Short Story: Bleeding

Excerpt:

I grunted. Time meant nothing to me as I quietly bled onto the plastic cushion. He’d come or I’d go. I’d go either way. He comes, and I’ll go. I’m going, I think. I try to see their faces, but my memory’s already getting blurry. Their names are leaving me too, leaving with my blood. I think of the stories, how they say doctors used to bleed men, thinking it would get rid of bad blood. I was bleeding, and something more than blood was leaving me.