It’s a bitter pill.

One I’ve been taking now for almost forty days. Bitter, I guess, in the sense it tastes so foul. Even swallowed whole it leaves a stinging sourness on the tongue and the throat.

Fruit, yoghurt, raspberry preserve. I tried all the tricks and still found it a hard pill to take.

Hard too. Sometimes, late at night, I lie awake and wonder why?

Why do I take this cursed medication? Besides the obvious, they make me. They, the caring, loving staff. Prim hats and white uniforms, an ever present smile even though you know they hate you. They loathe the constant care, the injections, the bathing, the cleaning up of shit.

God, I used to be embarassed at first. Unable to move, to perform the most basic of human hygiene.

Now, I don’t care. I don’t have long enough to care.

I will take this pill tonight, just one more time. Chew it with a lychee, for a change.

Then I will die. The enzymes, cycle now complete, will kill me – like a million others – creating precious biofuel.