Chapter 17
It had been three weeks or three minutes had passed. On the crease of my left elbow, three small inflamed bloodstains hinted that at least three times they had injected something with a syringe. My thoughts scattered around the narrow room, not wanting to come together. My body was soft and relaxed, like after an hour’s massage, and only sudden painful spasms brought me to my senses. My stomach moaned from starvation, and I could swear--in his deaf growl, I heard a clear ‘Die’! I had nothing against it... I could smell death — so smell terminally ill patients. I saw its shadow — it gently envelops some people in the street or in the subway, and you know that they will not last long. In near death, there is more tranquillity than drama. A few minutes you are fussily thinking abo
