Rumor had it I would be dead before morning.
My friends, having concluded from my weakened state of body that I was obviously too far gone to hear their words, whispered their opinions about my condition freely over me to one another. They all concurred, the murderer of my wife and child may not have laid a hand on me, but my imminent death was the direct result of his actions.
While I could hardly disagree, those whispers did nothing to lessen the symptoms of my illness, and neither did the doctor who came in behind them, sat down beside me, and lied to me through his straight, but yellow teeth.
Perhaps Dr. Benton’s lies would not have been such an insult if he had not put his hands on the sides of my face, his nose inches from mine, and said in his most commanding and loud voice, because he too obviously believed dying meant deaf, “Listen to me, Vincent. You may have got wind of a rumour going round that you don't have much longer."
My grunted reply became a cough.
"I'm sorry for starting that off. Bad form." He paused, perhaps to see if I had any comment; I could think of nothing appropriate. "It does rather appear to be true, though," he continued, and as his grip on my throat tightened, I came to understand how he had acquired his reputation as an infallible prognostician.
It was fortunate, therefore, that one of the symptoms of my malaise was an excess of internal methane, a sudden release of which rendered the good doctor senseless before his vice-like grip got the better of me.
This was, in fact, the third occasion upon which a timely fart had saved my life.
Opening: Katherine Haney.....Continuation: Anonymous