Mercy Killing (Open to all)
Mar 2, 2009 12:09:51 GMT -5
Post by lovepeacepuppy on Mar 2, 2009 12:09:51 GMT -5
Mercy looked down with tear-filled eyes at the little boy laying on the table in front of her. He was wailing and writhing in pain against the disease that was ravaging his body. It was a disease most were vaccinated for, but this boy and his family were too poor to afford the vaccine. By the time they had come to Mercy, every member had been infected, both parents and all six children. Now all that was left was this little survivor. But not for long.
Mercy knew there was nothing she could do. No matter how long it took, this disease would kill him. There was no medicine, drug, or therapy that would slow it down or make it any less painful. But there was something that could stop the pain all together. It was called death.
Mercy gently stroked back some of the hair from the boy's face, said something comforting and then retreated to her bedroom, which was attached to her miniature doctor's office/hospital that was all her own; there were no other doctors or anyone working there. She had established it all herself.
Once in her room, she reached under her mattress and retreived a small, yellow envelope. In the envelpe was a small, glass vial containing tiny black pills. She took the vial and the pills back into her operating room and went towards the boy, emptying some of the pills into her hand.
She picked out just one and told the child to open wide, which he did, looking up at her with innocent, trusting eyes. She placed the pill on his tongue and told him to swallow it.
After some difficulty, he got it down, and in almost an instant, he stopped writhing, shaking, moving. He went completely limp, a serene look on his face.
Mercy put the pills back in the vial and the vial back in the envelope, and she placed the envelope aside as she closed the boy's eyelids with her hand and said a quiet prayer. He was dead. And he wasn't in pain anymore.
Mercy knew there was nothing she could do. No matter how long it took, this disease would kill him. There was no medicine, drug, or therapy that would slow it down or make it any less painful. But there was something that could stop the pain all together. It was called death.
Mercy gently stroked back some of the hair from the boy's face, said something comforting and then retreated to her bedroom, which was attached to her miniature doctor's office/hospital that was all her own; there were no other doctors or anyone working there. She had established it all herself.
Once in her room, she reached under her mattress and retreived a small, yellow envelope. In the envelpe was a small, glass vial containing tiny black pills. She took the vial and the pills back into her operating room and went towards the boy, emptying some of the pills into her hand.
She picked out just one and told the child to open wide, which he did, looking up at her with innocent, trusting eyes. She placed the pill on his tongue and told him to swallow it.
After some difficulty, he got it down, and in almost an instant, he stopped writhing, shaking, moving. He went completely limp, a serene look on his face.
Mercy put the pills back in the vial and the vial back in the envelope, and she placed the envelope aside as she closed the boy's eyelids with her hand and said a quiet prayer. He was dead. And he wasn't in pain anymore.
