Immortality

by

Kenneth W. Harmon

One eye open. 
White light, blinding, painful, bored into his pupils.
Second eye open.
Logan can see the chamber. Everything is white. He is lying on a rock hard table. The nerves in his lower back are on fire. He tried to sit up but restraints lock his wrists to the table. Where in the fuck am I?
Memories.
I must search my memories he tells himself. What was I doing last? He can see it now. He was at the beach with Gail and the girls. The incoming tide creamed around their ankles as the girls squealed with the arrival of each crashing wave. The sun burned the back of his neck. He smelled the tang of salty water. Seagulls pitched in a perfect blue sky, their cries ranging over the whispering wind.
Now this.
He struggled against the restraints. Leather cut into his wrists. “Somebody had better get their ass in here!”
No response.
“You heard me God damn it. Get in here now or so help me!”
A door flew open with a protracted whine like air moving through a pull flute whistle. He turned toward the sound. A woman entered. Young. Attractive. Shoulder length red hair. She wore a white lab coat that hung mid thigh and a black skirt that made him whisper “Thank God for a little color.” She marched straight to him carrying a tablet of some sort.
     “Good morning Mr. Logan. I’m glad to see that you are in a fully conscious state. My name is Nancy. I am your reemergence counselor.”
     He blinked several times. “Why am I tied down and what in the hell is a reemergence counselor?”
     Her bright red lips arched into a smile. “Emergent’s often undergo episodes of spontaneous anger.”
     “I’m not angry.”
     Nancy looked back at the tablet. “Your heart rate is over a hundred, your nostrils are flared, your blood vessels are contracted, and you’re shouting like a mad man.”
     “I’m not shouting!”
     She pressed the tablet against her chest, her right eyebrow rose above her eyeglasses. “If you’re going to insist on shouting, I will leave. Is this what you want?”
     He struggled against his restraints for a moment before calming. “I want some answers.” (read now)                                    

....Through the expansive gallery he walked, and with each step his resistance towards the very idea morphed into an icy indifference. His steps echoed off the glamorous walls, which were decorated with fabulous paintings and pieces of polished armor. He paused before a small side door with fingers wrapped around the handle. The servants that walked by were ever curious, some with concern, others with fear, while a small portion with knowledge of why he hesitated. Moranet pushed on the door and stepped down into the shallow waters of the Queen’s interior Garden. The moisture soaked into his boots, water logging his feet, but he gave no acknowledgment.
            The overgrowth of vines and other greenery masked the walls, dominating the hard rough stone with intrusive branches and roots. Roses layered a corner all to themselves, while lilies at another, but in between lay a hybrid of different flowers; combining the beautiful with the carnivorous, producing a man-eating plant that attract the curious hand. However, the charm faded into a dull, brownish, and grey hue that expressed the malnourishment it had endured. Just as the Queen predicted, her prized creation suffered because of lack of attention. The servants have been slacking, and refused to lure anymore villagers for feeding what they considered a monstrosity.
            Moranet demanded the gardener to come closer with hand ready to punish for any refusal. “This Hydra, why does it look ill, as if it hadn’t been fed for weeks?” 
            Cowardly, the grey, wrinkly, and cock-eyed man lumped a few feet, while dropping the tool he had in hand. He feared the splash of the water would be the last of such noise that would act as prolog to his death. “Oh, Sir Moranet, please spare my neglect, for it was only done in your respect.”
            “This plant is dear to the Queen and it is in a state that could no longer prove useful. How, you shivering disgrace, could that be respectful?”                                                                                                                    

“Your mind echoes with her command, but not without resistance. I only ask that you see reason, and allow this to go ignored. The kingdom will thank you, I’m sure of it,” said the Gardner, in a stronger voice, followed by an ominous laughter. (Download your free copy today to read more)