I feel a reluctant solidarity with these unfamiliar women; all of us sitting here huddled together; waiting to put an end to the latest episode of a lifelong series of reproductive misadventures. It's difficult not to be nervous in a room that reeks of omission and neglected responsibilities. Closing my eyes I imagine I am resting my chin in my hands, polishing a sanded driftwood bar with my wrinkled elbows; watching as a benevolent barman measures a generous portion of whisky with just the right amount of tepid water.

My daydream shatters; a robust nurse calls out a number: 253. That's me, it's my turn. Rigid with tension I remind myself that this is a good and necessary thing I'm about to do. The young one with greasy hair reaches out to touch me. I think she means for comfort but I recoil and spring out of my seat; rushing towards a more practical fate than sympathy. She looks hurt and I'm glad though my aversion is not from some crippling anxiety but more from a mature awareness of my own psychological vulnerability. As I turn back to sneer at her my knees buckle; I'm bent double, retching, on my knees sobbing, my face covered. I collapse into darkness.
 
Awake again: everything is terrible but I have no sense of it. My back burns against the cold steel table and the dull florescent lights nudge me wickedly from my voluntary numbness into an empty world that echoes with the dull vibration of a headache in crescendo. The doctor walks in, immaculate in his lab coat, radiant as though in some demented version of the Annunciation. He smiles and immediately I'm defensive; guilty. Do you do this often? He is pleased at my interest. Yeah all the time! You? That final query slips and in falling smears itself with shame before it's finally flat on it's' face shattering its' toothy grin on the gray concrete. His innocence precludes any notion of tact. I turn my face towards him and smirking for a moment I cast my rusty barbs into the relaxed and tender flesh of his soul. My spell darkens the mood and dampens his enthusiasm for his employment.
 
Down to business now, the clatter of sterile utensils against the sanitary steel tray. White sheets and the strange smell of disinfectant shroud the room in a deathly aura of lives barely dreamed of and those same dreams undesired. I'm cold in my white smock and the needles that they poke into my veins send my stomach on a roller coaster ride away from stability. The drug kicks in and before I can protest I am away; far away dreaming of strange creatures in moist worlds that need only to drink of the fountain to prevail. There's no turning back: my moment has arrived.
 
Later, curled up underneath my blanket, I force a missive from my pen; all the pieces of my broken heart emptied out on to squared A4:
 
"My dear sweet love; I'm sorry to torment you with such unseasoned memories but I am at this moment wretchedly alone and desperate to regain even a fleeting hint of my tedious determination towards normalcy. The reality of my action grabs at me and for a second I'm contrite but soon the feeling retreats and I'm left only with the actuality of what I have done. My mind is at peace for my future is secure. Though I want to believe it is beautiful to be free, I'm rubbed raw, not from the skin but deep within me."
 
This time I know that my ambition has flouted the margins of modernity and that when finally I examine what truth lies in the finer details of my being; all the while unsettled by what seems to be spilling from its wounds, he won't care.