Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25333848-20140825231639/@comment-25333848-20140905034441

Part III: Dreamscape

 “''You see that tiny... TIIIINY dot right there?” The gaunt man sitting on the exam table leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. “...barely. So that's it?” Smiling reassuringly, the doctor pressed Ctrl and the plus sign button simultaneously, further zooming in on the—barely—macroscopic speck on the MRI slide of a lymph node in the patient's neck. “Yes, sir. Not so scary, is it?”''

“''Yeah...” the patient began, scratching the bright red rash on his abdomen, “So what does this mean?” The doctor clicked the “X” at the upper right corner of the screen, he turned around to look at the other man. “Not much. It's common in people with your condition, and I've never even seen a tumour that small. Thank god for full-body admission scans, eh?” He chuckled softly, eliciting a calm smile from the patient. “No problems otherwise, so you're in the trial. A couple sets of radiation treatments and it'll be gone, then we can begin the testing. Pack your things, and someone will come by your house on Monday to pick you up.”''

Another memory shaken loose. I leaned out of the doorway, looking in both directions before walking out. That was the Friday prior to then, so it stood to reason that I must've delivered the first radiation treatment sometime after I signed in earlier today, but there was no way of being sure. I turned the doorknob as I pulled it shut to eliminate the noise and headed in the direction of the locker rooms.

Every so often, I would hear that damn sound, and place my hand on the cool metal weapon pressed against my waist, but always my desire to unload some of my frustration on some unsuspecting rodent was denied. I reached into my pocket and palmed a couple of pills as my headache returned, tossing them into my mouth and taking a sip of the canteen.

I noticed the inscription on the side: “James Erikson, Health Care Specialist”, what you might know better as a “Medic”. All personnel at the facility—including guards—had a medical background of some kind. We would often use them as nurses or surgical assistants in a pinch.

Above that were the two bars that indicated his rank as a Corporal; room was left to alter the insignia, in case of future promotions. But James would rise no further through the ranks. I sighed lamentingly and put it back in my pocket as I continued my journey, stopping as I heard—you guessed it—more skittering, this time with some buzzing thrown into the mix.

I stood perfectly still, unwilling to move, expecting it to stop at any moment. It didn't. I traced the sound to a door several meters ahead of me, on the left. I drew my weapon and placed my hand on the doorknob, ready to shoot first, ask questions later. Cocking back the hammer, turned the doorknob and barreled my way in.

What met me was bugs. Lots, and lots, and lots of bugs. Crickets, beetles, ants, cicadas, and other such creatures. I cocked my head slowly to the left, and nearly gave myself a second concussion as a fit of relieved laughter overtook me. “Dr. Gerald Weiss, Entomology”.

Sometimes two fields of study will share a research facility. The government was working on armour plating—or some such nonsense—derived from the exoskeletons of insects. “''A few must've broken out during the attack. Snuck into the vents.” I reasoned, “and that would've amplified their crawling sounds.” ''Must've been a lot of creepy-crawlies. Or a big one. I chuckled at the thought of a man-sized ant crawling through the ventilation system, James Bond style.

I leaned against the wall and slid to a sitting position, resting my head back as I placed the Beretta on the ground beside me. I hadn't realised how much I had needed a good laugh, and not just since I woke up. The last year had taken it's toll on me; I had been a walking ball of stress for a while now.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the room. The bugs' songs were very relaxing, the various sounds and calls culminating in a haunting chorus that slackened my muscles like an aural massage. I felt my soreness and my worries melt away, until only the room's co-inhabitants remained.

“I bet we wouldn't have to charge $500 for a leg cast if administration didn't go so crazy on decorations.” Dr. Adams lifted his lunch tray to gesture towards the large, expensive banner hanging above them: “Happy New Years 2006”

''The man next to him chuckled and set his own tray down on the table, as the pair sat across from each other. “Maybe, but then everyone will think they deserve treatment.” he replied sarcastically as he tossed a french-fry into his mouth. It was like deep-fried styrofoam.''

''Every meal prepared by the hospital's piss-poor cooks only served to trigger flavourful nostalgia that made him miss the dive bar he used to frequent during his Medical School years—Randy's Pub. The place was messy and grungy, but the fantastic cooking at fast-food prices kept the place packed.''

<p style="text-align: LEFT; margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;padding:0in;line-height:100%;">“''Oh, so did I tell you I was offered...” Adams began to speak, but his words fell on deaf ears as the man opposite to him looked through him, at the woman sitting alone across the sprawling hospital cafeteria. She twirled her charcoal-black hair as her deep blue eyes darted back and fourth across the cheap romance novel on the table in front of her. She possesed... not  plain   features, just not ones you'd see in an A-list movie or a fashion magazine. It was more a simplistic beauty, like a forest landscape at sunset, lovingly painted by a skilled artist. She tilted her head to push back her hair, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.''

<p style="text-align: LEFT; border-style:none;padding:0in;line-height:100%;">I was roused from my nap by the sound of my own snoring. I scanned the room in a daze and let out a yawn, before once again holstering my weapon and rising to my feet. I felt better. Lord only knows how long it had been since I had slept—and believe me, there is a difference between “asleep” and “knocked out”. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and headed for the door.

<p style="text-align: LEFT; margin-bottom:0in;border-style:none;padding:0in;line-height:100%;">I couldn't help but scoff at my earlier paranoia. “Bugs in the vents...” I chuckled. Until I noticed that none of the terrariums were broken.

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