Creative writing: skits, short stories, essays

Don't Bother Trying to Get Up

Well, now, Jim. How are you? Oh, don't bother trying to get up (or saying hi), I know that you can't. You actually can't do much of anything right now.

You might be wondering why you're like this. Well, I'll bet you know my motivation, shouldn't be too hard to guess. I'll give you a hint, it has to do with your recent nighttime interactions, and your behavior during the day, and, well, you. It has to do with everything about you, you fucking shit.

Anyway, while you were out enjoying yourself at my expense, I realized that one of our experimental compounds has the happy side effect of paralyzing muscles. It didn't take long for me to learn that I could inject it in such a way that I could spare the heart and lungs. That leaves you awake and alert, completely able to hear, see, and think, aware of pain and the life around you, but completely unable to interact with it.

I couldn't have asked for a better weapon. No one else knows anything about it because you were never around to do actual research, and the local hospital won't know what to look for.

If it helps, I don't think you'll be sticking around for too long. I don't know if you have a living will, or what your family will say, but there's a good chance that your doctor will recommend that they disconnect life support. Of course, since you can breathe on your own, this means that they'll basically be letting you die by dehydration. I hear that's unpleasant. Though, come to think of it, since you'll be locked in your own apartment, and with no one (at work, at least) bothering to check to see if you're around, then maybe you won't even last long enough to have a doctor make that recommendation.

You should consider yourself lucky. I have more say in how Lydia will be treated. See, since I have the ability to make medical decisions for her, I plan on making her live. She'll stay in her waking coma, probably for a couple of decades. Personally, I wish that the roles were reversed: I'd far prefer to be able to torture you for decades, but I guess I can settle for sitting back and watching you die slowly. There are worse pastimes, I suppose.

Anyway, I need to get to work. I have plenty to do now that I'm running the lab. I guess I'll be seeing you.

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