The man seemed quite harmless and smiling. But come to think of it now, i think it was a quiet smirk. But he seemed nice anyways. He did the usual routine , asking me if i this was my first time. But then, in a minute he recognised me, and the weird posture i was standing in and actually almost laughed. I guess he must have said “control , control ” a thousand times in his head. He was looking at a human question mark, that too one scribbled by a one year old child.
By this time i had an ugly smirk on my face and he got the point. He tapped a couple bones and saw my face wince. And he said the dreaded word. Injection. I needed an injection to ease the pain , and i winced some more.
I was born. And then i grew up but my fear and hatred for injections never changed. I hated them when they were a baby and wailed like i was crucified. I did the same when i was 10 , and when i was 20 and i still would like to do the same … but i can only wince. Crying is barred. So i winced as the needle entered my flesh and poured panacea. But who cared what it poured ? i still wanted to wail and hop about hysterically. But my condition did not permit me to stand erect let alone jump about. So he laughed mildly and massaged it in. And i winced.