THE OLD MAN"S FATE
I have been sitting on this bathroom shelve for the past two years doing nothing, just sitting here serving no purpose I have been cursed with seeing the old man come and go through the bathroom doorway sometimes in a frenzy with little time to waste, and at times with a face distorted by excruciating pain. He looks at me, I look at him, he reaches for me then pulls his hand away and picks up the container just in front of me, always that container or at times the one next to it, I feel ignored, worthless. I still feel the warmth of the old man's touch when he first took me in his hand at the pharmacy and I still remember that peaceful smile on his face, but since that day not once has he picked me up.
Silence had been the norm on the shelf since I was put here. Not even a wisp of air emanated from the mouths of the containers around me, well that is not until a few days ago when a little container next to me popped its cap and whispered something I wish I had never heard. "If the old man uncaps you, picks you up and puts his lips to your mouth and tips you over that will be the end of him. He will be no more. I quivered at the sound of what came out of its mouth. Is that what's in store for me? Am I to be his final act? Am I to be his accomplice in suicide? I tried desperately to will myself back to the pharmacy, to push myself into a corner, to make myself invisible, but nothing worked. I remained where I am. When once I craved for the old man's touch I now dread his very presence. I now rest here nervously contemplating his outstretched hand and his demise. When the old man reaches for the shelve I close my eyes and break into a sweat only to calm down when his hand is withdrawn without me in it.
But then why should I be troubled. Wasn't I created to provide an end to the old man's suffering? Look at my label. What does it say? "Poison if swallowed." Look at the skull and crossbones doesn't that tell you something. It is as clear and unambiguous as my expiration date. Why should I be surprised? Why did the old man bring me home if not to use me for his final good by? It surely was not for my good taste. Doesn't the old man have the right to take his life to escape from his chronic debilitating pain? Shouldn't he be free to do as he wishes? Oh yes, I know the arguments, It is not morally justifiable or acceptable. Only God can take life. It is not man's decision to make. Is it better that the old man continues to live with unbearable pain? I should consider myself lucky to facilitate an act of mercy for the old man. Why am I complaining?
Meanwhile I am still sitting here watching the old man come and go, his face still showing his excruciating pain. He looks at me and I look at him. He reaches for me then pulls his hand away. Nothing has changed although I must stop agonizing about the old man's fate and mine as well. If I am to be his last act then so be it.