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January 24, 2006

January 24, 2006

Sometimes, there really is no hope. Sometimes even the most desperate plan will not grant escape. Sometimes, you simply cannot change things. Then what?

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Ted: She Really is Gone

She's gone. I don't know how long she had been gone, but the place was empty when I got home. Too much to ask for her to stay, I guess. The last 23 years had been too much for her. I hadn't been there when she learned to walk, or ride a bike, or even for her wedding. My wife died, so she had to grow up alone. I didn't do what they convicted me of: the DNA finally proved me innocent. But she had a life to live. A life away from her "rapist" father.

Noises?

The kitchen?

"DADDY!"

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Jim: The Verdict

The process seemed interminable but slowly, one-by-one, Josh’s appeals became exhausted.

Each new argument was meticulously proposed and then denied. And every new plea seemed to move leniency further and further away. It was as though the simple, Constitutional act of appealing his sentence only served to make each new attempt more futile.

His case was finally sent up to the ultimate authority. With logical eloquence, Josh laid out his entire defense and awaited the verdict. One way or another, the initial sentence would finally be ruled upon!

“Do as your mother says, Josh,” Dad directed. “Go clean your room!”

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Laurence: Liver

Despite the best efforts of the best doctors in the world, Jenny needed a new liver. I'd give her mine, but it wasn't enough of a match.

For a million dollars, Rico said he could get one that would be a perfect match.

I sold everything and gave the money to Rico.

It was barely enough.

Within hours, a medical cooler was being rushed to the hospital. In it was Jenny's new liver.

The hospital paged the transplant team, and they all rushed in.

Except for the lead surgeon. He'd already arrived in the morgue hours ago.

Without a liver.

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Michele: Hanging on To Let Go

I live.

Barely.

My breathing is aided, my food shoved into veins.

It hurts just to exist.

I breathe because they come. Her smile, his laughter, their patience when I try to converse. I see the hope in their eyes, but it is clouded by reality. I hang on for them. My body wants to give up. This is not life. How many more days of this must I live to keep them from grief?

I wait for Sunday, when they’re all here. The smiles, the voices, the warm hands on my face.

“I love you all.”

I let go.

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