- Richard
- Lizzie
- Norval Joe
- Serendipidy
- Tom
- Planet Z
RICHARD
Trumpet
I’ve been scheduled to have brain surgery. Kinda looking forward to it.
You’ve seen those programmes on the TV where people undergo that sort of surgery and, as the surgeons plunge in, they get the patient to do something they can normally do with no problem. Draw a picture, do mathematical problems, play an instrument.
Something that would alert the surgeon to a problem if it all goes horribly wrong.
I’m asking them to give me a trumpet to play.
I can’t play the trumpet, but I figure if they’re going to mess with my head.
I’ll mess with theirs!
SERENDIPIDY
Brain surgery isn’t what it used to be. These days, it’s all precision keyhole nonsense, with computer-aided surgical techniques.
Nothing like the old frontal lobotomies I used to enjoy.
That lovely squelching sound as you ease the spike behind the eyeball, carefully manoeuvring it into the perfect position.
Then, the satisfying tap of the hammer and crunch as you pierce the skull.
It’s a very hands-on affair, as you wriggle that spike around, mashing the brain tissue of the frontal lobe, before withdrawing with that lovely plopping sound.
I still have the spike, but nobody to practice on.
LIZZIE
After brain surgery, she couldn’t see colors anymore. Trying to figure out why, the staff brought her some crayons. She drew several images. The colors matched perfectly. They brought more crayons. She could still color perfectly despite not being able to differentiate the hues. She said “Don’t operate on him.” Who did she mean? “He’s helping me with the colors.” But who? No reply. The next day, nothing matched. The trees were blue, the sky was purple. Reviewing scans, doctors found the first operation had missed a tiny tumor. Overnight, the swelling compressed it, silencing the whispers from the colors.
TOM
After brain surgery, she couldn’t see colors anymore. Trying to figure out why, the staff brought her some crayons. She drew several images. The colors matched perfectly. They brought more crayons. She could still color perfectly despite not being able to differentiate the hues. She said “Don’t operate on him.” Who did she mean? “He’s helping me with the colors.” But who? No reply. The next day, nothing matched. The trees were blue, the sky was purple. Reviewing scans, doctors found the first operation had missed a tiny tumor. Overnight, the swelling compressed it, silencing the whispers from the colors.
NORVAL JOE
Billbert’s parents went upstairs to pack, leaving Billbert, Sabrina, and Mandi alone.
Billbert threw up his hands. “What do we do now? The prophecy said we have to be at the race. The tickets are for this Saturday.”
Sabrina scoffed. “It’s not like we have to do brain surgery. We just need to get 200 miles in five days. We could hitch hike that far.”
Mandi said, softly, “Hitch hiking is very dangerous. Especially for girls. Bobbi’s girlfriend is old enough to drive. Maybe she can borrow a car.”
Sabrina smiled “I knew we should ask Bobbi instead of Mindiloo.”
PLANET Z
Before she went in for surgery, Cindy asked for no heroics. So when Captain Nuclearpants showed up to steal the mRI machine to build a doomsday weapon out of it, the staff shooed away The League of Do Gooders. “Cindy would have wanted it that way,” the hospital general counsel said. And they kept to their word. Nuclearpants rolled the machine away, Cindy’s surgery went well, and everything turned out well. Until Cindy had complications and there was no MRI machine available. Not that it mattered when Nuclearpants set off Doomsday and destroyed the city. God, what a selfish bitch.