The smoke of the Partagas encircled his brow. He decided to this earth, this realm but how? He needed assistance, in a desperate way. He called the hospice for the nurse of the day. Hazel eyes, crimson lips, hula hips. She didn’t walk she floated, he realized. He was afraid to talk, afraid to weep, afraid to even sleep. But he wished she would rub his… feet. Her scent was opium, frankincense and mhyrr. She didn’t speak time just stood still. Couldn’t he for (Hades’ sake) take a lethal pill. Dawn came, she slowly opened up the windows, he felt a chill run through his marrow. She parted her lips, was it a smile? “Hello my name is Isis,” she slowly whispered, in his ear. He trembled in fear he could not stay still. He remembered a trip where he cruised down the Nile shooting the granddaddy of all crocodiles, the hypos thanked him…dejah vu? Vu le vu? “My name is Isis,” she repeated “I’m your night nurse, you’ve been sleeping”. Are you in pain she felt for a vain, Your pulse is erratic she explained. He felt ecstatic, he could scream as she pushed firmly on his spleen. “Do you prey?” she said. He could only envision jars of black clay. She was a pro, she placed her hands as cold as ice on each side of his jugular, his heart throbs in his temple’s. He saw the hippos in the Nile. he was drowning, Isis kissed his eyelids, he sank deeper, into the night. He could no longer scream, his ears began to ring and the smell of opium lingers. clung in his trachea, a Nile crocodile dances to a death rattle.