She'd have preferred the electric chair, but he wouldn't have it. "Think about how much easier it would be on everyone hon," Sarah said as she stared down at her son, sitting in his black Quickie wheelchair. "You wouldn't have to roll yourself so much and your father and I wouldn't have to help you up those steep hills if you had this chair."
Mark stared at the other wheelchair, with its electric motor, and grimaced. "Ma, I'm already lazy as it is," he told her bluntly. "If I don't roll myself my arms will atrophy as much as my legs have." He pointed down at his weak limbs as he unconsciously flexed his biceps. "I don't want that. I need to keep healthy." Then he glanced up at her. "And am I really such a hassle?" he asked, the old pain in his eyes. "Is it really that bad having to help me?
"No," Sarah sighed softly. "I guess not. But, it really would be easier on everyone."
"Easier isn't always best, ma," Mark replied. The woman nodded glumly. She would have preferred the electric chair for her son. And now, deep down, she'd have preferred an electric chair for herself as well; at least then her lifelong imprisonment would end.