Lab Rat part 7

Posted: January 16, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

I love it when I figure out how to operate my toys.  Wordpress is kind enough to have a ‘schedule’ button, so I actually wrote this Sunday morning and told the site I wanted it posted Sunday night.  That’s pretty cool.

I don’t think I hit my face at any point during my brief flight and I’m too poor to have a coke habit.  I’m betting the telekinesis isn’t without a cost.  I shudder, and that sets off a whole new wave of bodily pains.  I think I’m done for the night.  I turn and head home.  The night air doesn’t smell so fresh anymore, and having no one in sight isn’t so comforting.  Even the glow of the street lights is vaguely menacing.  I guess having my ass kicked by such a stupid move changed my perspective.  I don’t like being reminded that the injector doesn’t actually make me invincible.

The walk home seems a lot longer than it should be.  My palms and forearms are still bleeding, and a slow trickle continues to flow out of my nose.  I sacrifice my shirt to the open wounds.  I wipe off my hands and arms again, then pinch my nose shut with the shirt over my face.  I should start carrying a first aid kit.  I reconsider – if I’d had a first aid kit to carry, it would have gone up in smoke when I turned into a human fireball.  That idea’s no good.  I never get the kind of warning I need when something like that is going to happen.

I shamble up to my apartment building and down the steps to my subterranean room.  I smear gore on the thumb pad on my first attempt to open the door.  I wipe my hand on the shirt, and then scrub the lens clean and try again.  The door buzzes and I halfway fall into the room.  I drop my shirt on the floor and kick the door shut behind me.  The blue light from the tiny television in the corner is enough light that I don’t bother with the overheads.  I unbutton my pants and kick my boots and the pants off onto the floor.  I make it over to the shower, which looks suspiciously like a chemical burn shower, and turn the knob on.

My cleansing ritual is going to hurt either way, so I choose hot pain over cold pain.  The soap burns like it hates me personally as I scrub my wounds clean with my right arm.  My left arm sends stabbing pain into my every time I so much as twitch.  I watch the water run purple as it carries away the foam from my soap and the blood from my person.  I breathe out through my nose, and a wad of black falls to the shower floor and disappears through the drain.  That bleeding seems to have stopped.

I spin the shower knob to the off position and step out.  I dry myself as best I can with my one clean hand towel.  By the time I’m mostly dry, it’s streaked with red from my open wounds.  Oh well.  It’s laundry day anyway.  I grab the one first-aid related item in my living space: an antibacterial gel.  I smear it on my arms and hands.  I shuffle over to my bed and lie down as slowly and carefully as possible.

I suppose this would be a good place to end the first chapter.  I’ve already got a lot of ideas for the next part, but I think I should probably change it up a bit so that I don’t bore everyone to death with this story.  Of course, it’s hard to tell because I don’t really get much in the way of feedback.  Anyway, I have said that I don’t think anyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.  I’m not saying no one likes it.  Rather, I’m saying that I am having a ton of fun writing this one.

 

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Comments
  1. Jenna says:

    The entire shower scene is imagery at it’s finest. I like how it almost puts me into pain myself to imagine such a thing.

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