In or into a state of unconsciousness. Also, under the influence of alcohol.
They slid the needle into my arm, at the crook of my elbow. I winced a little, but it was in there securely.
One of them, the pretty one with the blonde bob, leaned over me. "This won't take long. Just count back from 100, OK?"
I obliged. "100...99...98...97..." I drifted off, expecting to wake up anytime now with everything fixed up. But it didn't happen. Instead I was still in the theater, waiting.
I tried to say something, make a hand signal, anything, but I felt somehow paralyzed; nothing was responding to my will. I couldn't even draw a breath to scream--my lungs just kept on expanding and contracting in their slow, maddeningly steady rhythm.
"OK, we're a go," I heard a stern surgeon's voice say off to the side. I couldn't turn to see what it was. I was sweating like crazy, and my mouth felt as if it were gradually filling with cotton. "Please," I told myself, "just pass out, just go under. Come on, damn it!"
Just then, the blonde one put her head at mine, and I felt her breath tickle my ear, almost disconnected, like on a bad trip. And she chuckled and whispered, cruelly, "It didn't work, did it?"
Copyright (c) 1998 {hamlet}Ophelia