Bhishma's story.

He lay in a pool of blood, which was his own.He didn't want this fight, but he got dragged into it. Like the wrong person at the wrong place. The night sky looked beautiful. The view subdued the smell of blood and rotting flesh around him. He looked at his injuries. He lifted his right hand and tried to remove the shrapnel lodged in
his left chest.But he was too weak.Blood oozed profusely from every orifice created by his enemies. He was alive, but so close to death. Only a miracle could keep him alive.

The sun was on the cusp of the mountains. "It will be morning soon, and I am still alive", he thought.
" Another day of endurance? Agony and pain?"
"No one come forward and took me to a doctor yet. And no one will."
"I wish i was dead".

Bhishmapithamah closed his eyes for the last time, and the eighth Vasu,who was master of his own death, lay dead.

And that's what everyone thought. The Pandavas lost their grandfather. Shikhandi was happy to kill Bhishma, but he knew that this was the end of his life's purpose.

But Bhishma, a demi god, who had defeated the great Parshurama himself, knew that death meant destruction of the soul. He decided to play dead, so that
fools could burn his body. He was glad that he was still alive, and also, tired of the vultures circling above his head.

"Bachhan saab, shot ready hai."

Bhishma loved his new body and his new role.

The end.