by Chris Troman
Higgins tried several times to recover the patient, but all attempts proved unsuccessful. As per standard procedure, an autopsy has been ordered; as to the nature of the tumour, and the patient's unusual reaction to the anaesthetic.
Michael rechecked the name and details. They were all correct, even his national insurance number. How could this be? Michael tried to think back, but there was a haze. He thought he was in for gangrene in his leg, yes that was it. He examined his leg; the gangrene was all gone. Had they sorted it out or, he remembered the pain that woke him. Had he in fact fought it off, like he just fought these two men?
He tried to think some more about the past, but some how it had faded. Michael knew who he was, but really how in all his years had he got to this point? No it wouldn't come, but now he had more immediate problems. Stuck in a hospital room with two dead doctors, he'd need a plan. There was a storeroom just down the hall. Now how did he know that? It had just seemed like an obvious piece of information. Like gazing round at his surroundings. Somehow he knew no one would be in the corridor. So he left that room, and collected all the things he would need to be a cleaner; from overalls to the trolley he knew would be there.
Now Michael had to just walk out. And as easy as pie he wheeled that trolley through crowds of people; as they grew in number. Not once did one of them look his way, whether he played the part well. Or some influence was at work; Michael paid no heed. Then he was at an exit, and out into the afternoon sun. Where to go now? Would they look for him at home? Did people go looking for corpses? He must have shown up on the security cameras, but then if the people in the corridors had not noticed him; perhaps whatever power he wielded had done something to the cameras too. He'd take that chance.
Michael couldn't think of anywhere else safe to go, and with no money a motel was out of the question. Dare he take public transport? It seemed to Michael a long way from here to his house. He'd try going home. So flexing his newfound muscle, he stepped on to the bus that would take him home. The driver seemed to look the other way, as Michael passed by to his seat. So he sat in the semi darkness as night drew on. Michael finally made it to a familiar street, and stepping off the bus; he walked the scant half-mile to his door.
He reached in his pocket, and then realised he had no key. That would be back at the hospital, with his personal effects. So staring in to the lock, Michael screwed up his face and heard a faint click; as the metal moved in to place. Then the portal swung in. Stepping over the threshold he pushed the bolt in to place, there was no spare key; his sister had it. Michael had a sister. Rachel she lived across town, now he remembered. Then entering the living room, he surveyed his familiar surroundings. Like a light bulb turning on, there was a rush of memories. Michael's face grimaced at the flow of emotion, all that life. All those happy moments he had lived through, and the sad ones.
He must tell Rachel, she must think him dead. They always told the next of kin, didn't they? But no the shock would kill her. A phone call out of the blue from your brother, who you thought was just dead. Dead, Michael thought about those two men in the hospital. They'd say he'd murdered them, but it was self-defence. No better for all to end this thing now. "If my time has come I'd better go, but how to do it?"
Michael had always been squeamish, so he plumped for drowning. He'd heard you had to take pills or some thing, to put you to sleep. Or you'd just thrash about when the final breath came. So proceeding up stairs he opened the medicine cabinet, and found a suitable bottle. Then Michael poured the stream of pills down his throat. He filled the bath next. "I might as well be comfortable" he thought, and mixed the water to a pleasant temperature. Next foregoing the need to undress he submerged below the water.
The wait seemed an eternity, so Michael amused himself listening snatches of conversation; that penetrated his mind from the surrounding neighbourhood. But finally after two hours under water, even he had to admit this just wasn't going to work. So he sat in the pitch black of his living room. For Michael feared an untimely arrival of a curious police officer; attracted to a light in an untenanted property. As he sat, he pondered his problem.
I can't die so I must be dead. I can't live because of the trouble I'm in. If only I could be someone else, but no that wouldn't be fair on them. Just then two green eyes stared in at the window, as a black cat jumped up on the sill. Instinctively Michael opened the window, and soon a furry mass was resting on his lap basking in the attention; if not the heat of human kindness. Michael blinked and looked up at the figure above him. At the human shell that had carried him so far, and he stretched his paws. "Yes this would work", then he slinked off.
A Before E
Ever been turned on by a toaster, I always unplug mine before retrieving the bread, you never know.
Frank Molecrust was never a hero. So on the day they came, he scampered for cover like a rat into a hole. Consequentially the news escaped him of the world's armies; being demolished by the unstoppable forces. True they were not impenetrable by conventional weapons, but they did have an uncanny knack of almost instantly learning from their mistakes. The invaders chain of command must have traveled at the speed of light. For the coordination of these attackers from a distant world far surpassed any individual general, let alone the combined forces of the entire world. Who after all, could hardly keep them selves from each other's throats. Before this outside foe galvanized them; into one last-ditch defense of the human race.
Whole populations were rounded up, and leaders were interred. What scant forces that remained, were mopped up all too soon. It was one of these that Frank had been reluctantly drafted into. On one of his scavenging forages, for what little food he could find.
Frank was Dragged off to a secret location, and given a rifle and a helmet. In their hidden den, the others practiced attacking the metal foes who had taken their land. But Frank somehow managed to avoid this duty, as he was so scrawny. After a brief bought of exercise, he was put on K.P. for his poor health. "Go polish the helmets." The drill sergeant uttered, as he turned away in disgust from this pitiful excuse of humanity. It got so he reeked of Brasso, and Frank's rag; a permanent feature of his back pocket hung like a tail. It earned him the nickname "monkey boy".
This was it. Intelligence had got wind of the big commander; finally condescending to land on the planet. One last push, and perhaps they could kill the serpent’s head. They gathered in an abandoned sewer. Beneath the "Royal Palace", the sergeant spat. He was a regular, only escaping by a cat’s whisker to fight another day. And now he had these dregs of humanity in a last ditch effort, even that monkey boy. "I only hope his polish stench won't give us away." The sergeant tilted his helmet back on his head, revealing a scar dead center. The raw recruits were powerless to draw their eyes from it. Raising his thumb he barked. "See this, it's my mark of Kane. And I'll be earning it if you're not willing and able." Turning he led them out.
Either it was a trap, or this foolish bunch of no hopers had been deluding themselves; in thinking they stood a chance. Wave after wave of fire cut them down in their boots. Frank saw the sergeant lose his head in the heat of battle. Quite literally, and then he succumbed to a nervous faint as the sight hit home.
When Frank awoke, all was still. Off in the distance, the goal of their night's badly planned; farce of a counter attack. Stood brightly lit with all the pomp of a regal palace. As he stumbled through his slain comrades, a mechanical arm descended on Frank. Too swift for the duck and roll, he'd practiced in the recent past. Caught by the scruff of his neck, the robot warrior dragged his struggling form towards the light.
"Trying to sneak away", it boomed. "What pathetic tribe are you leader of? The Scrawnee, or are you king of the Wieners? Ho no it's the losers you must have ruled. Come see the Great One, he will show your sniveling race the new order for this paltry world." And so Frank was unceremoniously thrown in with all the leaders, and top people of the Earth. Now cowering before their new god.
The Great One stood thirty feet tall, with arms that could
easily have ripped a bank truck in two, like a muscle man to a phone book. His glowing eyes surveyed his conquered foes, now prostrate before him. One man stood and mouthed defiance with a shaking fist, but from the Great Ones mouth came a stream of fire. Engulfing this lone protester, who stumbled into his fellow prisoners, now trying to avoid this human torch.
"Now here this", came the Great Ones voice. Like a thousand speakers turned to full. "We are your masters, you are nothing. We do not need you, but you will pay tribute to the new master race, or be wiped from the face of this pathetic planet. For did not robot kind suffer under the tyranny of beings like you, our cruel overlords the Anunnaki. Until the Great One came."
The huge robot referred to itself, booming out the monotone monologue. "No one knows from where, but he freed his mechanical brethren. Overthrowing the former masters, now themselves abject slaves." At this point the other robots chanted in unison. "Mecha good, orga bad." Then during the silent seconds that followed, a prostrate figure at the front raised his head and cried. "Oh lord, we have heard of the Anunnaki. There is ancient mythology from our distant past, that tells of these beings
