Post-Modern Prometheus Finale
Fleischer slowly blinked his eyes. It was hard to force them open – to wake from his drugged sleep. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been dragged to the operating room in the last several weeks. He didn't want to, either.
His days had been set into a routine that never seemed to change. Wake up, exercise, take a shower, eat breakfast, and brush his teeth. The days were starting to blend together, and he was utterly helpless to stop them. Even his meals were starting to lose variety – raw or barely-cooked meat. Fleischer had surrendered his meals to the part of his brain that craved the way they were being served.
Fleischer had received a blank journal from Doctor Davis a few weeks ago, to 'write his thoughts in.' It was entirely possible that it was the younger doctor's only solace. Writing and sketching on its pages was a reminder that he could still think, and had served as a useful, if fleeting distraction from th
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 14
Two days seemed to go by almost painfully slow. Two days of quiet – of no record player, and no books, and no Beschützer. All that Fleischer had to do was circle in his little pool – to pace, and to stew over everything that had happened, and was going to happen.
He was going to die. Not permanently, perhaps – but, when the gurney was wheeled into the room, flanked by Davis and his six guards, he knew exactly where he was going. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He also knew what would happen if he didn't cooperate.
Fleischer pulled himself out of the pool. His tentacles splayed across the floor, as much as he tried to get them to exert some downward force so he could 'stand'. His legs, when he had them, had aided in making him quite tall. He wasn't used to people looking down on him – not physically, at least.
Two of the guards stepped forward to help him up. They received a growl in resp
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 13
Fleischer's meal was drugged. He hadn't even taken the first bite of his stew, but, he could tell by the faint, bitter smell that it was drugged. It had been the first time he'd caught wind of that bitter scent since he had been moved to the pool three days before, and this time it was not Nurse Hayes, but Doctor Davis that sat across the table from him, flanked by two guards.
Beschützer, displaced by a meal, and the two men on the chairs, was resting on the desk across the room. Fleischer had moved it there the moment he had heard Davis over the intercom – he didn't want the man near it.
"Doctor Fleischer," Isaac started, "you haven't even picked up your spoon." The man sounded concerned and, given his posture, his expression, and his scent, it was at least a half-truth.
"I'm not hungry," Fleischer quickly replied. Or, at least, he wasn't hungry for sedatives and a trip to the operating room; he was still haunted by the visions from a few
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 12
Floating felt so nice – that feeling of being warm, and weightless. It was one of the more pleasant dreams Fleischer had had as of late. Or was it another vision? It felt so real, lying on his back in the water, with his legs… not legs….
His eyes snapped open, and he winced at the bright lights overhead. He was awake, but, apparently hadn't just imagined floating. The pillow his head was resting on was comfortable, at least, but that didn't change the fact that he had tentacles instead of legs. And, those boneless limbs, it seemed, were floating free in the warm water – a small pool.
The pillow rested on the edge of the pool, and Fleischer dared not move his head, in fear of sinking into the water and drowning. He knew he had gills, but not whether they functioned, and he didn't particularly feel like putting them to the test. His tentacles, it seemed, were doing some unconscious testing of their own &