For a drunken brawl and a couple of stabbings and a few beatings that required airlifts out which the little clinic which was not set up to handle lon... patient stays, we stayed up most of the night until everyone was discharged.The next morning we broke open a bottle of wine we smuggled in with us and a little bottle became quite empty while the talk became more risque about these hunters, so my partner, g/f, photographer dared me to go out to the cabins wearing something that would get me. It might jinx things, because ultimately, we’d still prefer to keep Dad alive.I kept trying, while Vera, Alex, and Zoe all tried mouth-to-mouth. When the emergency team arrived, they found Dad as cold as ice and not breathing at all, my every attempt vain and useless. They took over for several more minutes, but nothing seemed to work. They check Dad’s pulse. Nothing. Nada. Gone. He literally had no pulse at all, not even faint. They shook their heads, but then tried to revive him through. Who are we but mere puppets spawned to do the dirty work of people above us. Deadlines control the very fabric of our isolated lives we live. Machines that steal the minutes of our lives away from the depths of that life which we have lived. We are free, free as a bat, which must return to cave when the light shines brightly in their faces. In this cave we shelter and hide from that depths of reality as the sounds of life echo from the past. Those very sounds that haunt us of what could have. .Mene bola aunty yeh kya kar rahi hai…Unhone utar nahi to tere ghar par bata dungi…Mene apne kapde utar diye mujhe sharam aa rae thi…Aunty ne wpod ki badi wali scale nikali ar mere hath pe marne lagi… Phir unhonr ne apna dupatta apne seene se nikala ar mere hath piche ki taraf kash kar bandh diye…Mujhe samjh nahi aa ra tha kya ho hai…Phir thodi der baad anju aa gae ..Aunty anju ko bola…Apni panty utaro..Anju ne salwar utari phir apni penty utari ar aunty ko de di…Aunty ne wo gandi panty mere.