# the slow decline

Drip.

Everyone knows that the pitiful die the slowest. 

The pull-out wire doesn't go back in. The micro spool behind my temple
gave out when a fist met with my forehead.  Now the bundle of red, 
green and yellow dangles about the height of the empty eye socket. The 
gaping hole that until fairly recently hosted an analog convertor, 
translating a camera feed into raw brain impulses. It was probably the
most expensive retro implant I ever installed into this decaying body. 
It wasn't quite the real thing, but I never owned an actual biological
eyeball, and to me, this electrical gizmo felt like the next best thing.
Now it lay a few feet off to the side, smashed into tiny cracklings 
beneath a steel-tipped boot of my assailant. I couldn't see much else
anyway - not that the generic cybvision eye wasn't good - indeed most 
would claim it was better than the old natural, but they never got the 
chance to look through it. Envy makes one come up with all sorts of 
lies. No, I could hardly move my head at this point, destined to blank
out while observing the ground, a pair of feet and my collapsed body.

Arms in my lap, most fingers broken or removed. The few that remained
twitched in random intervals, but I was getting no mental feedback.
At this point the slight movements were caused by a failure to make
a connection with a brainbus. I'm guessing the metal nerve wirings in
my spine separated sometime during my third aerial encounter with a
wall. Not much left to do. I'm surprised I'm still awake. I could
swear I felt a memory module dislodge when he drove a pole through
my ribcage. I guess it snapped out of the slot, but it got stuck
between the ribs and is still partially keeping the data flowing. 
If only I could move my hand. I'd set us both free.

At least my nose stopped pouring. I thought that'd be a relieving
event, but the now dripping sound of heavy droplets echoing throughout
is driving me insane. At least I don't feel the need to wipe it away,
but it's not like I can feel anything. Funny - of all the damage,
a leaking nose is my greatest annoyance. That and the egotistical
worry that I might be the first to go. Proud ones are never supposed
to admit it, but I lost my pride a few seconds into the skirmish
during the time I clawed at his metallic chest.

I wish I could see more than his feet, but they did stop moving
a few minutes ago. Metal is a good conductor and my battery a good
current provider. Drip, drip. They keep rolling past my cheek and
landing into the pool below. I can't tell if I'm paralyzed or all
out of juice. And it's not like the pole made a clean entry into
my chasis.

Did his leg just shift? Maybe it's just the static of my vision.

And the heavy blue just keeps on dripping.