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You kneel down next to the broken Jacques, coarse dirt and lumpy rocks digging into your kneecap. Expecting his forehead to be bony, you rub your thumb into the bumps, but find that that they are tender and liquid-filled. Less than half-conscious, through his coma-like state, Jacques speaks for the first time in English, "Dad calls it my death flower."
  1. "You're dad sounds pretty funny."
  2. "I don't think I heard you right. Did you say death flower?"
  3. "Okay. Do you mind if I rub some other parts of your face?"