| MONKEY |
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|
 Doctor Finkle |
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| Doctor Moore |
| by RustyNail |
Rodney had been staring at the clock on the wall for eighteen minutes. The watch on his wrist was off by two minutes, he had concluded, and leaned forward in his chair. He wiped his sweating palms on his pant legs and returned to his previous position of leaning back. This cycle repeated itself for another four minutes, until the two men entered the room. The first was Doctor Finkle, who looked to be in his late sixties. He was balding, wore very thick glasses and had a bushy moustache. The second man, Rodney presumed, was Doctor Moore, who was a bit fatter and younger than Doctor Finkle, but the difference was barely noticable. They each pulled their respective folding chairs close to Rodney and sat down in front of him, side by side. Avoiding eye contact, Rodney stared at the nativity painting partly visible between the both of them on the wall. The second man said, "Hi, Rodney, I'm Doctor Moore. You can call me David if you want. Or Dave. You met Doctor Finkle earlier, yes? What seems to be the problem today?" "I'm having a bit of uh, trouble," said Rodney. He paused for a moment, and then continued, "I have double vision and constant ringing in my ears, and, uh, my opthamologist and physician couldn't find anything wrong with me."
"Do you have a history of mental illness in your family?" said Doctor Finkle. "No," replied Rodney as he wiped the sweat off his brow. "Do you hear voices in your head, or have some sort of loud, uncontrollable internal monologue?" "No." "Have you had any depressive episodes?" "Well, yeah, but everybody does. Not often though." The two doctors briefly looked at eachother, exchanged whispers and returned their gaze to Rodney. Doctor Finkle continued, "We'd like to run some tests on you, if that's alright. These tests are quite simple and would greatly help us figure this annoying problem out. Would you be comfortable with that?" Rodney replied, "Okay." Doctor Finkle stood from his chair, straightened his glasses and removed a small flashlight and a long and narrow metal object from his white coat. The florescent light from the ceiling reflected off of it and irritated Rodney's eyes. "Now relax, Rodney," said Doctor Moore from his chair. "Doctor Finkle is just going to test your eye reflexes. This will only take a moment." Doctor Finkle turned his flashlight on and shined it in Rodney's eyes. "Follow this with your eyes," he said. He moved the metal object back and forth, left to right, and gave a interested "Hmm" to his partner.
"Quite interesting," said Doctor Finkle. "What?" said Rodney. The two doctors exchanged whispers once more. Doctor Moore stood and performed the same experiment. He shined the flashlight in Rodney's eyes and moved the metal object back and forth, left to right. "I've never seen anything quite like this," said Doctor Moore. Doctor Moore then plunged the metal object into Rodney's left eye socket. Rodney became hysterical, screaming in agony as the rushing signals to his brain shouted PAIN in thousands of consecutive lightning bolts. Doctor Moore held him down. He twisted the metal object back and forth, left to right, until the eye gave up and came out, bidding surrender with an audible farewell similar to that of a freshly opened pickle jar. It dangled freely on Rodney's cheek as liquid crimson flowed into his gaping mouth, choking him in the midst of his screams. Doctor Moore reached into his jacket, retrieved some scissors and gently cut the eye loose and tossed it aside. It landed with a respectable splat on the floor. Doctor Finkle raised his foot and gently pressed down on the eye, its juices squirming out and embedding themselves snuggly into the office carpet.
Doctor Moore continued holding Rodney down as Doctor Finkle stood and took the metal object from him. "The first one's always the worst," said he, smiling. "Let's get that other one out and we can work on the ears." Rodney choked and vomited blood on both of the doctors and resumed his screaming. "Rodney," said Doctor Moore, "You're being incredibly difficult. This will only take a moment." Rodney kicked Doctor Moore off of him and his chair tipped over. His head hit the carpet and a stream of blood shot into the air. He began crying, "Help, help, help." The two doctors ran over to apprehend him. He quickly gathered his strength, stood, and ran between the opening between them to the office door. It was locked. He started pounding it as hard as he could, his cries of futility and helplessness echoing in the florescent tomb. No one came. Doctor Moore caught up to Rodney first, pushing him into the door. A mix of blood and tears splattered onto the light grey metal as Rodney's hands were forced behind him, his feet dragging across the carpet as the two doctors slowly brought him back. He lamented to God. They cleared the office table and threw him on it. Doctor Finkle held Rodney down as Doctor Moore searched through the desk. He pulled out duct tape. "This is highly irregular," said Doctor Finkle, "But we can't have you running off while we're doing this procedure. I hope you understand, my dear boy."
The unrolling duct tape screeched as it bound Rodney's fighting legs and arms to the table, guided by the blood-soaked arms of Doctor Moore. With Rodney's body securely in place, Doctor Moore began rummaging through his jacket. He pulled out a scalpel. "This should hasten the procedure," he quipped. "Let's just do the right ear first. Rodney, I'm going to make an incision at the base of your outer ear. Hold still." He steadily guided the scalpel to Rodney's ear. "No! Fuck you! No! No!" yelled Rodney, and he shook his head violently. "Doctor Finkle, please," said Doctor Moore. Doctor Finkle applied a generous amount of pressure to Rodney's forehead, forcing it against the table. He used his other hand to cover Rodney's mouth. Rodney continued kicking his legs, but it was of no use. Doctor Moore proceeded. The scalpel penetrated the skin under Rodney's earlobe, his muffled screams crying into Doctor Finkle's welded and immovable hand. There was a knock at the door. Doctor Moore stopped and looked at Doctor Finkle hesitatingly. He set the scalpel down and opened the door. He smiled. "Oh yes, come right in. We've been working on your son. Things may look a bit messy but I assure you, it's for his own good. Right this way." Doctor Moore left the door open and guided Rodney's mother to him. She gripped her purse and gave an uneasy smile. "Hi, honey," said she. "How are you holding up?"
Rodney looked at her in utter shock and contempt. She stroked his hair back and said, "It's okay, honey." Rodney wept. "Would you like to observe the procedure?" said Doctor Moore. She agreed. Rodney continued screaming as Doctor Finkle tightened his grip around his mouth. Doctor Moore equipped the scalpel and started again. The makeshift operating table began to creek and splinter from the direct force applied to Rodney to hold him down. It wobbled and finally gave way, crashing to the ground. The scalpel had failed to pierce Rodney's ear once more, but on the trip to the floor it had severely wounded his cheek. His body no longer secured, he kicked the two flailing doctors away from him, picked up the fallen blade, and stood. Doctor Finkle, Doctor Moore and Rodney's mother looked at Rodney nervously as he brandished the scalpel and cornered himself.
Doctor Moore stepped forward. "Rodney, you don't know what you're doing. You're at the hospital, okay? You are mentally unstable. We're here to help you. Put the scalpel down and everything will be alright. Your mother is worried, see?" Rodney paused and looked at her. All three of them slowly treaded toward him. "Stay back! All of you! Stay the fuck back!" They continued walking. Rodney took a clean swipe at the air in front of them and they recoiled. Dizziness set in as he wobbled toward the room's opened door. Rodney's mother cried out, "Rodney, come back here! You don't know where you're going!" Rodney looked back at them before he neared the door. He turned his head forward as he escaped and entered the hallway. Blackness. He stopped running and looked back into the office, into the only thing he could see. The two doctors and his mother stared vacantly at him before he plunged into an immeasurable void.
The concept of light had ceased to exist. As did pain. Consciousness' sole purpose, if it had one, if consciousness had even existed, was to experience the complete awe of the fall. All Rodney could feel, all Rodney could know, was endless descent into the eternal shadow. It would have been ages, if time had even existed, before Rodney would land at the end of the tunnel. Before Rodney would wake up and realize this was all a bad, bad dream. He'd turn his alarm clock off and look at himself in the mirror and laugh and get dressed and go to school and see that girl he had a crush on and they'd hold hands and he'd eventually ask her out on a date and write poems about her using the brain he had been blessed with to give him such interesting dreams and they'd become college sweethearts and eventually come to a mutual understanding about a break up when they graduated and had to move on with their lives, always appreciating the memories they had together--
The thud of skin and bones colliding with marble tile emanated throughout the building. Rodney opened his eyes--his eye--and studied his surroundings. He was at the end of a very long, very narrow, very bare hallway. He saw a large door at the opposite end. Its blurred windows were the source of a great flashing light that illuminated his visage. An intact ceiling and wall surrounded him. He heard nothing but the deafening ringing in his ears. He saw no doctors or nurses or patients or receptionists. He saw blood, he felt excruciating pain, but he knew only one thing. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled to an erect posture. Dizziness eventually subsided as he marched forward, desperate for answers, and he knew whatever lay beyond the radiating door would have them. His legs grew weak as he walked, his heart pounding and his lungs constantly inflating and deflating in exhaustion. Something inside him pushed him forward, begging and pleading with him to continue walking, that this was all a nightmare and repeatedly promised that this would be over soon.
It took every last bit of strength that Rodney had to push the doors open. By the time he had reached them, the light was blinding. He put all of his weight into the doors, pushed, and they gave way. He was outside, bent over on the sidewalk and looking at the ground. The great light had subsided. He shook his head. The ringing in his ears was gone, as was the wound on his cheek. He had both of his eyes. He could see and hear everything perfectly. He sighed, gathered himself and looked to the sky above. As long as Rodney had lived, every moment he had ever experienced, every intense hormonal rush pushing its way through his body he had felt, every horrifying scream he had ever lamented would amount to naught compared to the terror he had felt at that moment. He longed for death.
The blackened sky rained fire and ash upon the city in ruins. Every temple and church grew ablaze. In the distance, charred bodies took residence in the middle of the street as ironclad and blood-thirsty demons marched over them, genocide their purpose, turning over cars and busses, gripping their axes tightly, slaughtering anything in their path. Terrified civilians fleed in the opposite direction, the healthy first receiving punishment from the archers' arrows, the wounded meeting their demise at the sword of the shrouded horseback riders. The demons' soulless eyes rejoiced in delight at every man, woman and child's shrieking pleas for mercy while whips mutilated their backs as they were bound with rusted chains to the cold concrete. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. To Rodney's left, he saw pregnant women at the top of a great holding structure, their arms and legs bound to wooden planks, having their stomachs cut open, their unborn infants being ripped out from inside of them and thrown into a pit of fire amidst roaring laughter. The mothers' throats would then be consecutively slit, and the demon's blade would be licked clean before he put it back in his holster.
To Rodney's right, he saw metallic wraiths holding a group of men down to the ground with blades to their throats, their deadened and yellow eyes peering into the hearts of the men as they ripped their tongues out and tossed them in a pile. The men would be left to choke on their blood. The few that tried to run away were immediately caught and tortured. The wraiths would use stones to break their kneecaps, then their hips, then their sternum. They'd leave those men alive. Mounted dragons soared through the air, their gaping mouths flaunting their enormous razor teeth as they howled into the night, spitting fire upon the plains and trees and animals. Lightning repeatedly struck buildings and skyscrapers, reducing them to great piles of rubble covering the masses. The sky thundered and shook the Earth, sending the clocktower observers through windows, plunging to their demise on the scorching ground. The dust had risen and began to cover the horizon in a cloud of darkness. Death reigned over the land, triumphing in a sea of agony and torment as the moon turned a fiery crimson. The end was near, and then it came.
Rodney had been staring at the clock on the wall for twenty minutes. The watch on his wrist was off by two minutes, he had concluded, and leaned forward in his chair.
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