No one would ever plan to live their final moments in such a place. White washed walls, white tiled floors, and starched bed sheets belie the nefarious reality. The stark light and faint hum bleeding from florescent lights cannot overpower the miasma of death that pervades the stale air. The forgotten residents relying wholly on the state, pretending to live, are in a holding pattern that can stretch out for days, weeks or even years. Contrary to their deepest hope, some grasp with all they have for the torturous yet familiar life rather than embracing the inevitable but unknown pale of death.So, there it begins. It has become something more than a thought in my head where it has rattled around for well over eight years. Maybe, just maybe, it will become something far more. We'll have to wait and see.
Equality and the Culture of Christ
2 days ago