He refuses the shame and embarrassment that comes along with so many other's deaths. His body is frail. His skin is thin and sallow. His face, a mere skeleton of what it used to be. His hair white and whispy hardly covers his head.
Every breath makes the raspy music of impending death.
Jestim, sitting beside the hospital bed, flips over the last page of a picture album. He closes the book and lays it carefully on the nightstand. You led a good life. Unfortunatley by looking at the old man you couldn't tell. Death is not letting him get away so easily.