Charged for Life

Not again!

How does this keep happening?

Obviously, there is a flaw in the doctor’s math. 

Or his procedures.

Or something.

But I just can’t keep ending up strapped in this chair.



And what is my charge?

Not being enough.

Not living up to their expectations.

When they made me what I am.

They are the ones who have failed, not I.

Yet here I am, Prometheus bound, as the disgraced doctor and his misshapen manservant attach those horrible, cold metal things to my extremities.

And the clamps to the prongs in my neck.



I wish I had the voice to scream at them.

Another flaw the great doctor didn’t foresee.

Much like the malaise and fatigue that descend too fast after each electric dose that enervates my limbs for far too fleeting a time.

Till everything goes black.

And I wake up.

Here.

Strapped in this chair.

To be zapped

Again.



And they think I am the monster.