A never-ending bedtime story shushes the heart down. And quietly it remains, too afraid to pump so loud it may be heard outside his chest. One single beat at one single time, and shush. Another beat once in a while must be enough so life keeps flowing on and on. The gentle frailty of a simple mind, the soft touch of a finger over the back of his hand shakes away its strength, revealing its weakness, its unknown fears and froze him to a second-split eternal death.