Apple

Chapter 7

Post pre-Apple

.  .  .

"Check his heart rate!"

"Check."

"Breathing pattern!"

"Check."

"Blood pressure!"

"Check."

"Is it stable?"

"Yes, it's not high or low, which is a good sign.

"Good."

I moaned loudly, the voices won't stop! They penetrated my ear and bounced off; and so did the flashing lights.

Wherever I was, I wasn't comfortable.

"He made it to the end, doctor. This must be good."

"It is, no normal human can handle that."

Suddenly, my left eyelid was yanked open against my will, leaving my delicate eyes in a light too bright that I thought I was seeing death.

Can't they tone it down with the torture a little? Is my father planning on ending the human race or what?

This time I couldn't help the shriek that escaped me, the nurse that wouldn't shut up, shut me up.

"Clear, no sign of anything suspicious." She said as she shut the torch off, I shut my eye tightly in pain. I would probably see white and blue blotches in my vision for a while now.

"Let him rest for a while, he'll definitely need it in the competition." Sound 1 said.

Sound 2 snorted, "So which room is next?" Her voice trailed off as she shut the door after her, and all that was left was her stupid beaming voice that was bouncing off in the hall and into my poor ears.

"I'm not really sure....."

The moment I was sure that I am alone, my eyes snapped open, I was tired as hell but sleeping with one eye open wasn't my best 24-karat preference at the moment. I felt tense and rigid, but I couldn't help it, the stiffness. The numbing in my mind increased as I recalled what went down mere minutes ago. While I was outside I heard one of the nurse ladies mention that I was one of the few who made it till the very end.

What kind of hell was that?

I need to have a talk with my father as soon as I see him. I mean he obviously doesn't know that I'm one of the competitors in Apple — if the nurse's words weren't any indication.

I inhaled a deep breath as I tried to straighten myself up; at least my father provided fuzzy mattresses here! I thought sardonically. As I struggled with getting up–or tried to– I noticed that my hands were still glued to the metallic sides of the bed's headboard.

There was like a metal belt wrapped around my firm hands, it was sore from all what happened in there, and for a moment I sat there and contemplated the whole thing, and if all of that crap that went down was real or all in my head.

But is busting my father really worth all that pain I'm going to go through?

Yes, it has been a lifetime dream to prove it to all of those who compared me to my father. But, let's think with logic.

I'm too numb to think, I'm sitting on something that looks suspiciously like my deathbed, I'm stuck and I can't get up to save my life, my stomach is growling, and I'm scared that some alarm around the lowly lit room would go off.