(Based off a writing prompt)

Written by: Expanding View (me!)

“Doctor!” A squeaky voice shrieked, “I have some news for you!”

I moaned and raised my head from my desk. Drool drained from my lips, staining the papers I was resting on.

Ugh..I fell asleep again, I thought grudgingly.

Fixing my glasses, I checked the clock, which was set on a pile of research papers. It was 1 p.m., meaning I had slept through lunch.

The squeaky voice belonged to my secretary, Susan. I turned around in my swivel chair to find her already in my office, with a lopsided smile plastered on her face. In her hands, she held a single paper. I sighed and smoothed out my hair.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Susan?” I frowned, getting up and walking over to her, “Don’t barge into my office like that!”

Her smile faltered but she laughed. I hated her laugh. It made me wonder why I hired a seal for a secretary.

“This one’s really important, Kim,” She beamed and passed me the paper, “See for yourself.”

“It better be more important than that time you wondered whether sea sponges are used to make soap sponges or not,” I mumbled.

“I’ll go make you some coffee…” Susan said. I caught a hint of remorse in her voice.

I sat in my chair, once again, and spun in it for a few seconds before taking a look at the paper. It was a letter from Professor Jones from the “Psychology Organization of Hasburn”. I heard of no such organization from any of my research papers in my entire life although I had been a psychologist for almost 20 years. It was addressed to me Doctor Kim Hughes and it felt kind of odd to see my name in fine print. I started reading the letter just as Susan returned with a steaming hot cup of coffee.

Dear Doctor Kim Hughes,

The Psychology Organization of Hasburn has taken note of your excellent contribution to the department of psychology. We have read into your experiments and research papers and would like to make a proposal.

We are taking part in a long term experiment and I, the CEO of this organization, would like you to take charge of one of our most interesting subjects. This experiment can contribute greatly to your research articles. We would like an employee that has as much experience with trauma as possible and you are one of the few doctors that make the cut.

We are patiently waiting for your response, Doctor Hughes, and we are looking forward to it.

At the bottom of the page was the organization’s website and email along with the man’s signature. I studied the letter once more before taking off my glasses and taking a sip of the coffee. The beverage left a bittersweet taste in my mouth, just like the letter did. The letter was so vague and unrealistic.

“So…” Susan cleared her throat, “What do you think?”

Rubbing my temples, I bit my lips and thought for a moment. My laptop lay open in front of me and it took me only a moment to reach for it.

I researched for hours only pausing when Susan entered the room to bring me food or to tell me her shift was over. The organization’s website was vague just like the letter and had no details about its “most interesting subject”. Despite that, I longed to be part of the organization and take part in the experiment.

It was 9:07 pm when I finally closed Google. I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose. The remnants of my afternoon coffee still lay on top of my research papers. I spun in my chair for a few minutes, too lazy to clean my desk or even wash out the cup.

I stuck out my leg, letting it bang against the leg of my table. The cup tumbled off the desk and smashed on the floor. Grumpily, I opened my Gmail and started to compose a message.

A building stretched in front of me. Fixing my empty messenger bag, I shifted on my feet feeling small. The building was so large that I didn’t notice the teeny man in front of me. The only hair he had was his mustache. The man wore a suit but he wore a lab coat over it for some reason.

“Hello, Dr. Hughes,” He said, “I assume you are the one I spoke with last night.”

“Yes,” I smiled, shaking his hand firmly, “I assume you’re Professor Jones.”

His face became stiff and serious, unlike his relaxed tone from before.

“Yes, yes,” He relaxed, “Let’s get right down to business.”

He lead me into the building, which looked like a regular hospital. A few men in lab coats were sprinting from room to room. A woman stood in centre of the hallway leaning against the elevator, sipping a red beverage from a bottle. Her red nails matched her red lips and red hair. She swallowed the beverage and nodded toward us before stepping out of the way.

Once we were inside the elevator, the man pressed the number 2. I took note that the building had 45 floors including a basement, just as my phone vibrated in my breast pocket. I ignored it and enjoyed the blessed silence.

This hallway wasn’t like any hospital. It was bustling with people in lab coats and flying papers. Professor Jones rubbed his temples.

“I apologize for this chaos,” He sighed, “Once you see your subject, you’ll understand.”

I grunted in response and followed him as he wove through the crowd. It became eerily quiet as the doctors noticed their employer.

We stopped at set of double door and he signaled me to open it. Grumpily, I swung open the door.

The first thing I noticed about the room was it was filled with broken chairs, tables and boards. The mess made me shiver (although it was just as messy as my desk). Crayons, papers, dolls and toy cars scattered the large room. I barely noticed the small figure crouching on the floor in the centre of the room.

Professor Jones stepped past me and walked toward the figure. The black-clad figure did not stand or show any sign of acknowledgement toward the CEO.

“Doctor,” Jones’ voice was filled with remorse, “This child is your subject. His name is F.”

The figure sat up at the sound of their name. His skin was almost black and his eyes were large and beady. Long black hair reached his shoulders and long nails grew from his fingers. “He” was biting on a pencil with his sharp teeth.

His eyes were only on Jones and they were filled with hatred.

Growling and dropping the pencil, the child lunged at Prof. Jones and bit at his arms. However, despite his short stature, Jones grabbed F and set him down on one of the broken tables. Jones shoved the pencil back into his mouth and he continued chewing.

In shock, I walked over to the “child”. He did not look at me and a low purr omitted from his chest. Jones fixed his lab coat and sighed.

“Tarzan syndrome,” He said, patting the child’s head, “My employees like to call it that. We’ve never seen anything like this and no one can help this poor child. I hired psychologists from all over the world but none of them know what or who he is.”

“How’d you find him?” I ask, digging my hands into my pockets, “Who made this mess?”

“A driver found him in the country side. Poor kid was ditched on the side of the road. The driver decided to kick him to see if he was alive. Poor man died a few days later in the hospital I worked at. It’s been 13 years since then and the kid is the same size as when he got here. The behavioural issues you saw just now aren’t the only problems. His physical attributes just aren’t the same as any human’s. And the mess? All done by him. There is no limit to his strength and he never listens to us.”

I stared at the kid intently. I tapped him on the shoulder but he didn’t turn and look at me.

“Say his name,” Jones said, knowingly.

I sighed and I grunted, “F…”

The kid’s head swiveled and his purring stopped, his eyes wide and attentive. His chewing stopped and he let go of the pencil. He made eye contact with me and I felt although he was looking into my soul. I narrowed my eyes, feeling annoyed, but I could not look away.

A low growling was heard and his eyes narrowed. His hand turned into a fist.

All of a sudden, the door swung open with a BANG.

“KIM!” I heard a squeaky voice shout.

I turned around to see Susan panting with a lunch bag in her hand.

“Your lunch…!” She squeaked, running over to me and placing it into my arms. I noticed the red-headed woman standing in the doorway before she turned away.

“Who is this woman?!” Jones exclaimed.

“Sus-” I started.

Susan stopped panting and looked at F, who was now standing in between me and her, chewing on his pencil. Susan’s expression softened and child locked eyes with her.

“Come,” She said softly, her arms outstretched. F jumped right into them.

There he was. Jones’ most interesting subject resting on the bosom of a stupid secretary.

I smiled.

My stupid secretary.


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