[ WP ] Humans for all of recorded history have reported seeing a man or women close to them when they are on the brink of death . Today , this figure appears to you though you believed yourself to be in good health .

I'd been working in the death ward for nearly six months, and I still felt goosebumps every time I entered it. 
 
 A long, white hall stretched before me, austere and sterile. Beds of the deathly sick and dying lined either side. Violent coughing, crying, and dementia-fueled murmurs filled the ward. It was discomforting on my first few weeks, but now I was desensitized. But I never got used to the attendants standing by their side. 
 
 Some attendants stood tall, hands behind their back, projecting their authority. Others stood closer, with a hand on the host's shoulder. And others hunched over, embracing their host with both arms. The closer they were to the host, the less time he or she had in this world. 
 
 Their otherwordly uniforms can be off-putting at first. They pair dark greens or navy blues with pastels and bright neons, thick fabrics with frills and lace. Each dressed distinctly. Any one uniform felt discomforting in its lonesome ( maybe that was the idea ), but together, in one room, the creepiness was significantly dampened, and they even seemed to follow a theme that was difficult to articulate. 
 
 I could get past all that. I could n't get used to the eyes. 
 
 The irises just seemed slightly smaller, or maybe slightly brighter, than what should be normal. And you'd never find blue eyes, but perhaps slightly violet ones, when you looked closely. Or what might be taken for green eyes would be lime on closer inspection. 
 
 And they would let you inspect as closely as you like. They would never flinch. Touching someone else's attendant was impossible. You'd simply pass through, and they'd give way like the air, and their form would swirl back into shape once you'd passed. 
 
 From the moment I swung open the door on one end, their expressionless faces observed me stroll to the opposite end of the hall, to a man who lacked an attendant but was admitted to the ward regardless. 
 
 `` Are you Mrs. Kathleen Berry?'' I asked. 
 
 `` That's me,'' she said, with patient deliberation. 
 
 `` The doctor will join us in a moment,'' I said. There was no need to confirm her condition, because she was beyond treatment if she found herself here. Now it was a matter of making her transition from this world as peaceful as possible. 
 
 She huffed. `` No doctor,'' she drawled, `` no angel.'' 
 
 `` I think it's good your attendant is taking its time,'' I said, looking around the ward. Each attendant gazed squarely at me, and certainly not at my patient. 
 
 A nearby door swung open and a frazzled doctor emerged. The attendants slowly turned their gaze towards him. `` Apologies,'' he said. `` A word?'' I turned back to Kathleen and gave her a slow nod before we left. 
 
 `` Both the attendants and death come hand in hand,'' he said, once we were out of ear shot. `` Do you think it's possible to have one without the other?'' 
 
 `` What do you mean?'' I asked. 
 
 `` By every measure,'' he continued, `` that woman should be on the brink of death. Yet her attendant is not here.'' 
 
 `` But you think she'll pass away anyways?'' 
 
 `` It's a question nearly as old as philosophy,'' he continued, enamored by his own supposed genius. `` Does certain death cause an attendant to arrive, or does its arrival cause certain death?'' 
 
 Given that attendants have vanished without their host expiring, I think it's rather obvious...'' I trailed off looking around the room, as though the attendants might affirm or deny that statement. Their stares betrayed no information. 
 
 `` But that only proves that the attendants do n't cause death. It does n't prove that death will always cause an attendant to arrive.'' 
 
 `` Well, I was thinking...'' he looked around, met the not-quite-human eyes staring back at him. `` On second thought, never mind. I just need a witness.'' We returned to our new patient in silence. 
 
 `` There you are,'' Kathleen drawled. `` I was wondering when you'd be back.'' 
 
 I approached her side. `` Everything's going to be alright,'' I said, `` we're just going to observe you for a period of time to make sure nothing's out of the ordinary.'' 
 
 `` Ah, is it for me?'' She asked, looking over my shoulder. I turned, and as startled by an attendant standing right behind me, nearly a foot taller than me, looking straight at Kathleen. Behind it, the doctor already had a syringe in hand. 
 
 `` Doctor Vargas? What's that?'' I asked, taking a step towards him. And I bumped into the attendant. 
 
 I looked up at the attendant, but it was looking over me, at Kathleen. None of the attendant's were looking at me anymore. 
 
 `` You did n't even notice,'' he said, admiring the syringe, `` yet your attendant figured it out.'' 
 
 The attendant now had a hand on my shoulder. `` What was in there?'' I think I asked. But before I could take two steps towards the man, the attendant was embracing me from behind, and I could n't move any closer. 
 
 I passed out. 
 
 I recognized the emergency wing when I awoke. Within a few minutes, I caught a nurses attention, and within an hour I was speaking to a doctor. 
 
 `` You would've been in a lot of trouble,'' the doctor admitted, `` if this happened anywhere except a state-of-the-art hospital. Your patient hit the nurse call button, and doctor Vargas told us what he gave you. That all happened yesterday.'' 
 
 `` What happened to him?'' I asked. 
 
 The doctor chuckled. `` Who knows.'' I guess it was a dumb question, but I was only just waking up.
