a device that is generating concepts

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Note: A moment for prose. It is here due to the concept of time-based conversing spiral format (and some additional nice tools). Enjoy.

I have been waiting for my death since the last shift. “This one is the next in line to a charnel” – stated a toneless tired voice above my feet after a creaky bed took away my heavy roommate. When his annoying, previously loud breedle became surprisingly imperceptible, it has also slipped away from the attention of personnel. 

Now, I could focus on my cardiac Monitor. I was afraid to give Him a name, as if it would be an inappropriate exaggeration for the insane surrounding universe. Yet, He was my companion for a long time, being the only persistent sound. We had a complex relationship – sometimes I was begging Him to continue, sometimes I was angry at Him for prompting, sometimes I imagined Him as the conductor of surrounding noises, sometimes conductor of my life, sometimes a part of me, sometimes the only remaining self in an outer world.

Friends and family are not allowed to visit due to a major outbreak and need of isolation. I often felt them, silently standing by my left side, carefully reviewing memories, making sure that nothing important is missed. His rhythm was digging lumps of memories. Clots of my past inevitably dissolved in a shared heap, while being only for a moment under the limelight. Here – sparkling black spread wings of Mantas, flying above the still blue canyon at 30meters deep right after I have lost my camera. Here – dark-red drops and orange light spot, dancing on silver blades closing on paper-white tissue of the cord, connected to my first son. Here – a black helplessness of unsuccessful anesthesia of an exhausted doctor.

Someone adjusted pressure in Ventilator and the pump has blown a new pain my lungs. I hated Him. The hate was pushed into me for a second every 3 seconds since the moment I partially woke up 19 days ago. Hated Him for the infinite pain that he has granted. Hated Him for the hope that He has enforced. Hated Him for the Stockholm syndrome that I have grown in my chest. Hated Him for the fear of feeling the hate at the very last moment of my life.

No! I love him… I love him – just like I love this recurrent sound of the monitor, just like I love everything in my life.