Me, aka. AB12345 — The Temp Lab Rat

Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash

It seemed impossible to make an average of this estrogen pool and yet, we were about to share the same adventure.

I should have probably paid more attention to what I had to do in exchange: staying locked up in a clinic for thirty-six hours, twice, two weeks apart, forced to fast for forteen hours, and subject to their absolute control until they collected a total of fifty-two blood samples.

I raised my eyebrows. The female lab technician didn’t offer me a chance to think. She grabbed my wrist and studied the tag. There was no name on it. Only the code of the study, my subject ID — a sequence of seemingly random letters and digits — and the purpose of her inquiry, my number.

Number 13.

Number 13 was my destiny and my new identity. Same as the other numbers; just two minutes apart from the ones before and after me.

Photo by Taiga Ishii on Unsplash

“Come on, hurry, you have to swallow now,” the laboratory employee insisted.

But all of a sudden, everything sped up…

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Was this the way I was going to die? With enough heads-up to put me to rest-not-in-peace but not enough time to let my loved ones know how much they meant to me?

Are you pondering what I’m pondering?…

Seventeen dollars weren’t worth reconsidering all my biggest life decisions.

Apparently, not only my blood sells cheap; My principles too!

In my mind, I was sunbathing in Miami. Best holidays in a year…and paid too. Wicked!

I had intentionally wounded my body to offer my mind some rest.

Well, maybe I should try the same thing every night — Chillax, aka. Meditation. The best way to take over the World…or at least, get out of the rat race!

Photo by Harli Marten on Unsplash

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