The Un-training of Stanley Kaminski

The Un-training of Stanley Kaminski

They had been rushed to the hospital, the two of them in twin emergency vehicles, Stanley and his wife Maureen. Both were confined in strait jackets, but even in their confinements, it was obvious to everyone in the emergency room that they were dressed peculiarly, to say the least. Beyond the bulk of the oversized white jackets, their long sleeves with straps and buckles, one could easily see that the two must have taken Halloween a bit too far. It was the only rational explanation.

The lead EMT barked out, “Fifth floor, now!” and everyone in the emergency room knew what that meant. A few minutes later, Stanley and his wife were rushing headlong upward, the emergency elevator wasting no time, taking the two toward their final destination. Down the long corridor, past security doors which locked tightly, patiently waited white sterile tables which displayed syringes filled with an assortment of mind altering drugs, collections of depressants, stimulants, mood enhancers; whatever was called for, but beyond that and further down was the last and final door, and beyond that door would wait both Stanley’s and Maureen’s fate.