I hate emergencies.

I hate emergencies.

The dread that fills your body.

The racing heart beat in your chest.

The staggered breathing in your lungs.

The racing, unorganized thoughts.

The sickness that makes you want to hurl.

The lightness in your head.

The questions left unanswered.

The future left untold.

I hate emergencies.

You are suddenly aware of your heavy breathing.

In and out through your nose.

Yet feeling no relief or comfort.

You concentrate on your breaths.

In. Out. In. Out.

Heavy, hard, wearing at your lungs.

I hate emergencies.

The heart rate that will not slow.

No matter where you look,

What you think,

Who you see,

The pounding, pounding, pounding continues.

It's an ever reminder of what you have,

That someone else may not.

I hate emergencies.

The quietness that fills all who witness.

The need to say something,

But not knowing what.

Searching for a way to comfort,

but knowing there is none.

I hate emergencies.

The incessant waiting and wondering.

Guessing at what will happen next,

And having no way of preventing it.

Not knowing if it will end good,

Or horribly, horribly bad.

I hate emergencies.

And all that comes with them.

Rest in Peace, Gunther.