Monday, 10 December 2012

Bright Lights and Strange Men

Eyes covered in a strange green shield, but still I can make out the bright lights close to my face. My eyes close.

My hands hang down the side. My body lies flat. There is a sound of dripping. Open my eyes, just a little, and something blocks part of the light out. A strange kind of man, not a man, something, something with big white bulbs for eyes, and a large, glistening forehead, a mouth and a nose that is a flat green square taped around the lower half of his head.

Close my eyes, nothing I can do, but stay as still as possible, give in, in the hopes I will get out. There is prodding. There is poking. There is clamping shut and opening wide, and I keep my eyes closed, as if it is all a bad dream.

That strange kind of man speaks a foreign language, nothing like I have ever heard, a combination of letters and numbers. There is no response, just the dripping.

Then nothing. Open my eyes, just a little, enough to see he has moved away. Dare to open them more, get myself up, break into a run? He moves back above me before I can consider it, but even I know that time would make no difference. They would get me at some point, just like they will get everyone, every human.

He holds something in his hand, and is too busy assessing his order to see my eyes half open, staring up at the metal bar with a small, razor sharp hook on the end of it that he holds an inch above my face. His hands are a sterile white, and feel unnatural as he touches my cheek, adding a little pressure, as the bar, the hook start to claw at me.

The tough scraping noise makes me cringe, but I do my best to keep still, seem unawake. It starts to hurt, as more noise begins. A loud vacuum noise covers the dripping, but the scraping is louder still. I feel my mouth fill up with a thick, tasteless gunge, making me convulse, it gets harder and harder to stay still. My insides knot, as I try to keep myself from drowning on this stuff.

Then it stops.

Eyes, half open. The strange kind of man, disappears from view with his tool. The lights go off. I try to pick myself up, fumbling, stumbling, a little as I try to find the ground. Remove the green shield off my eyes.


“Apart from the slight tartar build up, your teeth are really strong, and are in a good condition,” he says, removing the green mask.

“Thank you.”

“See you in six months.”