This week's picture prompt was created by Australian artist Cameron Gray, known as Parablev on DeviantArt He calls it Cage. He has some incredible creations. I really love his art. Worth a look.
This week it went a bit dark. Not what I had initally intended, but still like it.
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Dr Hayden chiselled round the face. It
was messy work, but she managed to pry it off. She knew the top of the head
came off easily, but she was surprised the face did too. There was blood
everywhere and the flesh underneath was deeper than expected.
She
stuck her fingers in and rooted around. Yep, there it was. She could feel the
hard nub at the back of the third eye. She got her fingers under it and pulled
it out, holding the blinking purple light up to inspect it, some sinews still
dripping off.
It
seemed intact and was still working so what had gone wrong?
She
dug around further, going in around the brain which had gone mushy. All the
wires were where they should be, and there was no evidence of a short circuit. So
what had happened?
There’d
never been a case of such a psychosis; all were stable and never questioned
themselves like this one had. Self-esteem had never been questioned before and
certainly none had displayed paranoid delusions that they turned on themselves.
The
entire point of the third eye neural transmitter had been to help individuals
remain open and to have a healthy perspective. It kept them looking forward and
not back, out instead of in. It had been one of the most successful resolutions
to the mental health problems over the last century. It had even become standard
practice to have one implanted once adulthood was reached. Those that chose not
to were considered feral.
So
why now, after all these decades had this one malfunctioned?
Dr
Hayden took the transmitter over to the counter. She washed it off and
inspected the outside of it. There was no evidence of any kind of tampering,
and with its position behind the skull it was well protected. She opened it up
and found nothing out of the ordinary inside either. It was a complete puzzle.
She
took out the patient’s paper file and leafed through. There had been no
accidents in their thirty-two years – they’d actually had an exemplary medical
record. But something struck her; when the patient reached her thirties there had
been repeating visits to their doctor.
She
went over to the computer and put in the patient’s details. The name of the
doctor appeared. Hayden covered her mouth as she read the name of one of her
former colleagues. He’d been relieved of his position at their lab because of his
unethical ideas about patient care. He believed the transmitters were a
manipulation tool to keep people passive, and wanted to see if they could be
removed.
She
quickly brought up the specifics of the visits. He’d been giving her medication,
a wide variety of them including hormonal replacement therapies and heavy duty stimulants.
They were virtually unheard of now. Only those without the transmitters were
given them and then at a high cost. Why had he been giving them to this
patient? She had no requirement for them. Her initial visit to him had been for
a simple bacterial infection.
But
then she noticed the note under the initial visit: ‘test subject for hormonal
activation of transmitter’. He’d wanted to see if it could be triggered.
And
it had; an early death by turning the brain to pulp. But had it been the transmitter
or the drugs? That would be the next investigation, after she had made a call
to the authorities to report the murder.
THE CURSE
ReplyDelete~~~~~~~~~
Hark, ye foul sinner, hark! I bellow and bid our father of dualities, Janus, to emerge from the portal, full foul in his fury, his twin faces of black lead and argent steel screeching banshee-like in the furnace, to smother ye with quicksilver swift, to choke ye, bespoiling your innards till ye turn blue and bloated with molten iron and rusted blood and can scream no more and only watch as he, crowned in gallium and zinc and mighty bronze beard a-steaming, lifts up his fell, bejewelled arm and thrusts his gold-tined trident through ye, bursting ye apart, a bulging bladder of hydrargyrum no more, but now a dissolute bloody film smeared on his iron boots, an insignificancy for the flamen and the souls of dead smiths to peck and claw and feed upon, to be absorbed by the water-silver of the dread god himself, forgotten to all men, forgotten to time, forgotten to any god or devil, since any skerrick or scantling of your soul is ye no more, but is now itself but base ore to be smelted. So do I curse ye!
Wow, quite a curse! Thanks for joining in!
DeleteTold you on Twitter, I had to figure out how to write the words. This is one of about 5 million ideas that I had to sort through.
ReplyDeleteMy Daddy Said
Brutal. Liked it though. Thanks for joining.
Delete