Henry Wilson Experiment

The man, had he not died from the demon, was surely dead now. Blood pooled around the man's body, his corpse sprawled in an unnatural position.... unmoving...

His eyes opened wide to see a hospital room and a frail women at the end of his bed. It was Hailey. Something was wrong he just knew it. Unable to move he simply asked where is Mason? However, unfortunately he already knew the answer to the dreadful question. He was in the last level of the hospital, the most morbid, scary, and dreadful place….. The

Raymond, a 78-year-old man living in a motel, is found by the housekeeper lying on the floor of his room, semiconscious. The motel manager calls 911, and Raymond is taken to the closest emergency room, where he lies on a gurney in the hallway for 6 hours before a physician examines him. Because it is unclear what is wrong with him and he cannot speak coherently, the physician admits him to the hospital for observation. Later, when it is determined that he had suffered a stroke; he is discharged to an inpatient rehabilitation facility that has no knowledge of his medical history including his current medications for hypertension and high cholesterol. He dies there several weeks later.

There was a fuzzy muddled scene in his eyes when he woke up. The scenary was blurred and disrupted with the refraction of bright white. He looked around as the haze began to fade. He tried to gain awareness of where he was, he had no

The first experiment with gassing prisoners with Zyklon B took place in 1941. 250 sick inmates and 600 Soviet POWs were taken to the basement of Block 11 at Auschwitz. With all subjects’ dead in two days, the Nazis considered it to be a huge success (Gutman 157). With the gassing being so successful, an

Latt woke up with a very sharp pain in his back feeling very dizzy. It was very dark outside Latt bolted upright, fearing a heart attack only to find that the pain in his back had been replaced by a similar sharp pain in his leg that was getting worse. He reached towards his bedside lamp

Slowly, I awoke to see looming trees all around me, bending over me, watching. Listening. They heard the screams, they heard my screams, I was still screaming. I clamped a trembling hand down over my mouth to only realize it was closed, my lips rolled in. And then thick as velvet. The blood pooled.

His skin was turning gray. The hair on his head had started to die, leaving only strands of dull white hair that speckled the top of his head. The rest of his figure seemed small. He was sinking inside of the bed, the ability of movement having left him long ago. His eyes were closed tightly, pain spreading along his face every so often. I remember him scrunching up his face and his mouth opening and closing like he was calling for help. Like he wanted someone to save him from the pain he was

This memorialization effort was a long time coming considering the forced labor camps, which “terrorized a nation”, began in 1929 and lasted through 1956. Even after the death of Josef Stalin, the release of massive numbers of prisoners, and crumble of communism, the Soviet Union still could not come to terms with its totalitarian past. The prisoners adapted to the difficult living in the camps but once they were back in society they had a difficult time readjusting as not to be maladaptive (Frankl 135). During the 50’s and 60’s doctors could legally only treat the somatic symptoms of camp survivors, although they knew of the “camp syndrome” that plagued their patients psychologically. During this time there was also no field of specialization for post- traumatic stress syndrome or any scientific articles published about the syndrome. Beginning in 1992 and previously as a branch of Memorial, an organization called Compassion was formed to remedy “postponed psychosomatic consequences of torture, enforced by age, pathology, and unfavorable living conditions.” (Adler 115) Their treatment and research has led to the development of official and scientific findings regarding the experience of repression. Survivors also felt it was safer to speak of the previously taboo subject of the Gulags after the formal dissolution of the Soviet Union. Between 1992 and 1997, four million applications were filed for rehabilitation and yet only 1.5 million were granted (Frierson and Vilensky 303). Survivors of the Gulag understand the importance in telling their stories in order to prevent such atrocities from ever happening again. The efforts of Memorial to commemorate and forever honor the victims of Stalin’s repression aids in this, as does the goal of Compassion in treating surviving

Time seemed to slow as his fate climbed towards him. His heart pounding in his ears. His mind seemed to withdraw slowly from his body with each thud. He felt himself go numb.

He falls in to the ocean waters. He let out a blaring shriek for help, and no one came. Next, when he got cold headed he started swimming to the nearest island he could see. He finally gets to the island and he starts to rest. Then, when he wakes up he looks around and sees a pool of blood around him.

When he woke up he could feel his arm in so much pain. Even more than when he fell off his house before. At first he thought it was broken but it wasn't. He had broken bones before. So he probably just tore his muscle. He wanted to get from the mountain. But his arm was in to much pain. So then he tried to sit up, but his arm was in to much pain to handle. It started to rain, and he had a glimpse of what seemed like a bear cave. So he got up and went to it.

He gritted his teeth. He tried to continue pushing forward through his oncoming need to faint, but to no avail. His head began to throb and spin, and he brought a hand up to try to ease the pain. He couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears and his own pounding heartbeat. He couldn’t see anything but bleary white, whether it be the snow on the ground or just his eyes giving up on him. He couldn’t feel anything but the incoming unconsciousness that would soon overtake him, a splitting headache, his heart beating out of his chest and the hazy presence of a person beside him, frantically asking if he was

Two of Flemings experiments remained in their glass enclosure. One lay on its table, pinned down by some debris that had fallen during the initial collapse. On the table beside the destroyed creature was its companion. Cold, gray flesh mingling with steel and computers, creating an undead cyborg.

He tried to call out to Io, tried to beg him for help, but he couldn’t. Strings of words wove themselves together above his head, but refused to make any sense. Someone stripped him; someone else stuck something to his forehead and chest, arms and legs. A dot of pain in his hand felt like an IV.