Ashleigh Anpilova


Ducky is experiencing inner turmoil.

A Ducky-centric gen story.

Written: August 2012. Word count: 500.




I should not be thinking this way, but I cannot help it. I am a doctor; I took an oath to do no harm, yet I have done harm. I harmed to stop suffering; I did it once, would it be so wrong to do it again?


Would it be so wrong? Would it be a crime to end the life of the person I love more than any other? Would it be so very wrong to end her suffering? To allow her to finally be at peace? To allow her to finally die with dignity? To stop the torment she experiences in her fewer and fewer lucid moments?


In some countries it would not be considered a crime; however, in America, in Britain even it would be. And yet what is so wrong? I wouldn't let an animal suffer in the way she is suffering. We are meant to be for humanity, yet it is not humane to see suffering her every day, to watch her slip further and further away from me and from herself, from the strong, self-willed, self-sufficient woman she once was. She is a shell now, nothing more.


So why would it be so wrong? Would it be any less wrong if I were not a doctor? Could I as someone who hadn't taken an oath to save lives not take them, do the deed? I did it for strangers why then cannot I not do it for my mother? It would be easy, quick, simply, painless and I would do it for love.


But I cannot. I know that. I cannot take Mother's life and not just because of the law, not just because of an oath I took, not just because I work for a Federal Agency, but because I no longer have it within me to do such a thing. Whatever courage, if that's what it was, that allowed me to inject those poor, suffering men all those years ago, has been lost over the years.


I sit by her side, I watch her, I watch her suffer and I can do nothing. I cannot put a pillow over her face nor can I inject her. I can only wait and watch and ache for her and suffer with her. Maybe the truth is I do not love her enough, do not care enough, but that is not true; surely that is not true. She gave me life, she loved me; I am her son. I must love her enough, but if I did then surely I would be able to end it for her. Why can I not?


Would it really be a crime? Is it quite so black and white? Is anything completely black and white? If I did it what would Jethro think? What would the children think? Would they know? Could I live with them knowing I had taken the life of my mother? Could I live with knowing myself I had taken the life of my mother?



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