How it is done
fiction by Luke O’Neil
They told us that we were not killing him when it came time to turn off the machines but then what were we doing?
I do not know and I will never know and neither will you.
They said there was nothing left to be done anymore. All potential avenues had been explored. Somberly and politely and professionally they told us that. Touching our shoulders perhaps.
Shaking the doctor's hand like a salesman we were closing a deal with.
And this assemblage of children some of whom barely knew each other or barely even knew him were suddenly thrown together like a ragtag group in a heist movie except what we were stealing was a life.
Not really though they said.
They take you into some room they have around the corner from where whoever the person is is attached to the machine and they tell you what is happening and you’re either the type to meticulously take notes to record what they’re saying so you can try to logic your way out of the most unsolvable puzzle we have going or you’re the kind that blacks out and everything they say dissipates into thin air.
There always has to be a captain in these scenarios. A reluctant captain. Alright. Alright. Duty is calling.
Probably that was me but I also remember thinking that this isn’t even my ship. I don’t know how to steer this thing.
Keep us breathing fire!
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