Now, I really shouldn't be here

excerpt from a book

" The woman took the newchild and left through the door she had entered.

Jonas watched as his father bent over the squirming newchild on the bed. "And you, little guy, you're only five pounds ten ounces. A shrimp!"

"That's the special voice he uses with Gabriel," Jonas remarked, smiling.
"Watch," The Giver said.
"Now he cleans him and makes him comfy," Jonas told him. "He told me."
"Be quiet Jonas," The Giver commanded in a strange voice. "Watch."

Obediently Jonas concentrated on the screen, waiting for what would happen next. He was especially curious about the ceremony part.
His father turned and opened the cupboard. He took out a syringe and a small bottle. Very carefully he inserted the needle into the bottle and began the fill the syringe with a clear liquid.
Jonas winced sympathetically. He had forgotten that newchildren had to get shots. He hated shots himself, though he knew that they were necessary.

To his surprise, his father began very carefully to direct the needle into the top of the newchild's forehead., puncturing the place where the fragile skin pulsed. The newborn squirmed, and wailed faintly.

"Why's he - "
"Shhh," The Giver said sharply.

His father was talking, and Jonas realized that he was hearing the answer to the question he had started to ask. Still in the special voice, his father was saying. "I know, I know. It hurts, little guy. But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arms are still teeny-weeny."

He pushed the plunger very slowly., injecting the liquid into the scalp vein until the syringe was empty.
"All done. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jonas heared his father say cheerfully. He turned aside and dropped the syringe into the waste receptable.

Now he cleans him up and makes him comfy, Jonas said to himself, aware that The Giver didn't want to talk during the little ceremony.

As he continued to watch, the newchild, no longer crying, moved his arms and legs in a jerking motion. Then he went limp. His head fell to the side, his eyes half-open. Then he was still.

With as odd shocked feeling, Jonas recognised the gestures and posture and expression. They were familiar. He had seen them before. But he couldn't remember where.
Jonas stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. The little twin lay motionless. Heis father was putting things away. Folding the blanket. Closing the cupboard.

He killed it! My father killed it! Jonas said to himself, stunned at what he was realizing. He continued to stare at the screen numbly.

His father tidied the room. Then he picked up a small carton that lay waiting on the floor, set it on the bed, and lifted the limp body into it. He placed the lid on tightly.
He picked up the carton and carried it to the other side of the room. He opened the small door in the wall; Jonas could see darkness behind the door. It seemed to be the same sort of chute into which trash was deposited at school.

His father loaded the carton containing the body into the chute and gave it a shove.

"Bye-bye, little guy," Jonas heard his father say before he left the room. Then the screen went blank.

- Lois Lowry, The Giver