?

I'm confused as to whether the jolts would damage the trachea if the defibrillator would cause a contraction of the muscles in the throat.

If you sent 2 nuclear warheads to the same location in succession, would people that are underground have the potential to be killed?

“So?” He heard.

He slowly turned his head and saw a young boy, not a day over eight sitting in a circle made of two roots that had intertwined with each other, creating a seat; a simple, but perfect throne. The boy’s dark hair tumbled over a tanned forehead and led to expectant eyes. Those eyes! Perfect pools of brown, never-ending, everlasting. These eyes had looked with more sadness and joy than can possibly be imagined or contained in any man, save one.

“You made this?” The man said, surprised and ashamed at his own disbelief even as it was formed by his mind and spoken by his mouth.

That was an interesting thought. Thought itself was a miracle. He had absolutely no idea how it happened or how the Maker first came up with the way to make it happen in the first place. All he knew was that it did. Every movement he made, every thought and feeling he had, was made possible by the Maker. It all had the stamp of the Creator.

“Was it hard?” The man asked, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“No.” the boy answered. “I have had plenty of practice.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you’re familiar with some of my other works.” He looked at the man. “I am particularly proud of some of them.”

The man returned the smile. As he looked into the boy’s eyes he felt every part of him immediately warm.

“You followed where I led and walked through the doors I set up for you. I am incredibly proud of you. Well done, good and faithful servant. ” The boy stood up. “Will you follow me now?” He held out his hand.

The man reached for it, every fiber of his being screaming and straining, like a parched man who has had a drink of pure, unaltered water placed before him; without it he will die.

The two hands were just inches of each other. A lonely desperate thought traveled from the space between them, through the man’s hand and slammed into his mind. Shame poured over his head like a bucket of icy water. He could not go, he was blemished, tainted, impure.

“Why do you stop?” the boy asked.

The man did not answer. He knew. He knew that the boy was aware of his slip, his many slips.

“Leave it where it died. I killed it at Golgotha; all of them. It doesn’t matter now; your robe is spotless. The slate is clean.”

The space between their hands grew smaller. The boy reached out his hand and took the man’s hand in his small one, finishing the task that the man could not do himself. Both stood together.

“Are you ready to go home?” the boy said.

“Yes.”

The boy led him out from under the lone tree. An expansion of savanna met his eyes. They began to walk; they would need no ride. It was not a long journey, miniscule in fact, the getting there never was. But the reward would last forever. He was forever spotless. Eternally pure because of He who held his hand.

His heart began to slow, his lungs deflating like spent balloons. The final pulses thumped in his ears. The final pumps of blood his spent heart desperately tried to pump to his brain. It did not know it was pumping it out onto pavement. The inky black overtook his vision again as his final breath both echoed against the surrounding dark and was absorbed by it.

The dark was absolute. It was the final assurance that he was no more. It both caressed against him and left him in a void of loneliness; it was nothingness in its full form.

No, this can’t be right.

He felt around him. A surface he could not make contact with wafted through his fingers. There and gone in an instant.

Its not. A Voice said from everywhere at once; from both outside and inside him. The tendrils of nothingness became a rough winding surface. He closed his eyes and let his hands follow the curves. When they disappeared into the nothing again he panicked and shoved his hand back, petrified that it had gone. The wood filled his hands once more.

I know this. He thought.

I made this. The voice answered. Just as I once spoke into the void, I can do so now. Do you like it?

Yes. He responded.

Do you doubt that this is of me?

No.

Would you like to see more?

Yes.

A giggle rippled through the air. The sound cut deep into him. Warming and caressing each synapse and neuron that had since gone cold after being smothered in the smoldering coals. He closed his eyes as chills spread up the base of his neck. Light filtered through his eyelids; lighting up the insides of the skin in patches as if piercing a thick layer of leaves. Warmth surrounded him, carried on a gentle breeze. The winding roots under him took definitive form and slid slowly up into a trunk that was placed behind his back. Another giggle wafted on the breeze.

He opened his eyes. His hand slid and bumped into a thin root that had gently twisted itself around the one he was sitting upon. The breeze came again, rustling the leaves overhead. Each leaf was perfectly shaped and formed. The light filtered through each leaf it came in contact with; illuminating each vein, diffusing through dark green pigment like water. The breeze lightly lifted a branch; a stream of bright sunlight pierced the serene shade he had been hidden under.

Tree.

Just wondering for my book, I want to be as accurate as possible :)

it is set in WW3 (a hot war not a cold one) and follows the journey of a man who would ultimately find a way to create peace treaties and cease fires between America and her enemies. it is action packed with a romance intertwined throughout. Any ideas?

When Logan’s fever began to rise the doctors decided to move him to Intensive Care and be checked on every hour. At four in the morning a nurse quietly walked into the room. He had taken a turn for the worst. He was drenched in sweat, as he lay with his eyes leaden, face flushed, and breathing haggard. The monitors that graphed his heart showed it was struggling as the lines would jump from high to low and back again as it tried in vain to pump blood to all the vital places it was needed. The young nurse hurried to his side. His temperature was at one hundred and four. She pulled an oxygen mask over his mouth, all the while trying to get some sign he was still coherent. Barely conscious, he was hardly able to respond. By then both parents were awake.

“Logan can you hear me?” the nurse questioned as she shone a light into his eyes. His pupils hardly dilated. “Logan!” Logan blinked and looked at the girl, barely old enough to be past her internship. He was in pain. He felt like he was in a perpetual fog; his mind being crushed and bent in so many directions he couldn’t think much less talk. The nurse pulled back his shirt; there was a two and a half inch border of inflamed skin surrounding the bandage on his stomach. The infection was progressing rapidly. She pushed the button on the side of Logan’s bed. Carolyn took Logan’s hand in both of hers. His breathing hadn’t improved. Jim put one hand on his son’s shoulder and the other around his wife and began to pray. “Father we lift our son Logan up to You. You made him and You know he has lived his life for You. Father he did nothing to deserve what happened, we ask now that You relieve him of his pain- or take him home. Amen.” The couple sat together in silence at their dying son’s bedside. The nurse stared at the family as if she couldn’t figure out what they had done. A new doctor walked into the room. She looked at Logan, who was worse than before. After hearing him struggle to even cough, she pulled out a stethoscope and put it to Logan’s exposed chest.

“There’s more fluid in his lungs.” She said as she called for the equipment to put Logan back on respiratory assistance. Logan coughed as she put the guide in his mouth and fed the tube down his throat. Once she was sure he was getting air, the doctor turned Logan on his side and called for a syringe as she pulled his shirt off his back. She inserted the needle and began to pull the fluid from his lungs. It was blood. After she had pulled four full syringes out of his lung she checked with the stethoscope and shook her head. “There’s too much. Even if we were to try, he wouldn’t survive the time needed to conduct the direct procedure to remove the rest. The best thing we can do for him at this point is to give him a sedative.” She paused. “And he will pass in his sleep. It will just make it so he isn’t in pain before he goes.”

Carolyn and Jim both sat in silence for a moment. Jim looked at Logan and nodded. “We owe him at least that much.” Jim said.

“Ok. I will give you a minute with him.” The doctor said quietly and laid him back down so the pressure off his side would be relieved. The couple looked at their son. His eyes were dull, but they still showed the fear he was experiencing. They told him how much they loved him, and how much they would miss him. They promised to look after Jaimee for him. Carolyn held his hand tighter. She remembered when he was a baby; his tiny hand had grasped her finger. Now she held his hand instead. He had always been so full of life. He was never silent, even as an infant; they weren’t words then but they soon turned into words of many tongues. Logan was silent now. Jim nodded to the doctor. He closed his eyes and let the tears flow freely as the doctor walked slowly towards his son. She stopped and looked to her left. Jim followed her stare. Logan’s eyes were closed, his chest no longer seizing as he tried in vain to cough, no breath passing through his still lips. It seemed as though and invisible haze of weights hung on his body.

“Logan?” Carolyn whispered. She released his hand; it fell limply to the bed. Carolyn brought her hand to his cheek; it was still hot. “Logan wake up so we can say goodbye.” She said, a pained look on her face as she slid her hand behind his head. “Please wake up.” She pleaded, tears running down her cheeks as she hugged her son.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor said and put her hand on the mother’s shoulder. The monitor blared as it announced the death of one barely old enough to have experienced life. The doctor removed the tube and pulled the sheet over the body. It would be easier that way. There had been an attack at the border and they needed the bed, they didn’t have the time to let his parents sit with him. She led the mourning couple out of the room.

ps this is for a book i am writing nothing bad or self destructive, i just want to make sure i am as accurate as possible

i know blood is red because of the red blood cells, but what makes the red blood cells red?

what would happen if you got shot in the stomach twice at close range with a 9mm? i was thinking a pancreas hit and a kidney hit, but i'm not sure. could anyone tell me what would be the most realistic thing what would happen? thanks!!!