KIFARO,
by Dilman DilaJamwa knew where he was the moment he woke up. Emergency room. Machines bleeped. A nurse watched an array of monitors, a bored expression on her face. He could not understand how he got there. The last memory he had was his phone ringing. He sat up, and turned to see his head on the pillow, deep cuts on his cheek and forehead, eyes closed as though in a peaceful sleep. No medics were working on him, only machines monitoring his progress. He slipped off the bed, afraid of his own body.
Am I dead?
The door opened. A doctor and two nurses walked in. The nurse at the monitor turned to them with a slight shrug.
“Too late,” she said. “He stopped breathing.”
The doctor let out a sigh, his shoulders sagged in exhaustion. His lips pursed in despair at handling so many pat
