Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

stoneage

long white hallway. the cellar of the observationward “high meadow.” they push me through a door. a man sits behind a dark writing desk, he is tall, gaunt and has dark hair. the man plays with a ruler. by the window a round woman sits, her hair done up in a tight ball. she’s ready with paper and pencil. they asked my about the time in neuendorf. about my little childsins. i answer, sit stiff and fearful on the edge of an uncomfortable chair. the door is padded, covered with brown leather. a second door leads into the next room. they take me by the hand, lead me into this room, white tiles half way to the ceiling. a bed, a mobile table with various objects, a blue and a red steelbomb, brown flasks of medicine, pipes. another man is there with mouthguard and cap. i have to strip naked, they give me a white shirt. they take my blood pressure, measure my pulse. someone sticks a thermometer into my mouth. i have a strong urge to urinate, would like to go to the wc. they don’t believe me. finally, after much begging, a metal chamberpot. silently they look me in the face, while i relieve myself. red rubber bands around ankles and wrists. the prick of a needle, fear, panic, mortal fear. they lie, they lie, they have lied to me. they said i would sleep for a while, that i would wake up healed. but they are killing me, they lied just like that other doctor with the pastry. someone lubricates my temples. then, cold. pain, pain ... stop, stop, please, stop. what have i done, what did

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