Frank looked down at the woman rubbing his feet.
“Hello Mr. Morgan, how was your life?” She smiled. Frank’s life backpedaled in his mind. He looked down at his unblemished wrists.
“But I?” Frank began, but then his life kept going, backwards, further. Then Frank remembered, he looked around the recovery room of The Clinic. He looked back at his smooth, young wrists. He looked down at the woman running her small fingers through his toes. He glared at her.
“You people are sick!” He jerked his foot away and stood up, the small towel falling to the floor.
“I want to speak to a manager!” he demanded. The woman nodded and ran off. Frank paced around on the heated floors of the recovery room in a rage. A few minutes later an older woman in a purple suit and high heels click-clopped her way into the room. She stopped some ways from Frank, she held a clipboard and contempt.
She raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down, smirking. Frank picked the towel up off the floor and wrapped it around his waist.
“Thank you, what is the problem Mr. Morgan?”
Frank seethed. “What is the problem! What kind of life was that? I fucking killed myself? You end it with killing myself? What kind of sickos are you? You killed my son, and my wife? How can you justify this? Explain yourself!”
The woman sighed and flipped a few pages on her clipboard.
“Seems here you signed up for an ordinary life.” The papers fell back into place and she looked up at Frank. “I don’t understand the problem.”
“You don’t? Hah—you don’t understand the problem? You really are sick. That wasn’t ordinary, that was a fucking travesty. I’ll sue you. I’ll sue this whole damn clinic and I’ll plug you in and send you through hell.”
The woman’s eyes went blunt around the edges. “Mr. Morgan we do not control what happens, we do not preprogram this. It happened the way it happened because of decisions you made. You chose an ordinary life. Ordinary lives are often filled with pain. But,”
She took the measure of him in a glance,
“you young rich kids come in here wanting to be edgy or impress some girl or prove something to your parents and then throw a tantrum when you realize ordinary life is not so wonderfully quaint as you expected.”
Frank glowered at her. Her words knocked him impotent. He had, in fact, done it so a poor girl he’d met in class would go on a date with him. The woman in the purple suit nodded.
“Thought so,” She said. She reached in her pocket and pulled out three little cards and held them out to Frank. Frank grabbed them.
“What are these?” he grumbled.
“Coupons, for our psychologist, he is very good.”
And with that, the woman turned and walked toward the door. Before going through it she turned.
She smiled. “Oh, and Mr. Morgan, next time you might consider our Extraordinary Life Package, less sharp objects.”
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