The Portrait

The tall muscular orderly was pushing the old man on the gurney down the well lit white corridor of the hospital to the oven at the end. The hallway smelled of rubbing alcohol and death. The old man died just a few hours before. Others in the hallway on their gurneys lined both sides and they were on their way to the same fate as well. Old men and old women. The orderly called the corridor the Last Waiting Room.

At the beginning of the day the old man and his granddaughter had been in an automobile accident. The ambulance brought them both to the same hospital. The triages performed on the two were extensive. The health care counselor from the government had to be consulted.

Life saving procedures could have saved them both. The old man had the most damages from the accident. It was decided that the old man did not have enough time left to be productive. The granddaughter was deemed more valuable. The family did not have an input. They were just glad to have the girl. They would mourn the loss of the old man for awhile.

The granddaughter was wheeled into surgery immediately. She was not awake. She would learn of her grandfather's fate much later. She would cry.

The old man was wheeled to the Last Waiting Room. Visitors are not allowed in there. He was totally alone with the other old people. No feeding tubes or other means of life support is allowed. To help fray the cost of the new health care program bodies are cremated and mixed with fertilizers. Local farmers can then buy the product to nourish their crops. The government thinks of everything.

Just before the old man drew his last breath he opened his eyes. He did not know just where he was at first. When he realized he did not fuss. He thought it was very cold in the hallway and why couldn't they at least put a blanket on his torn body. The old man had been staring at the ceiling of the white corridor. So antiseptic he thought. He turned his head to see the opposite wall. His time was very near now. He saw the portrait then. A tear ran down his left cheek. He died.

High up the wall hung the portrait. High enough for the patients to see. Out of the frame a smiling face beamed on the people laying in their gurneys. The face belonged to President Barack Hussein Obama.