Hanging there, the blood flowed from the incision steadily. But it was, surely, a tiny incision—How could it gush so? Or was it really gushing? Perhaps the blood loss so far had begun to cloud Abdul’s thoughts.
His breathing, first loud and ragged, had become slow and pained. Even the instinctual action of drawing breath had become a challenge. Minute by minute.
The burning in his throat had subsided, also. After all, one cannot scream for help indefinitely.
He soon faded to unconsciousness. His last sight was the group of men dressed in impeccably-clean surgical scrubs, moving close.