To me they’re a like death row prisoners being escorted down a dim hallway with green ceramic tiles and cinder brick walls. They’re in a baggy orange jumpsuit and shackles, hands behind their back, guards on both sides, just screaming for help before they’re strapped to the chair.
“Someone stop this insanity!”
Your heart aches but sometimes there’s nothing you can do. You’re in a bus on a long ride home or out at a restaurant. You forgot to plug them in before you left so you just stare helplessly as the juice zaps their veins, the lightbulb dims, and they go quiet and disappear into blackness. You sigh and toss them in your backpack or just hold their heavy, lifeless body in your hands, say some quiet words, and wipe away tears.
Other times you’re the pricey, hard-nosed attorney, filing a last minute appeal and rushing down to the prison with court-signed paperwork before someone flips the switch. You run into your apartment and plug them into the wall or borrow a friend’s car adapter at the last second. On moments like this, there is a celebration as the charge icon flashes on, flashes strong, and breathes in some fresh new life.