I have never seen Mrs. Clark before, but I know from her medical chart and the report I received from the preceding shift that tonight she will die. The only light in her room is coming from a piece of medical equipment, which is flashing its red light as if in warning. As I stand there, the smell hits my nose, and I close my eyes as I remember the smell of decay from past experience. In my mouth I have a sour, vinegar taste coming from the pit of my stomach. I reach for the light switch, and as it silently lights the scene, I return to the bed to observe the patient with an unemotional, medical eye. Mrs. Clark is dying. She lies motionless: The head seems unusually large on a skeleton body; the skin is dark yellow and hangs loosely around exaggerated bones that not even a blanket can hide.