I’m kneeling there at what appears to be a prisoner of war camp. Everywhere my eyes wander there are people dying; but one matters more as my best friend lay slipping away in a small barren room. I’m holding his hand but he’s paling, looking almost invisible. I know he’s not going to make it through the night. He’s slipping, slowly vanishing as I hold back the sobs that threaten to plague our final moments. Others’ healths are fading too; but they are of little concern even as they call from their deathbeds for my attention. He looks at me in the eye one final time “don’t trust him, people arent always as they seem.” His last breath disperses and on cue every other ill person is well for they were never dying only pretending for my assiduities. I feel the sting of betrayal of their facades as I throw myself on the corpse of my friend. He’s gone forever and I’m left with all the liars.