Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Through the haze the room glowed.  As objects became more defined and the beam of artificial light softened I found myself no longer an outsider looking in.  On my left the clock ceased.  A gash jetted across its face, splintering its transparent plastic and disrupting observation of its black hands.

“Time’s up,” I proclaimed.    

Was it a cardinal sin to refer to oneself in third person for the sake of presenting truth?  Maybe I’ve forgotten story telling etiquette, but as my gaze shifted it was a moot point.

Dr. Sannard groggily opened his eyes, jaw slackened, and drool trickled from the corners of his mouth.  His tongue was a useless slab of meat as he made feeble attempts at words.  It was a curious sight I must admit.  For a man so articulate before he now was a bumbling buffoon.  He coughed. A spasm coursed from limb to limb until he doubled over in his chair and spat, but not before hissing through clenched teeth, “Lies!”

In the confines of my straitjacket heat inundated me and as it raged toward the surface the fabric tore.  Arms now free I stood.  The cool flooring under my feet swayed as I took a step and reminded me of the fleshly façade I encased myself with.

It seemed like just yesterday I was gazing upon the origin of life as it squirmed and glittered.  I wondered how it might evolve or devolve, but little did I realize how slow the process would be.  In the meanwhile I entertained myself with parlor tricks and participated in the invention of time.  It wasn’t much of a feat.  What was time after all if not an acknowledgment of laws and punishments; responsibility for happenings and appeals? 

“The only lies told here are the ones you tell yourself,” I retorted.