Group #4
I held my grandmother's hands as she slowly began to fade, telling her I loved her through my tears, she smiled at me sadly, and told me right before taking her last breath, “I know you do honey, but the feeling isn't mutual.”
She slowly ran along the soft asphalt, smelling the budding roses that grew in the middle of her path that led to her destination, which was a brick wall not made of brick, but of stone.
The nurses had assured me that I wouldn't feel a thing, and the only reason I needed to be awake was so they could ask me questions during the brain surgery; the doctor seemed to know what he was doing in my opinion until I heard him grumble, "Oops.
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