Torque/Amphibious/Absent
When he wakes again, he is flat on his back and there is a strange doctor standing over him and there is air everywhere, but they’re not inside.
They aren’t even in a room yet and the doctor smells like digested mouthwash.
The walls spring up, one at a time all around him and the doctor doesn’t seem to notice.
Suddenly, his dead daughter is in the “room” and appears to be asking the doctor questions in a tone he is unable to make out.
He attempts to speak to her but words evade him, as if it wasn’t even possible in the first place. He is happy to see that the effects of her collision with the train are not evident in this incarnation. Now he can barely see her.
In the hallway, an elderly man in a lab coat is slowly and laboriously carrying an unfair armful of bricks. His lab coat is stained with rust and it takes him several minutes to fully pass.
His doctor gestures towards him and begins using terms that seem medically inappropriate:
”Torque”
“Amphibious”
“Absent”
His daughter nods solemnly and she still hasn’t even made eye contact with her father, as if it wasn’t even possible in the first place.
In the hallway, a man seemingly in the same predicament as him leaves his room in a wheelchair and is immediately struck by an oncoming car. Nobody cares.
As quickly as she came, his daughter disappears and his doctor finally addresses him directly although his words sound like both men are on opposite ends of a collapsing coal mine:
”My beautiful Irish bride, cut cleanly in two”.
When the doctor senses his confusion, he leans over him and their faces are inches apart. The smell of the mouthwash is so overwhelming that he can’t tell if the doctor is telling him that the next step will require need a new “pair of shoes” or a “parachute”.
On his way out, the doctor turns off the lights which was a simply terrifying thing to do. There is not a bit of light in the room, and all is silent. He feels as if he’s back in the womb.
Luckily, a nurse soon enters and turns the light back on as she wheels in the man who was just struck by the car in the hallway.
He is wearing a full body cast made out of old blueprints which appear to be an outline of the most perfect and complicated and impossible veins a human body has ever known.
According to the diagram just above his navel, his blood is quickly filling up an underground parking garage.
They aren’t even in a room yet and the doctor smells like digested mouthwash.
The walls spring up, one at a time all around him and the doctor doesn’t seem to notice.
Suddenly, his dead daughter is in the “room” and appears to be asking the doctor questions in a tone he is unable to make out.
He attempts to speak to her but words evade him, as if it wasn’t even possible in the first place. He is happy to see that the effects of her collision with the train are not evident in this incarnation. Now he can barely see her.
In the hallway, an elderly man in a lab coat is slowly and laboriously carrying an unfair armful of bricks. His lab coat is stained with rust and it takes him several minutes to fully pass.
His doctor gestures towards him and begins using terms that seem medically inappropriate:
”Torque”
“Amphibious”
“Absent”
His daughter nods solemnly and she still hasn’t even made eye contact with her father, as if it wasn’t even possible in the first place.
In the hallway, a man seemingly in the same predicament as him leaves his room in a wheelchair and is immediately struck by an oncoming car. Nobody cares.
As quickly as she came, his daughter disappears and his doctor finally addresses him directly although his words sound like both men are on opposite ends of a collapsing coal mine:
”My beautiful Irish bride, cut cleanly in two”.
When the doctor senses his confusion, he leans over him and their faces are inches apart. The smell of the mouthwash is so overwhelming that he can’t tell if the doctor is telling him that the next step will require need a new “pair of shoes” or a “parachute”.
On his way out, the doctor turns off the lights which was a simply terrifying thing to do. There is not a bit of light in the room, and all is silent. He feels as if he’s back in the womb.
Luckily, a nurse soon enters and turns the light back on as she wheels in the man who was just struck by the car in the hallway.
He is wearing a full body cast made out of old blueprints which appear to be an outline of the most perfect and complicated and impossible veins a human body has ever known.
According to the diagram just above his navel, his blood is quickly filling up an underground parking garage.
posted by Red Kitchen at
7:16 AM
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