The Consequences

“You are telling me that doing right and being good, none of that mattered, because I cheated on my wife.”

The masked figure nodded its head.

I was tied to a chair in a room, a deserted room somewhere. The ropes bit in to my hands and my ankles. A figure in the room moved about outside the lighted area in the shadows and began preparing something.

It approached with a syringe then jabbed the needle in to a vein. The pain was subtle. It spread like a burn through my arm and then my chest. I could feel it move through my body my chest my legs my feet my toes grew numb. It crept up in to my throat tasting all metallic. Soon I could no longer feel my fingers, my jaw tightened.

I watched the figure take off its mask. My wife came in to the light.

“My wife is trying to kill me because I cheated on her? Everything I believed is wrong. There is no justice. What about God? God would forgive me.”

She kissed my forehead.

Darkness.

They threw me on to some cold metal table.

“I'm not dead, I am not dead! What are you doing? Can't you see I'm not dead? Call the cops, my wife tried to kill me. I am not dead!”

The undertaker began hooking up a series of pumps to withdraw the bodily fluids. He looked again at the body, there was a tear falling from one of the eyes. “Natural,” he said to himself, “something to do with the physics of sucking out the bodily fluids.” He covered the body, shut out the light and left the room to the whir of the vacuum pumps.