The Silly Race

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The quest for answers is one of pain and anguish.

Submitted: August 01, 2016

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Submitted: August 01, 2016

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Darwin once said, “It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.”

I took this quote to heart when approaching my wife. Her back arched with cracks and snaps. Her moaning screams echoed throughout the basement.

“Please, no more.” I wish she didn’t scream so much, but the muzzle cuts her lips. Another needle into her arm. Her eyes roll back in her head. Another moan escapes her lips. One more needle in the other arm. Another moan. I slump down on the bed next to the table she’s strapped to. I run over all the experiments I performed on her. One more week of testing and I should be able to help her. I hope.

I can’t sleep. Her moaning keeps me up and the equations that run through my head don’t help. I put a needle into her arm and the moaning fades. Her breathing is rapid. Is she having a panic attack while sleeping. I pinch her cheek. A bruise quickly forms and I write this down.

“Possible hemophilia?” I say aloud to myself. I take a scalpel and cut a small line on her finger. The blood flows like water. I wrap bandages around the finger with a Quick Clot. What am I doing? The previous medication I administered has blood thinner in it. I need sleep. I give myself a shot to fall asleep. The moaning wakes me up. I rub my eyes and move to the table.

“Hello.” I saw through a yawn. “How are you this morning?”

She screams in my face. “Please kill me.”

“I can’t do that honey.” I kiss her cheek. Tears stream down. “I will save you.”

She cries heavily and throws up on herself. It’s an uneasy green. My nephew eats peas with the same color. I fill a bucket of water and grab a bottle of shampoo and soap. I clean her up and notice new bruises forming on her legs.

“Curious.” I say aloud. I pull out my pen light and shine it in her eyes. Purple veins appear at the corners and there is a yellow tinge to her pupils. I make my way to the medication cabinet and pull our different eye drops. I put her eye in a speculum as tears form. I squirt different drops into her eye and note the differences they make. Once I get to the stronger stuff, the yellow ball wiggles within the black dot. She screams in pain. Purple and red veins spring to life within the white.

“Curious.” I say again. I take the speculum off. I make my way back to cabinet and write down quick notes. I hear gurgling behind me. I turn around and my wife’s blood is streaming from her mouth. Through the gurgling, I think I hear faint giggles. My lack of sleep is just messing with me. I take a suction tube and place it in her mouth. I hold the mouth open with vices. She bit off her tongue. I pull the remainder of the tongue and pour more of the clotting agent on it. She whimpers. I give her more medication and she passes out. I sew the wound and give myself a dose of the medication. I fall asleep, but only for an hour.

I’m awakened by pounding on my front door. I open it up to inspector Carson.

“Hey their Mr. Bradson. May I come in?” I lead him into the living room. In the few seconds of being let in, he eyes every corner and crevice that is visible to him. A skill that usually comes with his line of work.

“You keep a pretty tight place around here.” He says. I nod. “I’m sorry to report to you that we have not found your wife.”

I look down in sadness. A farce of course. I always knew she was here, but to save her I needed to lie.

“We are just speculating here, but we’re assuming she has been taken with the rest of the missing women.” He says. He takes of his hat and rubs the bald spot at the crown of his head. “Now this does not mean she is dead. We have a few suspects and we have found no blood or tissue samples to prove they have harmed them in any way.”

I shake my head in an understanding way.

“We’ll find her Dr. Bradson. One way or another I’ll find her.” He says as he puts back on his hat and makes for the door. “No offense doctor, but I would take a shower if I was you.”

I nod. He exits. Idiot man. I cannot waste time taking a shower. That wastes time. I must know the solution. I must find out what has happened to my wife. I must resort to drastic measures.

I give my wife a heavy dosage of anesthesia. Her beautiful body is already ruined, what’s one long gash down her chest going to hurt. I perform the vivisection and take samples of every major organ. The wonders of the human body never cease to amaze me. Animal’s bodies are so boring, but a human’s is so much more fun. It’s like an orchestra by nature. I wonder if Beethoven saw music the same way I see the human body. I’m almost finished stitching when she wakes. A faint scream escapes as her back arches and a stitch pops. She faints and I repair the stitch. I test different concoctions on the tissue samples, but nothing works. I stare at her for a while. She looks peaceful right now, but I know she is tricking me. Everything is wrong. What’s this? I move her lips apart. Her canines have sharpened. Why? Why just those? Another knock on the door. Damnit these humans. I am trying to save my wife. A man in his late 30s with dirty clothes.

“Is she here?” He says. His bottom lips tremble. You weakling, there is nothing here for you. I shake my head.

“Please I need her.” He grabs at my shoulders. I push him off and kick him in the stomach. I push him down the stairs and close the door. Drug addict loser. How dare he interrupt my work.

My wife’s left arm has fallen out its strap. I rush to place it back, but she realizes what has happened. She struggles with me, but she is not as strong as I am. As her wrist is placed back in the strap, she sobs.

“Please kill me,” She says. WHAT? I push her head back and pry her jaws open. Her tongue was completely back to normal. There was no hint that it had ever been chewed through or even removed, but I know what I saw. I’m not crazy. I take a tissue sample and put it under a microscope. The cells were different. I’m sure of it. I even compare them to those of the back of her tongue. Completely separate. The new cells seemed much healthier than the old. I’m angry now. How? How did that happen? Is that even possible. I can’t think. The sobbing is too much. I need to know, but that horrible sound. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I need it to stop. I take the scalpel and plunge it into her neck. Oh no. What have I done? Why did you make me do it? She stares at me with longing in her eyes. I kiss her lips. I think I see her lips form the word “please.”

I panic and take a heavy dosage of sleep medicine. I weep until my mind grows black. I wake to a thrashing sound all around me. The man in his 30s with 3 women are throwing my papers and chemicals all around the room.

I jolt up and the man rushes to my side. He takes my hand in his.

“Don’t worry friend.” He says. “We mean you know harm.”

He caresses my hand and I can’t help but shake. The women move to my bed and they all put their arms around me. They smell like chocolate and blood. It’s a strange combination, but it also puts me at ease for some reason.

“You have taken such good care of mother,” they all say in unison. “We would like to repay you.”

They start removing my shirt and I jump away from them. I shake my head and cling to my wife’s body. I stare at them as their demeanor changes to a saddened one. I am startled by the rise and fall of my wife’s chest. How? She’s dead. I back away into the farthest corner of the room. The wound on her neck is healed. The bruises have disappeared. She looks like she did when I married her, but better. The strangers move to her and kiss her body as they remove the straps. I can’t handle this. I pull a syringe from my pocket motion for the cabinet. I pull the bottle of morphine from the shelf. I fill the syringe to the top with morphine. I retreat back to my corner. I put the needle in my vein and a hand cups mine.

“Please,” my wife says. Her eyes are yellow and purple all at the same time. They pulsate different colors. I get trapped in them and my hand moves on its own. The plunger pushes the liquid and I feel the warm sensation. She gasps. She looks sad and weeps soft mews. She nestles into my lap and I cradle her, but my arms are slipping. The morphine is quick and effective. I fall to my back. She straddles me and places a kiss on my lips as the world fades to black. I hate humans, but I’m glad in a way. Have we moved on without our useless skin? What will my wife bring to the populous? I hope it to be peace.


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