Deeming myself insane is just the same as naming a dog, “Dog.” It’s common knowledge, really, and a fine waste of words. But I allowed Patrick the Priest to diagnose me as such, and it was no wonder why. When he first met me, it was pitch night. The moon had a golden tint and, on the Doctor’s operating bench, Dr. Bones was a corpse. I was covered in the event that we were caught with the corpse. Good Dr. Bones told me he would take full responsibility, and all they could do was euthanize him. A true martyr and a good friend. Read More...
The Walking, Weeping Prototypes
“But listen,” said Noah. “When I saw the men and women coming across the field I felt relief. I wasn’t angry that it had been a test, I wasn’t bitter about the twelve years it had lasted, I wasn’t proud that I had succeeded in creating my tribe despite my memory loss. I was only relieved and happy to talk to equals. I talked and talked like it was all twelve years of internal conversation suddenly pouring out of me. Deep down, I was sick of the isolation, sick of the things I had done. I was made a monster, and I was glad it was over.” Read More...
Jasmine was a skeleton with skin stretched like nylons over the bones, bizarre and delicate, and I was nervous to treat something that could tear so easily. My team carefully stripped a shirt off her torso. A piece of paper fell out of the breast pocket; a nurse collected it in case she survived. We were used to seeing men in their sixties, or people who ate their arteries closed, but no one like Jasmine, no one so young. The slightest amount of pressure dragged a scalpel from her collar bone to the end of her sternum, gloved hands and metal tools separated her rib cage and revealed her heart was just as emaciated as her body. I worked. I patched. I sewed trying to make her whole again, but it was the most disheartened heart of my career. The red walls grasped each tool, eating the edges, starving for something. Anything. Read More...
Sunny Side Up
"My men have eyes everywhere. I knew it would only be a matter of time before I’d see you in this office. The real problem at hand is what to do with you. Unlike the other slags that surrounded you in line, you actually have ability, my good man.” Zeff’s eyes turned to nothing but slits as soon as he had finished his sentence. Ranyor replied, “But I’m no famous engineer. I still don’t understand how you know who I am, much less, how on Trantor you were expecting me.” Zeff's eyes narrowed: “My good man, what kind of businessman would the great Coar Zeff be, if he didn’t know his own competition?”... Read More...