As the lights start flashing from blue, to red, to green, I wonder if I took too much of the medication. As the carpet convulses under my feet, I know I did.
John glances at the repetitively scratched guardrails fencing in the bed and wonders what terrorized them. The doctor simply whispers the phrase “no anaesthesia,” while wiping the saw.
The med student wanted to graft hands onto Sharia victims. The defenders of Sharia cut off *his* hands first.
I went to the harmacy and got some medicine.
It made me worse.