Pick Your Poison

Now Playing: Captain Tractor – “Bought the Farm”

Just keeping up as I am making Laurie write 300 words a day and am trying to be the example. So, I will be posting some of the short stuff I write during the day.

Pick Your Poison

The old man smiled. “You are dying,” he said.

The younger man pushed back from the table and nodded. “Been that way for a while now. Nothing new there.”

Reaching into his bag, the old man pulled out two small, corked vials and a shot glass. He placed them onto the center of the table. “Does it hurt much?” he asked, clicking the glass of the intricate red vial with his finger. Picking it up quickly, he held it to the light and checked the level. “It seems like it would hurt.”

The man shrugged. “It does sometimes. Don’t think anyone ever suggested dying was pleasant.”

“Some have said it might be considered a relief.” The vial was returned to it’s place.

Laughing the young man rocked in his chair. “That has been suggested.” The laugh died and he sat the chair flat on the ground and closed his eyes. “Be lying if I said I wasn’t exhausted.”

The old man reached out and placed an index finger on the stopper of each vial. “There are remedies,” he said.

“For the exhaustion or for the dying?”

It was the old man’s turn to laugh. It was a soft chuckling sound escaping from the back of his throat and was all the answer he offered.

Leaning forward, the younger man pointed to the thin blue bottle with the swirling design along its base. “Right, I’ll play, then. What’s this one do?”

“It will probably kill you.”

“Ha! Well, that makes it easy. I’ll take the red one.”

The old man shook his head. “That one kills you too.”

“So, the cure kills me? Doesn’t sound like the best way to go.”

“It keeps you from dying from your current troubles.”

That made the younger man smirk. “Well, that’s something then.” He paused and took a deep breath, considering. “Maybe I will take a little of both, get the whole thing over twice as fast.”

Both vials were immediately returned to the old man’s bag. The shot glass left in the center of the table, forgotten. “Rules. You do not get both. Though, together… taken together, maybe you live.” The old man stood up and tucked the bag under his arm.

“So, I’m just going to die. Can’t have the cure unless it’s the cure that kills me. I’m just going to die.”

The old man turned to leave, answering on his way out the door.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”