My heart beats faster as the nurse babbles on. I, personally, could care less about your son’s first steps. I also don’t care that your daughter wants a car for her sixteenth birthday. It seems to me that if you have children you’re asking for the troubles the teenage years bring.
I let her babble, content in the fact that she doesn’t really care what I think. I am a stranger, here for a small matter before leaving her life forever. Oh, we may pass in the store now and again, her face stirring up a faint semblance of a memory, but we won’t talk. She is simply doing her job and I, coming here of my own will, am asking for this babble as much as a new set of parents are asking for someone to spend their every last cent. I have brought this on myself and can accept that.
I hear the faint shuffle of white cotton and brace myself. I break into a cold sweat and unbidden tears drip down my cheeks. I slowly rise from my seat and walk into the room where my doom lies. The last thing I see is the shiny, sharp needle.