Before our births, void of choice, we became part of the story,
During our lives, with a choice, we can't escape the story,
After death, abandoned choice, the story continues to seep.
- Andrew Mansell

Category: Monologues

Pain Killers

Photo by Gary Knight

Photo by Gary Knight

     Reclined in the dentist’s chair with my mouth open as wide as humanly possible, Doctor Chan squirts a little anaesthetic from the next needle.  I’ll know shortly if this action will add to my post traumatic stress. He then injects the last of four local anaesthetics into my upper gum. It doesn’t sting like the first, as my gums have started to numb. The bright surgical light makes me squint and I feel powerless to move, not unlike a rabbit dazed by headlights.  I dig my finger nails into the vinyl arm rests. I tilt my head far enough to see Doctor Chan assemble a collection of tools for the procedure; tweezers, probe, plugger, scalpel, bone file and several drills.

     I try not to imagine the tools intended use; instead I force myself to think about anything else. The taste of Spanish risotto I had on the weekend lessons the taste of anaesthetic for now. A glass of dry white would surely finish the anaesthetic off. The alfresco setting with shade cloth dissipates the bright sunlight. To shortly lie, hand in hand with my woman makes the dental chair feel spacious. Dr Chan rudely interrupts my attempt at self hypnosis into a more idealistic life.

Inner City


Photo by Fabuchan

     As I sit here in the corner of a cafe on the edge of Hardware Lane, just near Lonsdale Street, I wonder if I have swapped a black banana for a rotten apple. It’s well into summer now, and I thought leaving the office for a break from the stale recirculating air and flickering fluorescent tubes would somehow revitalise me. Instead, my lower back still aches as I sip on my odourless coffee and peck at my day old chocolate muffin. I begin to feel like asking for a refund. Nearby, a young man, skilfully uses his IPhone at the same time as he runs in front of a bus, causing the driver to slam the brakes on and loudly hoot at the gasping man. He appears to be shaken but simply smiles and runs on, only momentarily distracting from the IPhone. The bus moves off letting out a mass of diesel exhaust fumes, overpowering the already tainted taste of everything in the cafe.  People appear to be talking, but in reality they are forced to shout just to hear each other above the noise of the inner city traffic.