Silencing the B***h

You wish you could do something, doing nothing but watching this child you call life go on about his day, not holding a conversation, not being seen. Yet he knows you hover over his torn soul.

So life finally quieted down. The doctors giving each other a worried look, wondering what they were going to do.

Looking ahead, you see the destination of the ambulence. An old building that looks like it should have been forclosed, a wired fence snarls its claws around the outline of the property, claiming its territory so that none could overstep there bounds.

The rest is routine to everyone else in the vehicle, as if this has been done before. They stopped, got him out again and whisked him into the new, yet ancient building that looked sad, as if ready to have its own swan song. 

They take him within these walls, the sweat ever so evident as there shirts are all see-through, their hair all matted down to their foreheads with the classic whips at the eyebrows to whip it away.

More needles enter the picture, his skin red and purple, less white then what it had started off with before all the piercings ocurred.

The red flows deep, his arms lay limp, too much damage done to them, but this child seems to revel in the pain, embracing it based on the blank stare on his face, but then the eyes tell it all for electricity seems to run through them when another piece of steel slips simmlessly into the already numb limbs. Otherwise, they are dull, basically lifeless like the rest of him.

Then one doctor suddenly stabs him with such force and out of the midst of chaos that the child went to sleep, but not forever.