I stare at the feeble light in the room. The guy in the white coat proceeds mechanically: I can feel a cold needle against my strapped arm, and a syringe being emptied. I start to feel absent, weird. As if my soul started to lift off my body. Am I really dying?
But I still feel their ominous presence everywhere. They’d slay me with their own hands if they could.
The doctor takes my pulse. Laconically, he states I have passed away at 5.27h by lethal injection.
I remain motionless for what seems to be an eternity. Presently, he comes back:
“The show is over”, he says coldly.
At last, I utter a triumphant smile. I can embrace a second chance: redemption and a new life in return of my loyalty and service to the Government. That was the deal.
Before he left, he gave me a knowing look full of malice.
“When you read through the small print, you’ll wish you were dead”.