Perry Hunter, or Hunter Perry? Which do you like best?
It's a rhetorical question, friend- something asked, then not to be answered anymore.
In any case, I sit here alone in my office. Waiting. Waiting for some sort of sign.
What kind of sign, confused Dr. Perry Hunter? asks that lonesome yet inquisitively knowledgeable part of me who even feels worthy to consider itself as an integral kernel of Dr. Hunter Perry.
Get some rest, psychological self. Leave me be for just a moment, can't it be any easier?
Silence. That's what I tell it.
What about science? I ask.
You can't compare those two, they belong to two completely different fields! it retorts.
Listen, I am publicly recognized for having obsessive compulsive disorder, and you are the source of it. Stop talking to me! I hiss.
"..." my wonder responds.
Good. I hope it won't be back for a long while.
Just Then, without warning, footsteps begin echoing outside in the corridor.
I jolt and spin on my chair. What if whoever is outside heard me?
To my dismay, Jason strolls into my office as casually as he has ever been to the point of eeriness and stops in front of my desk.
Tall man, he is, grinning subtly with his white lab coat almost hanging adjacent to his hamstrings.
Smoothly blond hair-straight and long enough to rest upon his scrawny shoulders-yet tied to the back in a ponytail.
What about the colour of his eyes, since you're giving such a personally vivid description? interrupts that 'faithful' yet discerning voice from within my head.
'Do you mind?' I ask in frustration.
Jason, however, clearly wants to believe that what I said was directly at him, so responds childishly:
'With what, old pal?'.
He grins.
'Don't you have any blueprints to offer?' I ask, frowning anxiously.
He smirks, then runs his needle-woven fingers through that hair of his... defining, denoting, locks filled with threads of evil.
'I think you've been cast away, 'mentally'-he air quotes- back to the 21st century; your origin and your return.'
What he's said has shaken me. Return?
'What on earth are you talking about?' I demand nervously. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through the atmosphere of invisibility... utter confusion, restlessness inside a living heart.
'Just remember to shut those walls once the operation is midway through process,' he responds, stinging.
That sting hurt. What a remarkably picayune euphemism to utilize in such circumstances of the day!
Stop with your ludicrous boasts of anger, you poor excuse for a scientist! PH Junior exudes.
I forget him just for a moment and continue my concentration on the other presence in my office it invaded.
What was his-I mean, its- star sign again? Scorpio? No wonder Jason may just turn out to be the hunter of everyone's dreams one day.
'I believe I know my job thoroughly enough, co-worker,' I retort, attempting a snigger, only to make another yet all the more cringing fool of my self and of that inner voice talking to me at the most inappropriate times, 'and I have no need of any sort of deportation back to other worlds when no current necessities have manifested as of yet.'
Not a bad speech, partner! Hit 'it' again! Inner-heart speaks again.
'Shut up,' I manage to whisper faintly, too unsuccessfully for Jason the hunter's lycanthrope hearing devices.
A glimmer of future hoodwinks appears on the grimly lit face of Jason the dream hunting euphemism user.
'You have no authority to address me as a mere 'co-worker', fool. Remember, I was the one to resuscitate you in times of danger and therefore have every right to decide your fate. Right now, your behaviour is greatly contributing to it.'
He-it-smiles almost as if I've known him since our time began.
But all four of us-I, inner voice of mine, you and Jason-know this is not true.
His time began after mine did. In any case mine should have been completed almost a millennium ago come one week.
Jason leaves me be. He turns, eyes a corner and spits, acknowledging the 'poor' hygiene and laboratory disappointments all belonging to the reversal of my just-mentioned-deportation.
He leaves my office. He would do well not to return.
I have a plan. Something to hobble this 'intruder', this 'it'.
You dealed rather well, didn't you master? Inner sounds echo.
'Aghast! An actual friendly compliment. Well, I'd think so. But past people know more things than some future do.'
So I continue the conversation with Perry Hunter 'Junior', and try forgetting the tremendously abstergent soul widely known as 'Jason', one of today's most acclaimed psychological doctors.
Yes, he has diplomas, he graduated, he even won a worldwide known prize whose name I've dismissed from mind.
He can be everything. It can be anything.
For me, however, he is simply a ghost.
A dream-hunting, lycanthropic hearing, euphemism utilizing waste of air.
YOU ARE READING
I; Labyrinth
Science Fiction'There's a strange sensation of the absence of essences. There's nothing.' In the year 3032 a.D within the walls of the Minnesotan city 'Yesté' live three of the world's most revolutionary people innate with what is known as the 'tenth intell...
