Sneaky Flash Fiction #3: Awake

Another fabulous Fictionistas prompt.

When Simon woke up, his hospital room was dark and smelled bad.

As expected. Given the experimental nature of the procedure, the zero frills facility, and his overall condition, of course they’d just wheeled him into a windowless pit and left him to recover in his own way – or not.

The dark he could handle. In fact, he welcomed it. Simon didn’t know if he'd ever be ready to look at himself again. But that smell, forcing putrid tendrils up his nostrils and coating the back of his throat with something viscous, was unacceptable. Simon was glad he hadn’t eaten in more than 24 hours otherwise he’d be puking every scrap back up.

His last meal, yesterday lunchtime, eaten with his younger brother Riley sitting opposite. Simon wanted to go out with his tastebuds on fire, so he ordered a hot and dry Kla Kling curry, with chilis dialed up to max, and did his utmost. 

Riley barely touched his pad thai, twirling the noodles around his fork, then pushing them back into the bowl. He picked a couple of shrimp off the top, but clearly had no appetite.  “Is there anything I can say to make you reconsider? Anything I can do? Or pinky promise to do?”

Simon blinked at him, eyes itching hot red chili tears. “I’ve told you, over and over, I’m all good, all cashed out, all ready and eager for this.”

“You’re insane. I should have you sectioned.”

“Yeah, me and every billionaire left on the planet. I’m telling you, it’s an opportunity.”

“You’ll be a test subject. That means it can go wrong.”

“If I die, at least I’m sacrificing my wretched, miserable life for science.”

“I’m more worried about what happens if you live.” 

In another timeline, Simon nodded his head, agreed, folded himself into his brother’s grateful arms and let Riley take care of the cancellation, the argument, the shit-eating apology, the legal threats. That version of the brothers returned to Riley’s house, vibrant with nibling hugs and Ginny’s nurturing energy. That Simon curled up on cool mint sheets in the guest room and Ginny woke him with one of her excellent mugs of coffee and–

But in this patch of the multiverse, the brothers’ dynamic was different: Simon, stubborn, Riley, timid, as they said their final farewell.

From then on, it was a blur of white coats and face masks, dispassionate questions, needles probing Simon’s arms and too-bright overhead lights burning through his eyelids, the scratch of paper gown against nylon blanket static until he was out for the count.

They told him he’d be under for eight hours, at least, maybe ten. It felt like more. Sixteen, twenty, forty-eight. Maybe less. Could he have woken early? That could explain why no one was there to greet him. Surely they were curious about the success or failure of the procedure?

Simon waited.

Lying alone in the dark, with the smell, he had two choices. One, submit, let go, block his mouth and nose, quit breathing and end all this. Two, get up and find out what this new life had in store. He pulled the blanket over his face in an attempt to minimize the olfactory violence. It brought no relief from the stench, which emanated from something inside the room, something close. The only way to get out from under it was to find the door and leave.

Simon knew he would be unsteady on his new legs, but he was not prepared for the way they skidded out from under him as soon as he placed his feet on the floor. He tried again, one, two, three, four, five, but his bipedal brain would not, could not compute.

He wished he could see what he was doing.

He sensed, rather than saw–in the old way– a red light glimmer behind a thick slab of one-way mirror. So they were watching him. They cared.

An intercom buzzed static. “Combinant Sixty Two, can you hear us?”

Simon tried to speak, but could not.

“Click. You’ll find you can make a clicking noise, high up in your mouth.”

Simon found he could. Click. But that was all.

Regret flooded through him, for all he had lost, despite Riley’s warnings, despite his own better instincts, despite the logic and the science of it. Sorrow overwhelmed him, drenched him, drowned him in the pain in Riley and Ginny’s eyes when he told them what he intended to do, before it washed away and took the last of his humanity with it.

He was born, or rather hatched, anew.

Simon flexed his back, felt the alien membrane that covered his spine extend and contract. He felt strong, able to withstand any pressure. More than strong. Resistant. Invincible, which was the whole point of the experiment. The cockroach DNA of it.

He clicked again, hoping it sounded jaunty. With more confidence this time, he extended his six legs and launched himself off the bed.

That smell though, stronger, oily, musty, intense. 

The smell was him, in him, on him now, and he would never be rid of it.