The time and place in which our history unfolds has no greater importance because it’ll tell you has no time or space. It is something as old as the same human being, because it has to do with human beings. But I’ll start it as almost all the stories to delight our ears and remember more than one to learn what being a boy or girl. Once upon a time a doctor who had a special gift. I could see death.
Not working in a hospital. He liked the direct relationship with their patients. Never abandon a house without having previously shared a coffee or a tea with family members of the or of the sick. Gave him the opportunity to scrutinize, always in good faith, the mysteries of the family to see if one of those coincidences was not a cure for evil that endured to the sick, and not just medicating recipes, but rather by promoting changes in what the called the soul of the family. However many times his face assumed an expression of deep distress, despair and a hopeless sadness. And is that good man in most of the sometimes knew in advance the outcome of the patient.
Death, as they paint it in fairy tales, in his black robe with Scythe in hand appeared front, the times that he was attending to patients in their beds. Over time it had managed to distinguish if it appeared to the bedside of the victim meant that it was still going to live. Often appearing at his feet, fate had been sealed and the poor doctor could do little to avoid the unavoidable. At the beginning, in such cases, he had opted to communicate the truth to the families. But over time what had become unbearable. Therefore, to give you a happy departure to the o to the sick had accustomed to prescribe for family members who look after the sick as they would have never before done.