there was nothing to keep the boy tethered to this world.

most people in his situation had something, someone that they loved or loved them.

but he had absolutely nothing.

absolutely no one.

and if they didn't find someone to save him,

he would be lost.

forever.

the doctors and nurses all worried, prayed to their different gods of their different religions, and a few wept tears they'd never allow others to see.

this boy had no one, or so he believed, but they all cared so much.

another life lost, another life on their conscious, another name to get tattooed or write down because they had failed to save him.

failure was not an option, it never was, but so many failures had caused them to go numb.

getting emotionally involved with their work was dangerous, ill-advised, and it was something that all of them had been warned against.

they were all called into action, until it was the old doctor who remained by himself, finally allowing a small tear to trickle down his cheek.

he knew how the boy felt, once upon a time he had been the boy,

and once upon a time he had been his father,

and his own child had died.

it is a never ending cycle, you cannot escape it until you die,

and the doctor wished that he had died, he would die for the boy to live the life his own son never had.

it was naught but an unuttered plea in the dark of the room,

and nobody would ever hear it.