photo by Al inspired by his daughter
For Sunday Photo Fiction: Terminus
Marty snorted as he blinked off the viewing wall. “Five hundred years ago, he’d be selling snake oil to gullible farmers!”
“Who?” The start of his rant dragged me back to the kitchen.
“So-called Dr. Drew and his miracle medical machine. Cure cancer. Make the lame walk, the blind see. Raise the dead, ha!“
Marty’s rants reminded me of the holograph exhibit of mechanical wind-up toys and machines. Eventually, each would run down and then be re-wound.
Previously,it was today’s meeting in the city: “Viewing wall works just fine. Henderson must be nuts. Real, old-fashioned face to face time.”
Easier to nod, look angry, concerned, or in disbelief. Occasionally, ask a question. Marty demanded full attention as he prated on.
He wasn’t getting it this morning. He was so wound up, I don’t think he noticed.
Still sputtering, muttering, Marty stormed off to his meeting.
Waited a few minutes. Got my coat and filled out information package. I heard Marty’s voice in my head, “No medical implant chips. Government plot.”
While he complained to colleagues, I’d be inside Dr. Drew’s terminus machine. Right now, I was terminal.