#38: excerpt from a story I was going to write but haven't had time to develop further

Her body convulsed with each cough, and more and more blood splattered onto the hardwood floor. Her face was pale, unusually and abnormally pale. She was the image of death, and this time there was nothing I could do to stop the process. Her eyes seemed too big for her head, Her frame seemed even smaller than ever. She looked at me, her eyes glazed over. She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by another round of bloody coughs. She collapsed to the round. I made an effort to catch her but to no avail. I ran to her side. Her breathing was erratic and forced. Her should quickly was slipping away from me, and no matter how much I tried to keep her here, but it still slipped away from me. She was hanging on by a thread and was starting to fray, and there wasn't anything I could do. She was dying right in front of me and I couldn't do anything about it! how useless am I? How useless am I that I can't even save a single soul? Can I only bring destruction and chaos? Can I do no good?