Joe sits at a metal table under fluorescent lights. His arm is covered with little round marks from needles.
Joe shakes his head.
“Look at this,” he says, rolling up his sleeve. “Blood tests. Blood tests. Blood tests. Like I’m some lab rat.”
He laughs bitterly.
“All because I defended a defenseless bird.”
A man in a white coat looks at a clipboard.
Joe continues.
“You people act like I’m the criminal. That bird was dying. Nobody cared. But the moment I step in, suddenly it’s injections, pills, evaluations.”
He taps the table.
“Tell me something. Since when did compassion become a psychiatric condition?”
The doctor sighs.
Joe leans forward.
“You stick needles in my arm. You pump me full of drugs. You tell me to swallow pills. For what? For protecting something weaker than me?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“You ever watch a movie with Vin Diesel saving somebody? The whole world cheers. Hero of the story.”
Joe spreads his arms.
“But when a real person steps in to defend a helpless creature…”
He points to the needle marks again.
“…this is what they get.”
Joe’s voice gets quieter.
“That bird never asked for anything. Just a little help.”
He pauses.
“And the system responded with syringes.” 🩸🐦
