I am a chair. I hate my surroundings, because all I have ever seen is disease, death, and pain. As I look around the clinic, I see many different oils and potions. John B. McCook experiments with various mixtures to create medicine and vaccines to apply to his clients.
John has me bolted to the ground, and I feel like a slave. I’ve suffered as John’s chair because he always has his patients sitting on top of me and squishing me down, suffocating me. I also am traumatized by the deaths I have seen, and the very nasty diseases I have touched.
At times, I am happy for John’s patients because I have seen some of them heal. I remember when John started his medical work on his family members. I remember watching him, time and time again, help George after getting a cut on the knee.
…
Later on, John left for New York to work at the Cancer Hospital. When John left, I was happy because I was free and able to relax and not worry about being sat on, crushed, or suffocated. But deep down inside, I thought myself a lonely chair left in John’s basement to rot while he was in New York.
