(As a needle, you usually help save lives. Today is going to be the opposite. A man on the verge of suicide sits in his room, with a needle in his hand.)
“Think about this!” I screamed, but sadly he didn’t hear me. As he took off my cap, he wept about how his life turned to shit. Rambling on about if he had just given the mugger his wallet, his wife would still be here. I tried to get his attention and snap him out of it. “Don’t do it!” I begged, “Things will shape up, give it time. Don’t make me an object of murder!”
He just ignored me and violently shoved me into the vial of neon green liquid. Soon I was filled with a lethal dose of this horrid chemical. I could feel the putrid liquid becoming one with me. Helpless, I could do nothing. I was being used by a deranged mad man on the brink of suicide, ready to bite the bullet. “She wouldn’t want it to be this way.” I desperately try to make him stop. Finally, I get through to him. He lay me down, I was frozen with panic. Terrified that if I said the wrong thing he would finish it. “She would have wanted you to live a happy life and remember her, not kill yourself.” He roared that he just couldn’t live without her.
Before I knew what was happening, he snatched me up, and stabbed my sharp tip into his pulsating vein. My mind was suddenly filled with the sounds of blood rushing past. He quickly pushed my plunger down, injecting the drug into his bloodstream. I could feel the liquid mixing with his blood. Part of me was coursing through his poor veins and arteries, traveling along the blood superhighway. I was headed towards the central nervous system, blocking his pain receptors. He was instantly numb. His eyes became glazed, almost glassy. I could see the blood rushing to his head and his eyes became bloodshot. His pupils dilated and his eyes flooded with sorrow and regret. His breath quickened and his heart was racing. I was slowly eating away at the main components of what gave this man life.
As he sat there waiting to meet his maker, I could only lie there and watch with morbid fascination. As the other part of me, the newer part of me, disintegrated his life. He seemed calm, almost as if in a trance as he slowly drifted into oblivion. He hopes for a reunion with his wife in the afterlife, but by killing himself he was condemned into eternal damnation in the fiery depths of hell. He was starting to shake and that was just the beginning of his impending death. As he began to truly realize what he had done, his emotions soared with nothing but vile hatred for himself. Neither him, nor I, could have done anything to stop it. He was on the floor by then, writhing in pain as his vital organs slowly diminished.
First, I attacked his liver and kidneys. I made his skin turn a pale yellow and the course of my actions made him bleed from his eyes and ears. Every breath he inhaled, came out in a blood curdling screech of excruciating pain. Howls so loud I thought my tube would shatter. Then, I incited the failing of his lungs. He felt the slow, agonizing misery of oxygen depravation. It worsened with every breath he struggled to take. Like a fiery drum in his chest, it reminded him of every second that went by without the beloved element that kept him alive.
At last, I made a fatal strike to his heart. As if death’s cold, gaunt hand reached out and plucked the life out of his body, it stops beating. The last bit of blood slowly moves through his veins, and he dies. Finally, the end to his mortal agony. The end to his suffering, anguish, and peril. The end of it all.
08-02-2007, 21:47
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