Life of Death
by Nicholas A. McGirr
The man awoke to find he was no longer in his straitjacket. Instead he was strapped to some kind of bed with metal side posts. The wrists had strapped his arms down, his legs by the ankles and his head strapped by the neck. He then noticed that he was no longer in pain, that the straps were rather comfortable in their imprisonment, right down to the neck strap. He didn’t struggle to get out of them, he just yelled for one of the nurses, standing in a nearby glass office.
The nurse came immediately, and asked how he was feeling.
“What happened? Why am I strapped to this bed?” the man asked.
“You had some sort of seizure. The doctors in the lab are still trying to figure out what happened. Now you just lie there until we figure out what exactly happened, okay?”
The man nodded his head with the little slack the neck strap gave him.
“Alright, now let me go and get you some water,” the nurse said, and left the room.
The count was one hundred and one thousand, three hundred and forty-nine.
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