After the breakage, I thought the blood would pump without the need for that intensive valve, but I was wrong.
In the empty space left after the fragments had been cleared was forged a new heart, fragile and half transparent and barely beating, yet flushing further with scarlet daily.
It was not long before a ridiculous prompting from I know not where tempted me to chance the delicate organ on this game of pitch and toss and in the ring I placed it, while the crowd cheered and jeered and the Father Time looked silently and quizzically on.
The embryonic heart will be beaten. It is as near a certainty as earth can offer. It is already skipping beats. It is already hurting. How short a life this heart will have before it is broken completely.
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