This time, you’re going to be decisive. You’re going to show them that you aren’t the timid, boring person that you once were. You’re a risk taker now — a maverick.
You grab the flask and eagerly knock back a shot. The sharp burn of alcohol is the same as the cheap whiskey you used to drink, but something lingers just a bit longer than it should, coating your throat with a sticky, sickly feeling. Soon, your legs go weak. Your heartbeat, once racing, slows to a crawl. As you sink to the ground, the world starts to drift away. A snow begins to fall. And, in your ear, a familiar vocie begins to whisper…
“You’re even more desperate than I remember.”
When you awaken, you’re naked, lying alone on a cold metal table. The room is dark and nearly empty, except for a small table beside you. And on it is a silver platter, like the one you see at the dentist. All it contains are scalpels.
Panicked, you try to stand. Thick leather straps rip you back onto the table. You try to scream, but your mouth is filled with gauze, your cries muffled. A hard, sharp light turns on overhead, blinding you. It is only then, as you fight against the straps you will never break, that finally remember their major– Pre-Med. And then, most horrifyingly of all, you remember why you stopped hanging out in the first place. Because they failed it.