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I dabble in a little bit of everything. Absolutely dig horror. When restless, I sometimes entertain strange project ideas and get to work.
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The room was white, like a sheet of paper. Dominick sat in the corner mumbling to himself. John gripped the knob passively.
"You know, Dominick," he said, "you don't have to stay here. You have the full option to leave."
Dominick didn't even look up from his fixed stare at the door, "N-no... no."
"Are you perfectly sure about that decision? You know, you could sleep in your room another night and think it over."
Nothing at all this time. The mentally departed man only quivered in his corner.
"I know you payed a lot of money for this, Dominick. Maybe that's why you're so intent on staying? Money isn't the end of everything, and I'm sure you know that."
"Just... J-just g-go John... I know what's good for me. T-this is w-what I n-n-need."
"Well, if you insist. I wish you the best."
John took one last glance inside, memorizing the number on Dominick's jumper like he had thousands of times with previous customers.
John closed the door.
"Turn on the incinerator," he stated towards the dictation prompter. It processed his command, and a green light blinked on. "activating..." it read. He was thankful that the system had installed the sound-filtered paneling within the chamber. He had his own moment of silence, as everything past the leaden door burned.
What John wondered the most, was if that was truly better than the government-assigned death. Neither was really a pleasant option, but what one really was anyway? Be there demand, someone supply, he had always thought.
"Let him in," the dictation prompter thought for a moment.
They sure love to burn, don't they?
Dominick walked in. seven-hundred and twenty-five cycles remained, as the chart on his desk told him. Dominick didn't even say a word, taking his spot in the corner of the white room once more. There would be no reasoning with him.
John closed the door.
Originally published to http://www.dimensionbucket.com/
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