Children of a Lesser Mind, Part 1

"Now, this is the really amazing part.."

I felt unbearably sad. And just a little disgusted. Here were these PEOPLE, human beings, just like me (and even my associate) having their souls ripped from them with the flick of a knife.

"Now, here they are afterwards..."

I felt..I don't know what I felt. Guilty, I guess. No, worse than that...horrible. These people went in as human beings, and came out nothing more than automatons. I just could not share my collegue's seeming enthusiasm for the procedure. But, I was a doctor. A good doctor. And, to stay at this place and give myself a chance to continue to be a good doctor, I had to listen, I had to nod like I was thinking, I had to smile at times, I had to... Well, you get the idea...

"As the severence of the nerve fibers connected to the pre-frontal cortex have rendered these individuals, and their conditions, mute, it must be concluded..."

I couldn't listen any longer. No, I didn't jump up and scream, or object, because, well, I couldn't object, not really. I no more had a clue as to why these people were what they were than anyone else, so, who was I? So, I just tuned out and thought to myself, occassionally listening, mostly not.

"...but I assure you, once the procedure is perfected..."

Perfected?! Good lord, how they can actually believe stripping a person of their soul is a skill that needs to be 'honed and polished' is beyond me. I knew then and there I had to come up with something, another explanation of what was happening to these people. I refused to believe that it was all somehow linked to a "confusion of the concious mind." What a crock! But, to prove the 'crock', I had to act. And fast, lest the world end up zombified!

"Now, let me say this up front, maybe the procedure as a whole is not the end solution, but until..."

Wow! That got my attention. He's actually admitting his darling procedure isn't the be all and end all of psychiatry...

"...that we learn how to treat such conditions without surgical intervention, it will remain the preferred method to treat that which cannot be controlled via therapy or behavioral modification..."

Fifteen minutes (or thereabouts) of Q&A, and, finally, the damn thing was over. As I filed out with the rest of the "good doctors", I couldn't help wondering how many of them felt as I did, but, like me, could not offer an alternative. I just hoped that they also felt that taking a person's soul was not only not an answer, but shouldn't even be a consideration.

As the rest of the "good doctors" proceeded to wherever "good doctors" go after a lecture-presentation, I turned to the right. I made sure to walk casually and with purpose, and to hold my head up. The latter was the biggest mistake of my life. So much for being a "good doctor".

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As I laid there in the blackness I thought, "Well, who could blame me for trying."

But, as the last thoughts of my life (as me anyway) tumbled through my jumbled head, I felt so unbearably sad. No more football. No more feeling the sun on my face. No more hearing thunder and seeing lightning. No more steak, no more burgers, no more meatloaf. And no more love. I wept. Silently, of course, as I didn't want to seem a coward. Silly, I knew, as the word wouldn't even have any meaning for me by tomorrow at this time.
For a brief period, I contemplated fighting, running for the door, screaming...but, alas, I would only be putting off the inevitable. Besides, I didn't want my soul to go to its 'final resting place' with such negative last thoughts. Why had my mind so betrayed me, as to force its removal the way a diseased appendix is removed? But why remove it at all? I don't hear voices, I don't believe I'm Superman, I just can't always think right, and I've been known to get a little rough from time-to-time...

It's all just so darn sad...