He staggered in through the door. I had no pity for drunks. "H-h-help." He whispered. "Look for sympathy somewhere else." I said scornfully and was about to turn back to my book. Just then he removed his hand from his neck and exposed a fearsome wound. My eyes widened. I picked up my skirt and ran to him as he trembled and collapsed. "What happened?" I questioned him. He was pale and barely breathing. I could tell that he had a great loss of blood. "T-t-t uhh." Damn! "Don't die on me! Don't die you ass!" I screamed out, tears streaming down my face. How could this happen? What happened? Then I remembered his wound. I took my skirt and tried to clot the wound. Whatever happened, he had two clean holes in his artery on his neck. He looked up at me then shuddered and fell into eternal rest. I sat there all night.

I remember myself. I was such a fool. In fact, after 308 years, I feel I am still a fool.