I'm going to start with a flash fiction challenge I recently entered. The theme was Sci Fi, location a Doctor's office and the item a loaf of bread.
I should add that I hate sci-fi. I've never watched a sci fi movie or read fiction of the genre. I hate Star Wars, Star Trek, or anything about the future (ha!) so this was kind of an achievement for me.
I hope you enjoy, my non-existent blog followers...
Dr Malcolm looked out his window at the final cracks of the sun’s light resisting their fate beneath the horizon. The silhouetted landscape was a long, straight line, the sort of flat that only desert can offer, and it was a view that the Doctor had looked at for many years.
He turned his back to the window and heard the sound of the front door to the surgery slamming. His daughter Lisa, the surgery secretary, left right on sunset every single day. Of course, the Doctor only knew this because he made it his business to know everything about everybody. His hunger for knowledge didn’t stop at the surgery, though. His hunger right now lay in the loaf of bread he had hidden under his desk.
“Flack!”
The pair of surgical gloves the Doctor slipped over his hands snapped into place.
“Click.”
The lock to his private office door turned over with satisfying punctuation. Now, as the Doctor turned to face the window, there was only darkness. Deep, ominous sky, highlighted with millions of tiny stars.
Dr Malcolm walked over to his desk and crouched down, pulling out the bread bin that had been acting as his footrest all day. He wasn’t a lazy man, nor was he one who believed in resting his limbs. Keeping his feet firmly on top of the bread bin was a security measure to ensure that no one else would discover his secret.
He lifted the bread bin up and placed it on his desk. He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead. Even though he had been going through this ritual every day for the past week, he still got nervous.
Dr Malcolm opened the box and took out the loaf of bread, hands trembling as he placed it gently on the desk in front of him. With shaking fingers he untwisted the tie and discarded it, letting the bread tumble out.
After the fifth slice of bread, there were 32 small, green discs. Paper thin and slimy, sized no bigger than a beer cap, these tiny green objects radiated a light so intense that even Dr Malcolm, who viewed his prize daily, had to look away.
It was a funny thing, life, Dr Malcolm thought to himself. He could have sworn that this time last week there was only one disc. But he was getting old, he reminded himself. Of course there had always been 32.
His eyes were once more fixed on the window. The contrast to the green helped cool his sight and calm his mind until it was time to look back. The green discs were still there, still radiating an intense light.
The Doctor held his breath. Now was the time. He had been waiting, waiting one whole week, but tonight he knew it had to happen.
With tweezers he lifted one of the discs and popped it on a slide tray he had borrowed from the oncology wing at the local hospital.
He slid the tray under his microscope. Sunglasses slipped over his ears, another deep breath – and then it was time.
Dr Malcolm had tried to look at the disc under the microscope every night for the past week and, every time, Dr Malcolm put the disc away, leaving the challenge instead for another day.
Dr Malcolm didn’t understand why this was happening. How was he, a man in control of his life, a gentleman who knew everything about everyone, so afraid to look at one of the stupid green discs he had mysteriously found in his office? It was why he had never taken the disc to authorities. People in small towns talked. They would laugh at him. Telling the people who thought he knew the world that he knew nothing would be the greatest humiliation he could face.
Gripping the desk for strength, Dr Malcolm hovered over the microscope and then flung his eye on top of the viewfinder with such force that the table legs shook.
Immediately, his mind was transported. Memories flashed with terrifying speed through his mind: images from his medical school, the first birth he had assisted, the science of reproduction, the birth of Lisa, sex with Lisa’s mother, all of them speeding through like they were being copied to another being. Someone was filing through his mind without permission.
Dr Malcolm was terrified. This was nothing like the movies. When it came to supernatural activities, this was not what it should be. No needles, no transportation or UFO’s – just a tiny green disc pillaging his mind and stealing from him his reproductive memories.
The intensity and pressure was too great. Dr Malcolm slumped over his desk, pushing the microscope to the floor and hearing it’s sickening crack as he gave way to the sleep that quickly overtook him.
The next morning, Dr Malcolm woke up. Asleep at work again, he thought, shaking his head to himself.
He waded through the day, determined to get to the end so he could watch the last splints of sun shimmy below the horizon, lock his office door and get out his loaf of bread.
“Flack!”
“Click.”
He bent under his desk to get the bread bin, retrieving it with trembling hands. Today would be the day, he thought. Surely today he would be brave enough to look under the microscope at this item that had eluded his close up view for so long.
He unwrapped the twist and watched as the bread fell out. A blinding green light fell over the room. After glancing at the night sky, Dr Malcolm was finally able to look back at his loaf of bread. On the fifth slice were 64 tiny little green discs, shining brightly. The sweat of the Doctor grew thick.
It was a funny thing, life, Dr Malcolm thought to himself. He could have sworn that this time last week there was only one disc. But he was getting old, he reminded himself. Of course there had always been 64.
