he meant that for us, but it horrified my mother and I.

"What is he saying? What is my baby boy saying!?"

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down. Your fussies won't change a thing."

"Mom! Mom! He wants me to shake his hand! I don't want to shake his hand! I want to die already!"

"Joseph, Allan, Soyer! You will not die," she cried, trying to hold his hand.

"No," the doctor boomed, slapping away her hand. "If you do that, you're only going to kill him more!"

"Don't tell me what to do," she screamed before running over to my brother's side.

"No! No! Get off of me! No," he screamed and whined, frantically spazzing out on his bed.

"Joey, it's me!?"

"Mom! Don't let me shake his hand! No! No! Please don't!"

"I won't, Joey! I promise," she sobbed, slowly weaving her fingers into his. When their palms touched, everything became absolutely quiet.

The three of us gasped as my brother closed his eyes for the last time. The doctor just shook his head, sucked in his bottom lip, and wiped away a tear that rolled down his face. My mom quickly backed away from his body, as if it had stung her. On the other hand, I didn't cry, nor make a sound. I didn't do anything, except stare numbly at his stiff face, waiting for him to open his eyes once more.

"I shouldn't have done that," my mother's voice wavered, the self-hatred radiating off of her. "He should have shaken the man's hand... not mine!"