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He lied.
It was late July and the air in the room was thick and humid. Countless days had passed. A single fan lazily turned like an instrument of torture. An oscillating taunt.
"Vould you care for another shot?" asked the Doktor. His gaze never leaving the canvas.
At this point he might have meant from the bottle or the needle. I was too frozen with fear to ask which he was referencing.
I searched my mind for a reply to his madness but no answer came.
A brief and intensely awkward silence passed.
For a moment I could see the dust particles slowly shifting in the hot air. Caught in a brilliant stray shaft of sunlight before a cloud stalked in to once again give the room it's customary grey gloom.
"God!" he said suddenly. "God vas haffing a gut day ven he made YOU!" A single bead of sweat traced across his pale cheekbone like a mournful tear.
I shuddered but not due to my naked flesh touching the cold marble slab I lay posed upon. Rather it was his TONE. A kind of malicious and melodious intonation. Similar to the vague threat of a wronged indian merchant desperate to sell his wares and feed his starving family.
"Do I PLEASE you Herr Doktor?!"
"No..." he said without changing expression.
"But none can..."
He did his best to approximate a smile as he solemnly turned the canvas toward me.
My mind recoiled in horror as my vision failed and faded to black.
I imagined as I fell that there was no bottom to the well of my sorrow.
All water and earth erased and bent to the will of the endless black void.