"The Clinic (semi-consensual, euthanasia, mess)"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/7zzSHyWp
Created on: Saturday 1st of July 2017 05:23:10 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:19:45 AM UTC



Micah stared at the pamphlet in her hands, pretending to herself to be reading it again. She sighed, tossing aside the brochure describing services at the local elective termination clinic. In truth she knew the contents to a word, and had made her decision long ago. The staff had been incredibly helpful, her question answered when she first visited – a mandatory counselling session they called it, but really a combination of information about the procedure, encouragement to go through with it and a good dose of marketing for the particular facility. All that actually remained after the waiting period was to return for the final appointment.

She stepped into her shower contemplating the day ahead. “Might as well be presentable for it” she thought, fully aware but even now not wanting to dwell on the fact these were her last hours. She felt her pulse quickening, nerves catching up with her as much as they had when she had signed up for the population management program back in school. Silly to be nervous she thought, it wasn’t really much of a choice. She inhaled the steamy air deeply trying to calm herself. Far better to do this at a time and place she chose than when she lost some hidden roll of the dice and found an order to report to a population management centre.

Of course there were also real advantages to volunteering. No negative control board ruling could be held over her friends and family, no random selection process would hang over her head, and she could put her affairs in order on her own schedule. It didn’t hurt that an elective procedure was private, or that insurance would pay afterward. Mostly though she knew her selection was inevitable in any case. Her karma, as they called it, score was down, just like her career, and randomization in selection was up. Shaking her head at this line of thought she refocused on the hot water. The decision was hers, it was made, and the shower felt good.

Leaving the shower she stared into her mirror; the picture in it pleasing her. Dawdling over her hair she steeled herself a again and wondered if she should shave, almost laughing at the absurdity of the though. There was nothing the clinic staff or undertaker wouldn’t see soon enough, and she would be dead anyway. There was no use fretting over her appearance now. Nonetheless she allowed the routine of her makeup to steady her nerves, and contemplated clothes. Shrugging she grabbed a simple skirt and blouse. “Just like a job interview, cute, simple, comfortable” she thought, collecting her things. Briefly confirming her appointment she tossed her phone aside, it wouldn’t be needed where she was going. She gazed at her small apartment. Not very much to mark a life she thought. Realizing that her sister could take care of what little was left, she locked the door.

It was only a short walk to the bus, and the day was beautiful. Strange, she thought, seeing everything for the last time yet enjoying it all. The bus driver raised an eyebrow at the free one-way ticket but said nothing. Of course the trip was provided by the clinic, far too much was invested in the population management system to allow any barriers to elective procedures. The ride dragged on, but she couldn’t manage to nap like on any other trip; her mind wandered trying to take in everything along the way, unable to relax or focus on anything in particular.

Nearing her destination the bus had emptied out. Stepping off she could feel the drivers eyes follow her “you’re sure about this? I’m going back the other way in a couple minutes” he said gesturing toward the city.

Micah nodded at him “it’s fine” she murmured. Yes, she was sure. The affirmation steadied her, even if she couldn’t quite stop her hands shaking. The building was nondescript; an office with an unmarked entrance and a few stories. The sort of thing one could find anywhere. Gripping the door she breathed deeply – not much farther now. She remembered from the pamphlet that the procedure was supposed to take less than an hour from arrival. The lobby and waiting room she stepped into was sparse, looking much as any medical office. A receptionist looked up in greeting. “Do you have an appointment? Or can I arrange an information session?”

“I confirmed my appointment a little while ago” Micah replied, her heart racing again. She handed her identification to the receptionist who glanced at it, tapped her screen and nodded.

“Take a seat and look these over. Make any changes and I’ll call for you in a few minutes” the receptionist indicated, gesturing toward the chair lining a wall and handing Micah a bundle of forms.

She nodded and sat. Looking at the forms, she found a copy of the preferences she had indicated during her previous visit. It took her real effort to pull her eyes from the words “Consent to elective termination”, but she skimmed the documents. They were as she remembered, and already signed when she visited last week, noting today as the effective date. Technically she could still change her mind, but the decisions were already made, consent given. Now the waiting period was over she just had to show up and not back out. Setting the form aside she looked around the waiting room. Two other clients, a pretty Asian looking woman and a scared looking man who couldn’t be more than 25 sat at opposite ends of the room. The woman gripped a clipboard with white knuckles, but a determined face, while the boy, as he seemed more and more to her, looked as if he were about ready to run away. Feeling like an intruder she picked up a magazine on the table next to her. Absentmindedly leafing through it she couldn’t escape the strangeness of idly passing the time while waiting for someone to come and kill her. In a room with other doing, or planning for the same no less.

She couldn’t say how much time passed – it certainly seemed an eternity. In truth it was only enough time for the a call confirming Micah’s arrival and the counsellor to finish with a previous client. The receptionist called her name and Micah looked up. “If you’re ready you can take the elevator upstairs, your counsellor is waiting for you”.

The ride was short and the doors opened on a hallway. A short blonde woman in a lab coat stepped up to her “Micah Richards? Wonderful to see you again.”

“Yes” Micah replied, recognizing the woman from her previous visit. She was the counsellor who had advised her in choosing a termination. Somehow wonderful wasn’t the word that came to mind, but the woman had been nice enough, extremely helpful. Her name escaped Micah until she noticed the name tag reading Samantha.

The woman smiled and took Micah’s package. “Just follow me.” She said smiling. Samantha gestured her into a room Micah saw could pass for an exam room in any medical office but for the gentle lighting and a full gurney against the wall. Both women sat and Samantha flipped through the forms.

“Alright. Relax a minute, I just need to go over your selections before we get started.” Samantha said, looking straight at Micah, evaluating her client. Her breathing was rapid, and body tense but she was composed and seemed determined. The job was going as smoothly as any ever went. She doubted anything would go awry, it rarely did with volunteers, and it was a straightforward procedure Micah had chosen. This was as utterly routine as any service the centre offered. As odd as they seemed to Micah the euphemisms of the centre couldn’t have phased Samantha less, they were, in fact completely integrated into how she did her job.

“I just need to briefly confirm that we will be carrying out the same the same procedure we discussed last week, as described in the package you signed then. If there’s no changes we can get started right away, or if you have any more questions please ask. We are here to serve you in whatever way you require.” Samantha recited the familiar lines. Looking at the forms she continued “First of all, you have consented to voluntary euthanasia as you last week?” The past tense was important here, it was already done and finished.

“Yes.” Micah replied, feigning calmness but feeling butterflies in her stomach like never before in her life.

“Good. We discussed an anal suppository last week. Is that still the method we will proceed with?”

“I think so” Micah replied, her voice cracking. It had seemed intrusive, but Samantha and the brochures described it as the best option. No pills, needles or mess, it was supposed to be like falling asleep. “You said I’d just go to sleep?”

“That’s right, it can take a few minutes, but you won’t feel anything once the dose is administered. Just like going to bed”. Privately Samantha thought this method was pushed mostly to avoid the training required for traditional injections, but many clients seemed to prefer it, and it was effective.

“Ok, yes. Like we discussed.”

“And you final disposition. Your remains are to disposed discretely with no memorial. And your sister will be contacted once the procedure is complete?”

Micah though briefly and nodded. No reason to involve anyone now, it could only make things harder. No reason to leave a body behind to clean up, though she found herself wondering what would happen to what she could only think of as herself. Her sister could collect her things and close out the lease. What else would she leave behind? Not even a pet.

“What does discrete disposal mean again?” she broke in.

“Cremation and burial offshore usually” Samantha recited. “The goal is efficiency, no need for any mess afterward, or for your contact to arrange any details. It’s also the lowest cost service” she continued.

“Alright, cremation…” Micah trailed off, wondering why she had asked.

“Then we can get started.” She could see fear in Micah, but that was to be expected. “You really are doing the best thing today. And helping everyone you know.” Samantha smiled.

The counsellor’s job was often seen as little more than an executioner, and advertised as a provider of honest advice. In truth carrying out the procedures was the smallest part of the job, and the advice was ultimately about selling a procedure. Elective terminations kept population control’s cull numbers in check, and low numbers kept the program popular. No one liked seeing young people dragged off to their deaths, necessary as it might be. It was an important job which Samantha liked, and she was good at it. It was a real blow to a termination counsellor for a serious client to back out late; so much so that it could hurt her own odd’s next time she met with a population control officer.

Considering briefly whether she should restrain Micah she chose against. This was always a gamble, it was technically the client’s right to change her mind right up to the moment a termination began, but fight or flight was a powerful instinct. Counsellors could suggest restraints if the client hadn’t asked for them, and many did. The problem was that often the suggestion itself would drive a client into panic, anger or just out the door. No, Samantha much preferred to keep things gentle, as did most of her colleagues. Encouragement worked so much better than force.

Samantha stood. “There’s a gown on the bed, you can use the toilet and change in there.” she pointed at a door opposite the one they’d entered. “Empty your bowels out and settle down on the bed when you’re done. I’ll be back in a moment” she added, stepping out and locking the door behind her. Voluntary the procedure might be, but the wheels were very much in motion. Barring an active and clear demand the woman in the room behind her would be terminated shortly. Consent had been given the first time they met and she had returned freely. Backing out was very much discouraged now, and meant to take much more effort than going through with the procedure. The program demanded as much, even if it did make some counsellors uneasy as to the thoroughness of consent in the odd case.

Micah heard the door click and realized she was locked in. Odd, but it didn’t really matter. She supposed they were giving her a few moments of privacy. Taking the hospital gown from the gurney she felt herself trembling. “Just going to sleep” she kept telling herself, but her whole body was as tense as she had even been. She couldn’t shake the idea that this was the last room she would ever see from her head. That in a few minutes she would no longer exist.

She thought through all the lasts of the previous days. Her last workday, last newspaper, last dinner, last sunset. The last breakfast she’d prepared this morning, having gotten up to see a last sunset. The shower she’d enjoyed, and the last clothes she’d chosen barely a couple hours ago. The walk to the bus. These thoughts had a been with her all week, a clock ticking down inexorably to her end, marked by these lasts. She hugged herself, feeling the warmth of her own body; still very much alive. As alive as she had ever felt in fact. Feeling her breasts it struck her that she could have called an old boyfriend, added last sex to the list.

But it was too late now, and it wasn’t like she had been keeping some ridiculous checklist she thought, trying to snap herself back to the moment, a lump forming in her throat. Settling on the toilet she focused on the task at hand, realizing she hadn’t managed to use it in days. Nerves she supposed, her stomach tied in knots even now. Thinking once again of lasts she supposed this would be her last shit, and the thought jolted something loose. Fear rushed through her, not for the first time, but more real than ever. It took all the effort she could muster not to run from the room right then, more in fact, she stood, ready to leave, run from this place. Her stomach turned as she stood however, and she fell back to the toilet, emptying her bowels in a sudden rush. Another last she thought, and let the feeling calm her.

She needed to do this she told herself, and she would never be more ready than now. Doing it all over again would be utterly impossible. She thought about the next few minutes, and contemplated at least changing the method. It would surely buy her a few more minutes alive. And save a stranger poking around inside her, she was hardly a fan of the suppository. But she hated needles, and didn’t think she could keep pills down. Strangulation maybe? Even the idea frightened her more than death itself. No, she had talked this all over with Samantha before. It would be just like going to bed. And it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be poking around her body in a few minutes whatever the means.

She quickly wiped and cleaned herself, washing the tears from her face, and swore as her makeup ran. She reminded herself how little it mattered now, brushing her hair into place. She began to fold the clothes she’d worn before shaking her head at the absurdity and pulling the gown on. It left little to the imagination, but the room felt cold, and the gown helped a little.

Leaving the tiny bathroom she was surprised to find Samantha had not returned. She sat on the edge of the bed and absentmindedly observed how oddly high it was. The easier for Samantha to reach her she supposed. She lay back on the bed, trying to get comfortable, shivering a little even in the warm room. The room was lit softly and kept dark, she tried to it calm her, but couldn’t seem to relax, her mind and pulse racing. How odd to be arranging herself on a bed she would never rise from it she thought. Damn it, where was Samantha? Wasn’t this supposed to take only a few minutes?

Hearing the toilet flush Samantha had given Micah a couple of minutes to settle down. This seemed a job best left unhurried, an appointment was scheduled to take less than an hour, but this one was going well and she had plenty of time. She re-entered the room, the packet with the drug in her pocket. Micah was lying on the bed looking terrified, her breath unsteady and hints of tears running down her cheeks. “It’s ok honey, everything’s alright” she said gently, almost at a whisper, squeezing Micah’s shoulder, only barely concerned by her client’s growing anxiety.

Micah swallowed, a lump still in her throat, and let the words sooth her. She inhaled unsteadily, butterflies again in her stomach. “It really doesn’t hurt?” she asked plaintively though an unsteady breath.

“It’s just going to sleep, and we’re almost done” Samantha assured her. She pulled on a pair of gloves, careful not to startle Micah. She was as ready as she would ever be now. Best to get it over with quickly now. “Ok, roll away from me onto your side” she directed. “And bend your leg up, toward your tummy.”

Micah rolled herself and felt Samantha guide her leg up. Somehow the assurance that it would only be like going to sleep wasn’t helping anymore. She sniffled a little, and focused on the wall, choking down tears and trying to hide the fear that was growing again.

Taking the drug out of it’s wrapper Samantha rested a hand on Micah and whispered “Ok, take a deep breath I’m just going to insert a finger”.

Micah inhaled, biting her lower lip in preparation.

Samantha gently inserted the drug into Micah’s presented anus and pushed it as deep as a finger would allow. “There, all done” she told Micah, withdrawing her finger and pressing buttocks together.

Micah gasped at the finger shoved deeply and not terribly gently into her, and felt another jolt at Samantha’s cheery statement. ‘What did she mean “all done?” She’d said just a finger… surely there was more time’. Her eyes bulged as she realized the drug was in her. She could scarcely believe it, but she was dying.

Releasing her cheeks Samantha again rested a hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Ok, role on over and relax”. She sat on the stool next to the gurney and glanced at her watch.

Rolling onto her back Micah grasped at the sheets, again feeling completely alive, completely normal, and absolutely not ready to die. She tried to sense any effect of the drug, and felt nothing, no maybe something. There was an odd coolness and tingling in her lower body, barely noticeable. Her breath quickened and she looked to Samantha, sitting calmly at her side. “How long? They said it was quick”.

“Once you feel it, yes. It can take a few minutes to take effect, the drug has to dissolve. No more than ten minutes.” She smiled stiffly.

“Oh god” Micah choked, continuing to whimper. “Please, stop. I’m scared… I don’t think I want this anymore”.

“Oh honey, it’s too late for that. It’s done now. You know this is the right thing.” Samantha was aiming for sympathetic, the panic was understandable, if frustrating. A predictable part of the job yes, but it wasn’t like she could stop the procedure even if she were inclined to; the drug developed a lethal dose quickly, even if it did take time for the anesthetic to take hold. The cost of avoiding a needle.

“Please don’t…” Micah trailed off, gritting her teeth. She knew it was true, on both points. This was her choice, and what she’d wanted. It was already done in any case. She felt her head sink into the bed, settling her arms at her sides. Staring into space she waited to die. It seemed eternity, she lay, still tossing occasionally, unable to get comfortable.

Her body felt strange now. An empty feeling spreading from between her legs, a tingling spreading advancing up her limbs, which were getting heavier. Controlling her breath was getting easier, her breaths slowed. She felt her eyelids getting heavier, and a rush of adrenalin shot through her. No, this couldn’t be all. Trying to blink she struggled to re-open her eyes, the room seemed darker now and she tried to sit, finding no strength in her body.

Samantha grasped her hand. “It’s best if you don’t fight it. Close your eyes and sleep. Just sleep now.”

Micah choked a little. Unable to rise felt her breathing slow, now a struggle to inhale. “No” she thought, not like this. She couldn’t breath now, they couldn’t just leave her to asphyxiate. But as thought it her eyes closed for the last time. Her head tilted to the side, but she was no longer conscious. Soon her breasts stopped moving and a little drool ran out the corner of her mouth.

Samantha glanced at her watch. She reached out and felt for a pulse, finding nothing, and noting the growing damp spot between Micah’s legs. Seven minutes. About right. Checking the time since Micha’s arrival she saw the whole procedure had taken under forty minutes. Standing up she quickly placed Micah’s cloths in a plastic bag which she left at her feet to be collected later.

A life ended cleanly, compassionately and efficiently; her job well done in other words. So she thought to herself. And with plenty of time to wash up before her next consultation.

She locked the door behind her, there was no reason to move the remains with clients in the building, it could only upset them. Returning to her desk to confirm the successful termination Samantha ensured that Micah’s remains would be collected that evening. Micah’s sister, the other Ms. Richards, would be contacted in the morning to collect her things. Samantha assumed after the waiting period there would be little else in the way of affairs to settle. That was the point after all. Not that it mattered, her mind was already on to her next case, what to do after work and how to maximize her own karma score; she certainly had no intention of submitting to one of her procedures.