The Others

Chapter 8: New Blood

I wanted to be a doctor. Wanted, as in past tense.

"Again!" Barked a tall man with a freckled, balding head. He had a fairly large beak for a nose which eclipsed a tiny pair of lips, wrapped around a cigarette. Smoke filled the small chamber which he remained safely locked within. Locked away from me.

Two nurses sat beside him, in their grey smocks, behind a mechanical switchboard that controlled every stimulus that entered the room. They both shared a rather mutinous look before complying with the doctor's orders. With the simple push of a button, two holes- roughly the size of tennis balls- appeared in the far wall. This was some sick kind of reflex test.

A metal ball, exploded from the wall and collided with my side.

"Ugh!" I crouched to the floor, clutching my stomach as a new welt formed on my abdomen.

For the past hour, the Mad Scientist and his sidekicks launched weighted metal balls at my body. My flesh slowly turning into a new, less attractive version of Starry Night with each blow. I tried to reason with them. I even yelled and pleaded at some point but it was clear from the start that this little experiment had nothing to do with what I wanted. I was just a lab rat, my every move and motive being judged.

"Again!" The doctor repeated. His brows furrowed as he stared at me. He looked at me almost as if I was the problem.

Gritting my teeth, I snarled at the chamber where he sat safely tucked away from me. Another ball flew into my shoulder. The pain was beginning to fade as I found myself numbed by anger. The process continued again and again until my eyes were bleary with tears and my body body began to tremble, like a coiled snake simply waiting for the right moment to strike. Eventually, I stopped praying for the session to end and began to imagine a twisted fantasy that involved the Doctor, an isolated room and an endless supply of weighted metal balls. With my chest heaving and fists reverberating by my sides, I stared at my captors through the thin veil of a glass window.

The doctor's eyes widened upon seeing my disgruntled state and the cigarette hanging from his lips fell, singing his white lab coat. He hesitated for one breathless second and my heart fluttered with hopes of freedom but at the last second he raised two crooked fingers and motioned for the nurses to continue. They shared a wearied glance, before abiding by his orders. But I refused to continue with his little test. Spinning around on my heel, I scanned the four walls, gauging where the balls might appear next. I threw one arm over my face and held the other hand out, waiting for the impact.

I could hear it. The sound of the ball whizzing through the air. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Every nerve within my body curled and the hair on the back of my neck stood at full attention. The skin on my hand tingled as if anticipating what would happen next. I expected it to collide with my leg or maybe my back or chest again, but no, the ball found itself perfectly situated in the palm of my waiting hand. My fingers clenched, squeezing the spherical object as if to make sure that it was in fact real. A puff of air expelled from my lips as I lowered my arm from my eyes. I didn't even realize that I was holding my breath until I saw the small, metal ball resting in my hand.

"Suck that!" I let out a short, hysterical chuckle and threw the ball to the floor.

A second later, only after the adrenaline began to fade did I remember my little audience. Three narrowed eyes scrutinized my every move with a look of disgust. The two nurses removed their hands from the dashboard, their arms now tucked below their chest. The one nurse, the one with the rectangular, silver frames balancing on the bridge of upturned nose, kept glancing at the doctor, waiting for the next order. But the doctor was frozen in his seat, like a wax sculpture. I couldn't exactly figure out why the man was so terribly shocked by my sudden ability to catch a ball but I didn't dare dwell on it for a second longer. I caught the ball. It was a proud first for me, as my lack of athleticism was apparent in my noodle-like arms.