You awake with a start to the sound of liquid gurgling down a drain. Your head pounds, and your body doesnt seem to respond to your desires. Looking down, you see that your arms are restrained to the bed. You assume your legs are too, as they wont raise. A large white sheet is held above your body by some kind of scaffolding. A quick appraisal of your location chills you to the core. On both sides of you, in rows, are other people in exactly the same situation. Next to each bed is a table holding various nasty looking implements. The room is lit by a tube of glowing green liquid in each corner. The bubbles within make curious shadows dance upon the walls. A heavy iron door to your left opens. Its hinges cry out in protest as a mechanical hand forces the rusting hinges to move. A small figure enters the room. He is about the size of an eight year old, but his finely waxed moustache and goatee betray his age. He is sharply dressed, wearing a dark grey vest over a long sleeved white tunic. Atop his head sits a grey bowler hat. He notices you staring, and walks over with a smile. Good morning, patient 24. He says politely. I see youve regained consciousness. Delightful. He runs his fingers over his moustache, while he looks under the sheet. A crazed look of ambition flashes briefly across his face before being drowned by relief. You are quite lucky, my boy. You are the proud owner of the first... He rips the sheet away in a flourish, ...clockwork heart. You look at your now exposed body. A mess of brass and steel cover you from shoulder to thigh. You can see cogs moving within the latticework, some smoothly, others jarred. Your ears, now more attuned to hearing clockwork, notice a rhythmic clicking, and you realise with horror that that is now your heartbeat. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, heightening your senses. More clicking. The room spins and blurs around you. Your eyes close, leaving you alone with the sound of your infernal heart. The muffled voice of the man echoes in your head, too distorted to make out. The last sound you hear, other than your necessary clicking, is that of the door hinges, shrieking at their forced movement. Reality fades.
Posted on: Sat, 02 Nov 2013 04:07:55 +0000
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