The Last Good Man

October 10, 2014

It was going to be another regular procedure. In Ward 3 the syringe lay on the table. The doctor took it in her hand. She stepped towards the bed. She had no gloves on. The syringe was sharp. Outside it was raining. The doctor held the syringe closer. She felt all the guilty pleasure. Nurse Claire came up to the doctor. The patient convulsed briefly.
“George,” the doctor sung. “Are you ready?” The doctor winked. “You need to take your medicine.” The doctor felt a rush. The room flashed with lightning. The doctor filled the syringe.
“Don’t you think he’s afraid?” Claire asked.
“He’s a man. His feelings don’t matter. Don’t you enjoy seeing men tremble anyways?” the doctor answered. The doctor raised the syringe and stuck it into George’s temple as hard as she could. She emptied its contents into his brains. She felt another rush of pleasure fading away as she released her grip. The doctor held the syringe inside the head for several minutes. George was shaking all this time. He tried to stop but he couldn’t.
“What? You don’t feel well?” the doctor asked, feeling the pleasure come back. She brushed off a drop of neurotoxin off her white coat. The light in the room flashed for a moment.
“Oh, poor baby. He can’t talk,” the doctor said. All the patients were shaking in the room.
“You’re the last one. You hear that?” the doctor tapped George on the shoulder. The doctor and Nurse Claire walked to the main office. The doctor entered the office. She threw a bunch of papers at Tim’s desk.
“Cross off George,” the doctor told the secretary. Tim quickly crossed the name off. His hand trembled. It wasn’t good to mess with the doctor.
“Well,” Tim said, “our job in this institution is done.”
“We’ve still got you,” the doctor felt the dopamine release. “you will be the most fun.”






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