Chapter 8

A few minutes later, I'm sitting up, Dr. Miller facing me. "You have to understand, Quinn, that this is truly for the greater good. If the procedure doesn't work... it means you're dangerous. It's like a rabid dog, having to be put down for the safety of others."

"So I'm a dog now?" I ask, my voice rising slightly. "I'm not a danger! Just because I'm not perfect... it doesn't mean I have to be killed!"

He flinches at my tone, growing stern. "Young lady, this is not to be discussed. The case is cut and dried; your parents have agreed."

My parents? I know that they lied to me for 14 years, but they didn't even love me? "My parents want me dead?" I whisper.

Dr. Miller softens, seeing the look on my face. "You must understand that they only want what's best for you. They want to put you out of your misery. I don't know what else to say. This is the final decision, and you're just making it difficult. Now follow me."

I reluctantly follow him out of the room and down several halls. We stop in a pristine white room that looks exactly like the one I was hallucinating about except for the knives, guns, and poisons hanging on the walls and the electric chair sitting in the center of the room. "So you're going to shoot, stab, poison, and electrocute me?" I scoff. "Sounds like a waste of time."

Dr. Miller shakes his head, "Of course not. That would be a waste of resources. You choose how you die."

I'm disgusted, "Why the hell would you do that?"

"It's the humane thing to do," he responds calmly. Humane? Letting people choose how they die is humane?

"There's no way I'm doing that," I shoot back.

"Then I'll have the firing squad come up here."

This is when it dawns on me. I'm actually going to die. This isn't a hallucination, it's my last few minutes alive. No one can save me. Today was my last time in the fresh air, with the sun and clouds and sky. I'm never going to graduate high school, or get a job. I'll never get married, have kids, grow old... None of that for me. In a week or so, my parents will be standing over my coffin, dressed in black and pretending to be upset as friends and classmates crowd my lifeless body. Or will there even be a funeral? Will people remember me, or will I be forgotten, swept away like dust in the wind?

"Poison..." I mutter, the word barely making it past my lips. He nods solemnly, turning his back on me to prepare my death. I look around, contemplating. Should I feel anything? Should the meaning of life suddenly appear as a revelation? That's when I hear something. At first I think I'm imagining it, but when I turn, he's here. Standing in the doorway. Thomas.