do you want to go? it's getting late.

the man looks around. what are these things around him?

he looks down at the ground. white, shining pristinely.

his feet are tired. His feet have trod upon places too far.

and yet he hears a voice calling,

"do you want to go? it's getting late."

the man tries to see where he is. A faint line in the background.

it slides along to his own heartbeat. Almost inaudible

His ears hear nothing but the loud, overworked thud of his organs

and yet he hears a voice calling,

"do you want to go? it's getting late."

the man feels alive. But only because he grabs at any part of it he has left.

he knows he is drifting. like fish in the water's current

he goes where he cant choose. but he is waiting.

and yet he hears a voice calling,

"do you want to go? it's getting late."

the man can feel them outside. near his outer casing they stand.

they stare at him forlornly, talking in louder tones, thinking he can hear.

he can. but he's too tired to understand.

and yet he hears a voice calling,

"do you want to go? it's getting late."

"I've been waiting.

So have you."

"yes I have," the man says.

"So, time to unplug, don't you think?"

"yes, i think so," the man agrees.

and the doctors write something down

on their little, noisy notepads.

the children wish they had more.

but they dont.

the vultures wished they were allowed to feast.

but they have primer areas to go to.

and for a moment, everything is blur.

but then he undresses. and he releases.

white hair trembling with the wind

as he ascends

"do you want to go? It's getting late."

the baby cries and gurgles

and mouths okay, with a little turning of its fingers

as it nestles in its mother's womb.

its excited heart pumps

as it hears the first sounds of its life

"do you want to go? cause it's getting late, granddad."