12 February 2010
"The Missing Link" #Fridayflash
In the light of the examination room, it's obvious what is wrong with her.
"I'm thinking this was a bad idea," Thomas says. He looks to his colleague, brisk in a white coat with two Bic pens clinging to the lip of his breast pocket.
"It's quite alright," Johnson says. He pulls out a pen and scratches notes on his notepad. Moleskine, like archaeologists and artists use. "Where did you say she was found?"
"Basement in Ontario. The owner kept her there because he didn't know how to care for her."
"This is a great discovery. The very first cloned Neanderthal." Johnson chews on his pen cap. "The best part is that we have no paper trail to clean up afterward."
"That could never be integrated into society," Thomas adds. Johnson smirks.
"I think not, unless we shaved her like a mongrel. Besides, she doesn't know the difference. Look at her eyes. Not a shred of intelligent thought behind them. She's apparently very apelike."
"The Missing Link," Thomas says in wonder.
"Perhaps," says Johnson. He reaches out to the beast-woman in chains, perched atop the filing cabinet. She growls. He retracts his hand.
"Can she speak?"
"Not that we can tell. It's far too advanced an emotion for her. She's an animal."
"That eats raw meat."
"Nuts and berries also," Johnson reasons.
"How long until termination?" Thomas asks.
Johnson scribbles notes and looks at his watch. "At this rate? Not today. I wanted one last batch of samples. Autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow evening."
"I wish there was a way we could keep her alive. You know, for the research value."
Johnson smiles in empathy. "You can't grow attached to something like that. If she won't let loose of that leg soon…ah well. We can wait."
"The owner has been cremated. We're in no rush for the body part."
Johnson nods. "We'll deal with the activists later. Every night I'm sorely tempted to run over their tents. It's a media circus out there."
"Do they know of Neanderthal cannibalistic tendencies?"
Johnson shakes his head and slips the pen back into his pocket. "No and God willing, they never will."
Beyond the door, a break-in alarm sounds.
Source of inspiration.