In the back wing of the Hospital, there is one single hospital bed. The spotlight follows a child who is being dragged towards centre stage. Fearful and rigid, the boy clutches his porcelain doll tightly wrinkling the fabric of its dress, as the doctors with surgical masks concealing their faces harshly force him towards the hospital bed. The child is thrown onto the bed and multiple hands grab each arm and leg of the boy. Having control over the minor, a doctor snatches the doll in distaste.

“No. Please give it back.” the child wails, thrashing around trying to reclaim his doll.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get better.” the masked men say as they bind him to the railings. The doctor holding the doll in contempt, smashes it on the ground. The fragile treasure shatters, resembling broken pieces of a green bottle scattered across the floor. The boy shrieks, tears falling from his face at the sight of the small fragments of his precious doll.

“No more distractions. Now you’ll only focus on us and your health.” the doctors mutter intermittently as they prepare needles. The blood drains from the boy’s face, and his body turns limp at the sight of the sharp needles.

“No, nothing’s wrong with me. Please don’t hurt me.” the child whimpers in distress. “Don’t worry. You’ll get better.” The masked men say, ignoring his pleas and advancing towards the child with syringes containing strange liquid. The boy screams as each needle pierces his skin. He feels faint and hopes that someone would save him from the torture. A moment after his prayer, a familiar man and woman walk in.

“Mum! Dad! Please help me.” he cries desperately, smiling slightly, bearing the agonizing pain. His parents approach the bed and grab a syringe each, making their child’s smile vanish.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get better. This is for your own good son, as this disease must be ridden from your body.” The parents say simultaneously and proceed to ‘cure’ their child. The boy’s screams bounce off the walls as the torture continues. Suddenly the injections stop and the child finally ends his cries of pain and betrayal.

“The treatment is 50% complete. He should rest for a while.” the mother voices out as doctors undo the binds on the boy’s hands. One by one, the doctors and parents leave, so on the stage remains the half bound boy. His body and mind have been violated and his self worth is shattered. The child realises the only way out of the situation is to accept the assistance and treatment. Conjuring the remainder of his energy, he reaches over to the table beside him and grabs a needle. With a strained smile plastered on his face, he injects himself with the liquid, and the stage turns black simultaneously. As this blackout happens, the audience can hear mutters and the sound of ropes rubbing against each other. The whole stage lights up and there are doctors clapping for the child who is being escorted off stage with his smiling parents. The boy is dotted with syringe holes all over his body, and has a slightly pained smile as he walks out of the hospital. In his head, lingering voices still say “you’ll get better,” over and over again, as the phrase is written in red, numerous times covering the whole stage wall behind him. The child is finally free from torture but not from trauma.

“Am I better now?”