Death clung to his pale skin like his thin clothes, enveloping him in a fearful embrace. His eyes pasting the floor as he stepped ahead. While a tiny, amused smile sat in the corner of his lips, his gaze held sorrow and regret. It was all his fault, or so it seemed. His sickness could have been controlled had he noticed it in time. He would have turned out fine if he took the medicine: only two pills a day. It would havel been alright had he not decided to flee