What the fuck happened now?

He lifts his hands up enough to see them, wrinkly and old. He flips them over to see the wrinkles on the backs of his palms. Lifting those palms to his face he feels even more wrinkles on his old dry facial skin. He was not old when he came in. How long has he been out?

When he looks to his right again he finds out the chair is no longer empty. A young man is sat there, looking familiar even through his hazy eyesight. The man reaches for something and moves it to the old man's face, making his eyes better. He momentarily wonders when he started needing glasses, but is distracted by the fact that it is him sitting on the chair. Without wrinkly hands and a young handsome face.

He wants to ask what happened, he wants to shout and yell and demand his younger body back, but he finds he cannot speak. His mouth was refusing to obey, and the young man makes no effort at speaking to him either. He looks further to his right, to the bed stand from where the other him had picked up his glasses.

It is there that he catches the faint reflection of his face, on the glass covering a picture frame of him, his mother and his father. And speaking of his father, it is that face, albeit much older and with glasses that looks back at him from his reflection.

He was his father? This could not be right.

Suddenly green scrubs invade his view. The person wearing them seems to be a man from his physique. He wants to look up, to see the nurse's face but he finds he cannot do that for some reason. And yet it seems important... vital that he sees who this man is. The hospital employee produces a syringe and somehow that feels right, like he knew he was taking regular doses of... something. But he cannot shake that feeling of danger and fear.

He looks upon his much younger face - the one he remembers having, and it smiles back at him in an encouraging way. If this man thought the nurse was doing his usual duty why did he have this feeling of impending doom? He feels his IV line being fidgeted with, and he knows the procedure is already done. Quick and painless as he seems to vaguely remember it. And the green scrubs flutter out of his view, presumably leaving the room.

So what is that tingly feeling at his feet? They feel cold, like ice was passing through the veins instead of blood. And the ice makes its way higher up, making his legs cold and immobile. He looks at the young version of him with shock on his face - he just knew.

He had been poisoned.

The young man stands up from the chair, apparently noticing something was off. Monitors and sensors start beeping and screaming all over the place and the young man shouts for help. But the coldness of Death moves too quickly up his body, already starting to tickle and bother his spine. Searing pain flows through his vital organs to accompany the cold and the man in front of him is freaking out. He feels, more than hears, himself screaming in torturous pain and his young helpless self can do nothing but shout for help which doesn't seem to come.

He feels his heart racing, trying in vain to defeat the poison and slip out of Death's skeletal fingers before they manage to squeeze tight enough to stop it from beating. Suddenly it all goes silent, his visitor moves closer yelling something which from the movements of his mouth seemed to be 'It will be okay'. But he knew it was not going to be so. He already felt himself slipping into the eternal abyss.