Brain Baby

            The operating room rang with triumphant laughter, only slightly muffled by a surgical mask. The metal walls, floor, and ceiling lent their metallic feel to the laugh, and made it slightly more mechanical and maniacal, despite the soft femininity the laugh originally had.

            “That should do it.  Wake him up,” Dr. Matilda said, stifling more laughter as she placed the blood-and-puss-covered mass of meat into a jar beside the operating table. The assistant saw that one of the thing’s eyes was still moving. Vomit sprayed across his previously-clean scrubs. The irony of his scrubs needing to be scrubbed eluded him for another day or two afterwards.

            The man on the operating table slowly awakened from his sedated state, rubbing his head over the fresh staples that spanned the back-right side of his cranium.  He felt as though something was missing, and wondered why laughter still haunted the room.

            “So good to see you awake, John,” Dr. Matilda said to the newly-conscious man on the table. “How are you feeling?” Her voice seethed with relentless mirth.

            John groaned and continued to rub the stapled area. “I don’t feel right, to be honest. What the hell happened, anyway?” He looked at Dr. Matilda, confusion filling his eyes. “How did I get here? What was wrong with me?”

            “Oh, it was a simple matter, really. You see that horrible thing in the jar?” She pointed to the mass with the eye that she had removed from his head just minutes before.

            “Oh, God, no! Bertando!” John looked at the jar, hopeless to help poor Bertando. He glared back at Dr. Matilda, “You monster!”

            “See, now, I wouldn’t have had to do that if you had just given me the information I needed to know beforehand,” Dr. Matilda scolded.  “I tried the nice way, but to no avail. You left me no choice. Tell me what I want to know, or your precious Bertando dies!” With a snap of her fingers, her assistant got a handful of scalpels and held them menacingly over the jar by the operating table. His face was a resolute mask.

            “Never! I would die before telling you anything, you vile bitch!” With that, he tried to spit on her face, but only managed to dribble spit onto his chin. The sedatives had some residual effects, it seemed.

            “So be it,” Dr. Matilda said with a sigh. She gave the signal, and the assistant began stabbing Bertando again and again and again with a trained malevolence and fervor. The jar and surrounding area were soon covered in blood.

            “Lights out, John,” Dr. Matilda said, placing the air mask over his face.