By: Adam Donshik
One by one they’re shuffled by. His job is clear and he’s good at his job. There’s no art here, but this skill has been his lifeline. He hasn’t thought much about what he does. Each is a number. Yet, today, looking at this young girl, he is filled with an emptying disgust. Not for the poor, broken soul staring at him with fear-filled, lost eyes. Rather for his part in the despair that’ll be the last they’ll ever know. The needle draws a single drop of blood and stains her skin blue.