Eleanor Bishop watched her mother sobbing wretchedly, and the anger she'd felt just moments before was gone. She sat on the edge of the bed and threw the knife in her hand to the floor.
She looked at her father, lying there so still. Tears slid down her cheeks as she reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it tightly. "Dad," she said, her voice choked with sobs, "if you can hear me, please open your eyes and look at me. Please?"
"Dad, you always doted on me the most, didn't you? Whenever I was tired, you'd lend me your shoulder to lean on. Whenever I wanted to cry, you'd wipe away my tears and tell me your daughter had to be strong. But Dad, I'm so, so tired now. I really can't go on anymore. Dad, I need you... I really need you. Dad, I'm begging you. Please, for my sake, wake up soon..."
"Dad, even if you're tired and want to rest... you've been sleeping for years now. Isn't it about time you woke up?"
"Dad, you're all I have now... Dad, I need you..."
...
