Rated: E · Short Story · Medical · #1960675
Currently in remodeling, updated version up soon.~
| Dr. Bossard’s hands clenched and unclenched against the control panel. His shoulders hunched over his neck in defeat. |
“Stop it Gen, just... Stop.” Dr. Bossard breathed his back facing her.
“You have no choice.” She crossed her arms. “This is happening Ken, whether you like it or not.”
“She’s not some dog Gen!” He turned, spitting at her, fists clenched at his sides. “She’s not some mutt that had misbehaved.” He closed his eyes and his nose flared. “This is our daughter we’re talking about...”
Genevieve shook her head, “This isn’t our choice, she may be from us, she may act and look like us... We may love her like a daughter... But Ken, she isn’t ours.” Genevieve stopped as if trying to gather her thoughts. “You know why we hav-”
He stopped her, arm pointing towards the door; eyes closed in a mixture of pain and fury. The echo of her heels ricocheted around the room. Dr. Bossard tangled his fingers into his hair as he leaned his backside against the panel; head in his hands, before pressing the button at his side. A hiss and a click sounded from across the room. Dr. Bossard looked up at the poster by the door, a grimace reappearing onto his face. It read, ‘Solipen Inc. Creating a better generation.’ . In faded pastel oranges and blues it showed a cartoonists rendition of a man in a labcoat holding the hand of synthetically produced child, eye glowing a profound blue as it clutched the arm of a stuffed animal. He reached up and tore down the poster letting it fall to the ground behind him as he stepped into the aviary. The door hissed shut behind him. Taking a deep breathe he adjusted his coat; his heels clicked on the mossy, beaten path, not belonging in the natural picture. Dr. Bossard instinctually plucked leaves from branches as he brushed by them; deep in his thoughts.
Dr. Bossard watched quietly from the shade of the brush, remembering how his once beautiful girl used to look.She shone in the light, like the angel she was. Elora and the Doctor were the epitome of fear and hope. With long, blonde, thick curly locks that glowed white in the light, she looked like God’s gift compared to her father. Hair often unkempt and greasy from constantly running his hands through it. His eyes were dark to her blue and complexion shadowed to her pearl. He the devil, and she the one who was cursed by him.
Elora reached with a grey hand towards the butterfly that sat upon the lavender flower. Metal touch caressing the tip of it’s wing as carefully as she could manage. Dr. Bossard frowned walking up behind her and laid a hand on her head as she shut her eyes together as hard as her fists. She turned her body to face him as he crouched down; her still refusing to look away from the hands now cupped in front of her face. Ken covered the remains of the crushed butterfly with his left hand and used his right to cup her chin and nudged her to look up at him. He offered her a weak smile as her right eye started to water, her left gleaming an artificial blue. The right corner of her mouth tipped down, the left side a gaping hole of muscle, tissue and bone where rosy cheek should be. Elora threw her arms around her father's neck, metallic hand brushing against the nape causing him to shiver uncomfortably.
She sniffled into his shoulder, “I try so hard Doctor. I do what you and the Nurse say, I practice my exercises. I don’t want to hurt anything anymore... I don’t want to be a monster.”
He rubbed her back trying to soothe her. Unable to say anything but, “I know.”
She leaned back and looked him in the face as he reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. Ken crossed his eyes and puffed out his cheeks, earning a light giggle from her as she rubbed her eye and poked his cheek. A look of remembrance crossing her face as she took his hand, standing, and lead him to her cottage pushing on the door built perfectly for her size.
“We have to hurry or we will be late for tea time!” She giggled pulling him through the door, him in a slight crouch to fit through it before closing it behind both of them.
Genevieve prepared the anesthetic tapping the bag that held the over dose. She looked up at the rafters bright lights burning her eyes and drying the tears that were forming. Her attention shifted as she noticed a figure standing at the railing of one of the operating rooms observation balconies. The man scoffed as she noticed who it was, his bald head glinting like the glasses perched on his nose.
“You have got to be kidding me Genevieve. You have done this many times before stop getting so worked up.” His voice held no empathy as he looked down on her.
The Nurse stared down at the clipboard with Elora’s medical information printed on it. Her voice quivered, “You must understan-”.
“Speak up woman!”
She cleared her throat looking up again at him, “You must understand why I would have some personal ... Feelings in this situation..”
He leaned on the bars, the light above him turning him into a dark shadow. “Do I need to explain this again? Our bodies are a chemical reaction. We are born, we live, and eventually we die. Somewhere along the process we have to accept the fate that is ours. What we are doing some would call unjustifiable. But it is what it is, we push the boundaries testing the limits on the human mind, and body. Can we make ourselves faster, stronger, smarter? Yes. It is all the matter of doing it before the expiration date comes to a closing. This is why we do this Nurse, this is why we test.”
“But I don’t understand, she is just a child. She didn’t want this to happen to her. It isn’t her fault her body didn’t take well.”
“She has failed Genevieve. She is an experiment that has failed and now it is time to pull the plug. Bring your husband and her. No questions.” He turned his back to her leaving her alone in the tall, empty room.
Elora’s limp body draped over Dr. Bossards arms as he carried her into the room. She looked light as if she was a stuffed doll being laid to rest. He placed her gingerly on the table, it too hard and metallic for his liking, his girl deserved to be placed on a cloud he thought. Her face looked like an empty ghost in the harsh light and shiny background. Genevieve came up behind the Doctor to lay a hand on his shoulder, that was immediately shrugged off. Elora opened her eyes, waking from a very deep sleep.
“Doctor,” She opened her eyes turning her head stiffly to try and gather in on her surroundings. “Doctor what is happening?”
Dr. Bossard reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, “You are just going to have a nap, okay?”
Genevieve came onto the other side of the table aligning the needle up with one of her veins, but stopped before pricking her; looking at her husband expectantly. Elora’s head twisted heavily to look at the Nurse her eyes widening.
“Why do I have to be poked,” Her face scrunched up at her dislike as she looked up at Ken.
Dr. Bossard avoided her question instead looking behind him at the surgical tray that held different equipment and picked up the worn teddy bear he had set down there earlier and turned handing it out to her in reprise. Her eyes lit up as she raised a hand for it before it thumped back on the table, body still in shock from the Chloroform that had been used to knock her out earlier. His mouth quivered between pitful happiness and painful misery; he handed it to her. She closed her eyes in a tired smile and held the bears paw. Ken looked at his wife and nodded; she slid the needle in quickly watching it disappear under her skin in a sick fascination.
Ken looked down at his daughter once again. “Yes?”
“Can you sing to me?”
And as the overdose of anesthetic washed through her veins, he sang to her. About blue skies with fluffy clouds that looked like sheep, and birds that sang from dawn till dusk. Of starry nights with shooting dreams, and of wind that played with your hair. How if you listened when you stood in the middle of a forest you could hear the trees whispers and fairies dance. He sang to her about beauty, love, and life. He sang to her as her eyes drooped shut and tears rolled down his cheeks. When the hand he held went limp and when her chest stopped its rise and fall.
“I-I’m so sorry...” His voice came out in a hushed sob. He crouched down by the table and took her hand in both of his, laying his forehead on them as if praying. “I’m so sorry...” His body shook but no sound escaped his lips.
Genevieve removed the needle from the girls corpse and left to dispose of the equipment, face deprived of any emotion. Time passed and the Doctor stayed, kneeling by his little girl of six, unmoving holding her steadily cold hand. A soft voice called from just beside him on the table.