twenty minutes...

Posted by Sherry Roit on Tuesday, December 12, 2017


He didn't understand. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes since the incident. The incident that caused him to push the button. A button he had not wanted to press, but it was protocol. He'd been well trained in protocol. He'd been programmed. Brain washed. He had to be,otherwise he'd never have pressed the damned button. The scariest button he had ever encountered, and ever would. 

Only a brainwashed human would press THE BUTTON.
 
Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes and still nothing. This was entirely too much time to contemplate. To contemplate what had happened, what was supposed to happen, and how it wasn't instantaneous, at all, not at all what they'd programmed him to believe. 

Too much time.

Thirteen minutes. He wanted to pace. He couldn't. He wanted to change his mind. He couldn't. Undo what he'd done...couldn't. He now had time to consider all of the reasons not to press the button, all of those reasons that had been suppressed in his mind now came roiling up to the surface. Good reasons not to press the innocuous looking, boring, grey button, a button which blended into everything and still managed to stick out like the sorest thumb.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes since doing the irreversible, unthinkable thing, the thing that none of them ever thought would be needed. Fifteen -- no, sixteen minutes since the automatic reflex,  which should've made for the finale, no time to consider, no time to think about it after, just press and done. No rush of possible consequences, oh, the consequences, and worse, oh, worse, what had he done to himself, to the world, what would it feel like, sound like, taste like, was it absolutely necessary, would there be suffering, would it be...safe? Would he be safe? 

He didn't think he wanted to be safe, knowing what he'd done, having to see what he'd done, to live it, to own it, orders or no, oh they were safe, weren't they? Those sons a bitches were safe, and they didn't care, they didn't have feelings, they had no humanity, but he did, and he'd followed orders, just following orders, and pressed the stupid, evil, goddamned button, that piece of shit button, the god forsaken--

TWENTY MINUTES.


  



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twenty minutes...

Posted by Sherry Roit on Tuesday, December 12, 2017


He didn't understand. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes since the incident. The incident that caused him to push the button. A button he had not wanted to press, but it was protocol. He'd been well trained in protocol. He'd been programmed. Brain washed. He had to be,otherwise he'd never have pressed the damned button. The scariest button he had ever encountered, and ever would. 

Only a brainwashed human would press THE BUTTON.
 
Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes and still nothing. This was entirely too much time to contemplate. To contemplate what had happened, what was supposed to happen, and how it wasn't instantaneous, at all, not at all what they'd programmed him to believe. 

Too much time.

Thirteen minutes. He wanted to pace. He couldn't. He wanted to change his mind. He couldn't. Undo what he'd done...couldn't. He now had time to consider all of the reasons not to press the button, all of those reasons that had been suppressed in his mind now came roiling up to the surface. Good reasons not to press the innocuous looking, boring, grey button, a button which blended into everything and still managed to stick out like the sorest thumb.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes since doing the irreversible, unthinkable thing, the thing that none of them ever thought would be needed. Fifteen -- no, sixteen minutes since the automatic reflex,  which should've made for the finale, no time to consider, no time to think about it after, just press and done. No rush of possible consequences, oh, the consequences, and worse, oh, worse, what had he done to himself, to the world, what would it feel like, sound like, taste like, was it absolutely necessary, would there be suffering, would it be...safe? Would he be safe? 

He didn't think he wanted to be safe, knowing what he'd done, having to see what he'd done, to live it, to own it, orders or no, oh they were safe, weren't they? Those sons a bitches were safe, and they didn't care, they didn't have feelings, they had no humanity, but he did, and he'd followed orders, just following orders, and pressed the stupid, evil, goddamned button, that piece of shit button, the god forsaken--

TWENTY MINUTES.


  



blog comments powered by Disqus

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