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| http://aspeckinthemilkyway.tumblr.com/post/46017192752 |
It was not the headaches. Fred was unfortunately used to those. What pushed him in to the doctor's was the voice in his head.
From his head? He wasn't sure.
This morning, Fred was so fatigued that he barely had the strength to get out of bed to call in to work. It was a chore just opening his eyes and dialing the number. He didn't have the energy to care that he hung up on his supervisor in mid-sentence.
After Fred hung up, he could swear he heard laughing.
Fred willed himself to Uber his way to the doctor. The driver was not willing to take an extra $100 to come to his room and help him to the car. A skittish man by the sound of his voice, had set to pick him up, then canceled. The second guy, a spindly man in his 50s, the kind of guy you knew was old, but could probably kick the shit out of people half his age, was more than willing to help him for $150. He helped Fred to the car, a vomit-inducing, lemon-green late-model Monte Carlo, despite having to tell him to shut up several times.
When they got to the doctor's office, the guy's surly good-naturedness turned to a surprisingly articulate assertion that he didn't care how much Fred tipped him, he would not drive him home. He just about kicked him out of the car, muttering something about keeping his smart ass comments to himself. Fred heard a graveled version of his voice tell the man to go fuck himself before almost falling over as the car sped way.
Fred stood in front of the doctor' office entrance door--cracked and duct taped--before entering and thought about how important was it, really, that he saw the doctor? How was he going to help him anyway? He was unaccustomed to the type of waiting room utilized by people who had no insurance, or anything else to lose. He didn't really have a choice, though. This was the place closest to his home that the driver would drop him off. Shaking from more fear than prompted him to get to the hospital in the first place, Fred opened the door and walked in.
The interior was worse than the outside indicated. The warm air that rushed up his nostrils wanted to make sure he knew someone had recently taken a shit, and it was not in the bathroom. The light flickered as if to signal his entry. The handful of people sat in chairs set in haphazard rows. They all stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. Wide eyed and gape mouthed, the people seemed to be in varying degrees of illness and or decay. As he shuffled to the counter to check in, Fred could barely hold back his hatred for those who looked at him.
Fred sat down in one of the stiff, thin-cushioned chairs next to a portly, mutton-chopped man in a cheap, sci-fi t-shirt. The man's rotund belly and flabby chest were accentuated by his suspenders which framed the lumps, making it difficult not to look.
"You got a head-eck mister," Suspenders asked Fred in a lazy dialect he could not place. The only reason Fred looked at the man was because the he looked and sounded absolutely terrified.
Ignoring the man, Fred promptly fell asleep, despite all eyes being on him.
Fred was pulled from sleep by a siren.
Flabbergasted as to why someone would have the audacity to bring, much less use, a siren into a doctor's office, he opened his eyes and sat up.
The only difference between when he previously walked in to now was the caterwauling siren, which was coming from a lady across the room who was slowly approaching him.
Fred stood up and almost fell over from his swooning head. Once he regained his vision and balance, the same low gravelly voice that had cursed the Uber driver said in barely louder than a whisper, "As it turns out, you don't need a doctor, idiot. You just need some therapy"
Fred realized that not only had he regained his equilibrium, but the headaches were gone.
The lady had ceased her screaming, and pointed at him and said, "Abomination! Abomination!"
Fred seethed, clenched his fists and walked toward her and grabbed her by the neck. His right hand, no longer under his control, squeezed her frail neck and pushed her up the wall. In a window looking out over the parking lot, Fred caught a glimpse of what most likely set the lady off. On his forehead, splitting through the skin, was one black eye. He thought it a trick of the warped glass, until he saw it blink. The fatigue he had felt earlier was not only gone, but he felt energized. His mind clear, he smiled. A soothing feeling washed over him as he increased the pressure on the lady's neck, snapping it.
Fred took his hand away and the lady's body slid in a lump of fat and bone on the floor. He turned and looked at the handful of people watched, either frozen by fear or compelled to record the horror on their phones.
Neither Fred's heart rate, nor breathing rose above normal, as he tore everyone in the waiting room limb from limb.
