The dried veins of Morality

Sometimes an object has to be broken into tiny pieces, in order for its deformity to be taken away...Its uselessness and impracticality to be stopped immediately. Obsessively re-attached pieces are made to become one unit and serve a common purpose, as determined by the creator. Its physical being no longer could be ignored.

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So I ask her, why are you here?...It could be a question just echoing in my mind... And no! there was never any sound because my lips never moved to free the words into the silenced air... As she suffers in her own special ways and as lines appears on her face for every suffering day by day, I wonder if it wasn't one wrong notion that dragged her into this! Sobbing in every corner of the room, she begs me to feel, to snap out of the numbness... So I try, and I fail everytime, for it's been too long and too cold... And survival has its own price! My own version of living. She is determined to believe that the alien she is seeing everyday, is a deprived soul...The creature must be connected to the feeding tubes of morality in order to recover. As human as I ever felt, I pull the plugs stubbornly.
Finally, her sobbing turn into an innocent, soundless sleep.