SINcere.

Sleep.

The nurses and doctors rush about in the halls to who knows where, while others move about more slowly and calmly. Then, a teenage boy joins their traffic.  

His wavy black hair is disheveled and his face is as pale as snow. His eyes, black like night, are sunken under dark bags. One could obviously notice the swollenness of his eyes and the tear marked cheeks that have no colour. He's wearing pyjamas that have honestly seen better days. What stands out the most is the way he is walking; wobbling on his two feet as if dragging himself like a zombie. The barefoot boy looks like a mess. Immediately he stands out among the hospital staff like a crimson stain on a beautiful wedding dress. 

The people in the hall stare at him, but don't give him much attention. They are used to this sort of sight. He keeps walking like a zombie and unfortunately he almost walks his way into a wheel chair and its occupant, whose coughing loudly. He doesn't even notice that, but keeps dragging his feet to the room number heavily stamped onto his brain. 

The brown door is opened. A doctor wearing a white coat, followed by two nurses in blue attires come out through it. They are speaking to each other frantically with wild hand gestures. They easily move past the boy approaching room 216. They take notice of him, but they are too busy in their discussions to stop and speak with him. The boy's hollow black eyes don't acknowledge them; he's solely fixed on getting inside that room. He's desperate to see the inevitable for himself. 

Hushed voices and crying can be heard from inside. He stops just before the door frame and quickly turns to rest his back against the white wall next to the opened door way. He listens. More crying and whispering can be heard. It can't be. This isn't really happening, he thinks to himself in panic. His eyes are prickling with unshed tears, threatening to pour out at any agonizing second. Many shallow breaths later, the young man has mustered up the courage to turn on his heel and walk into the room. 

His vision is blurry from the tears now falling down his pale face. In front of him, his worst nightmare has already unfolded. 

It's too late.  

His shocked gaze is strongly fixed on the bald man in his forties lying on the bed, covered with a heavy blanket. The man has cords connected to his arms and an oxygen tube to his mouth. His eyes are closed and he makes no sound.  

The heart of the teenage boy breaks into a thousand pieces. He just can't believe what his eyes are capturing. 

''Nick...Oh Nick.'' A natural red headed woman, who is sitting beside the man's bed, addresses the boy with sorrow. But the kid isn't paying attention to her or the other two people in the room. His heart is pumping blood so quickly that the loud rushing of the red liquid in his vessels is all he hears. The other two people are a boy and girl about his age, and they are crying heavily as their eyes rest on the newcomer and then the bald man, in a pitiful and grieving fashion.

He watches the man, begging for him to open his eyes; but alas, the man doesn't. He's just asleep and these people have made a mistake- a hopeful voice speaks to him in his mind. The young man's eyes are still trained on the man. To him, the man is the only person in the room and this person needs to open his eyes and speak with him, or else he might do something really stupid.