The Shot

.

“I am nothing. We know this. Now give me the shot.”

Psychiatrist, because he had to, “Mm you sure you want to go out this way? Must be pretty rough in your world.”

Step One in getting the shot was not to get tricked into talking. Talking leads to tears, tears leads to sorrow and the next thing you know you're back in bed at the ward doing art therapy to help get your feelings out on canvas.

I'm done with canvas.

“The shot...”

The Psychiatrist, in pantomime, looked at the Processor, wink-wink, “Now has he filled out all his paperwork in full?”

The Processor, an older black man who would never win an Oscar, pretending to scroll through his laptop, eyes popping wide, the three of us in this tiny office playing make-believe, denying that death was the answer, as if some God was watching with the benefit of laughtrack.

“No, I don't believe he has, Mr. Winter- Doctor Winter.” Try learning your lines.

“Well then let's re-convene this appointment at a future date and time-”

“I filled out all my paperwork. Signed every consent form. I had my lawyer witness & notarize. Stop fucking with me... let's just not fuck with each other. Do you want the confirmation number?”

Bureaucrats, bristling in their seats, suddenly aware of their waistbands, and their assholes, and all the other lies they'd come to know, since their formal education gave them no answers.

“74-74-505-B,” I recited, and then to watch them car crash, as they came up against proof indisputable, as they ran out of reasons for show.

One last-ditch attempt from Dr. Winter, and as much as I hated the son of a bitch I fell in love with him for caring this much: “I don't think you really wanna do this,” he said, standing up from his chair, “you're not ready for the shot. You're just a chickenshit coward with no guts or no balls... you're taking the easy way out, and I think you're fucking pathetic.”

That passion. I could have kissed him on the mouth. The man cared more than most. But I had made up my mind a long time ago.

“Thank you, Dr. Winter...” I recited smiling, “now give me the fucking shot.”

He looked into my eyes, pleading with me for some sort of clemency.

“The shot.”

He nodded, and I knew. They called the nurse in... a blonde in all white with her hair in a bun, anonymous executioner, syringe already readied, looking at me soft & sweet in order to tell me she didn't really do this, this wasn't really who she was... yeah. Whatever.

And with a smile & a lick of her lips she pierced my flesh with the needle, her heart a block of ice, and in that golden moment