Here the grim reaper stood, above the beds of little children, bony hand slung forward and scythe at the ready. He pooled from the chests of those young and innocent the pyrefly souls that inhabited each and every one of us and took them without respect or dignity whatsoever. At the children’s sides, there came the dull screech of the heartbeat monitor, then the nurses and doctors on call. They would test pulses, try to resuscitate, give mouth to mouth and use breath pumps in order to try and instill life, yet there they would be, trying to do such a thing, but unable to do anything, and there would be their parents in the other room—sobbing, bawling and in hysterics for the children they no longer had. There was nothing one could do once the dead man came. The sooner one accepted that, the sooner one realized that death really wasn’t as uncommon as it seemed to be.