And as the pressure built up within the syringe, forcing the morphine into blood and muscle my body begin tensing up in reaction to the liquid violently diffusing into one with my arm. Despite the drugs, I feel the needle cut through the skin as I began drumming on chest. The nurse looks alarmed as I look visibly shaken as I begin to squirm while she adjusts the needle to as angle that will-ostensibly-draw blood more efficiently.
The idea of ripping out the needle and viciously stabbing the nurse empowered by the wrath of karma, inflicting upon her the pain she's inflicted upon oh so many victims.
However, the story of my life plays out in reality and not upon pages stained with ink. Tsk, tsk. Consequence, consequence.
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