Posted on February 22nd, 2009 3 comments
“So, what’s this all about then?” I enquire, as I am roughly strapped into a big grey metallic looking chair made of wood. Or a big wooden looking chair made of metal. Whatever. It is definitely a chair they are strapping me into. This is one of the first things I notice when consciousness returns. Well, this and the cell I am dragged out of and the hallway I am dragged down and the bright room I am dragged into with the something-looking chair made of something-else right in the centre.
It occurs to me in a sort of vague sort of way, such as one might experience after being brutally clubbed into unconsciousness, that I do not seem to have wandered into the correct end of this scene. However, being the kind of fellow who is not at all keen on rewriting a couple of hundred words, I will now skip back to the beginning in a way that we are all going to pretend is really quite arty and not at all lazy and incompetent…
I wake. My name is Henry the Adequate, and I am a superhero. No, wait, no I’m not. That was a dream, wasn’t it? These weird semi-dream semi-flash-forward episodes are beginning to get on my nerves. It is… Today is… Well, I was at the bank. Am at the bank still, apparently, and feeling not in the least super, and only mildly heroic and my head hurts like an enormous head full of broken glass and bowling balls all rattling around together. That’s the heroic part you see, because heroes always get all beat up right before they emerge triumphant and stuff.
I look forward to my imminent triumphant emergence with such glee that I am quite giddy. Although that may just be the blood loss.
The room in which I have awakened is a dank, dark, steamy cell with water running down the walls and a single window high in one wall, through which the smell of death and decay wafts like a particularly enticing roast. The room is exactly like this, only air-conditioned, and the water running down the walls is, well, not there, but it does appear there is a private bathroom, and that probably has water. And it is a particularly well lighted level of darkness they have going here. But anyway, you get the idea. You see how ominous my lot is at this point. And there is still the smell of death and decay to deal with.
Actually I think that might be roast beef.
I stand now, easily despite my many wounds. Concussion? Major blood loss? Pah! These are minor things to a man who has valiantly and fearlessly requested a refund on his bank fees.
I only fall down a few times on the way to the door.
It is locked. Right. Great. Perhaps if I just fall down here for a bit.
I am being dragged down a hall, past offices and what look like labs of some kind. The men dragging me are dressed in plain grey uniforms that seem vaguely medical, vaguely mad-scientist, and I flash back suddenly to one of those freaky movies with the monsters and the lab coats and the thunder and lightning and horror horror horror - you know, like The Man With Two Brains, or Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo, or Flashdance (Shudder).
“So,” I remark cleverly in a clever attempt to find out what is going on, “What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Right. So. You drag people down here often?”
I am about to suggest a group hug, but it appears we have arrived somewhere. I realise this because we have stopped at one of the doors and because there is a guy there in a white uniform who says “You have arrived somewhere.”
“Where do you want him?” asks one of the draggers. I wonder if that is what they’re called. Draggers. I was going to say “goons” but that seemed a bit too judgemental, you know. Actually one of them has an earring so is probably quite sensitive and deep. Yes, I bet they’re called draggers.
“You have the paperwork,” asks white uniform guy.
“Sure, where do you want him?” Which brings me back to the chair…