Copyright 2009 by Carl Garrett
Bernstein, absorbed in the action on the monitor, was only dimly aware of the screaming. He continued. "So, you see the nature of the experiment, Mrs. Peters. Now that the room has been set ablaze, an African-American gentleman has been presented to lead your daughter to safety. However, you have taught her from an early age to hate and fear non-whites. We will now determine if her innate survival instinct is strong enough to overcome her racist socialization."
And when Mrs. Peters' shrieks morphed into howls of horror and despair, Bernstein only remarked, "Impressive, Mrs. Peters. You taught her well."
11/23/09
11/16/09
One Bad Morning
Copyright 2009 by Carl Garrett
Summer Blair clawed her way out of a wet-blanket sleep. What was wrong? It couldn't be the way she'd outed Freaky Kate in the cafeteria yesterday about her crush on Chaz Foreman. That had made the whole room laugh til they cried, made Freaky Kate cry til she laughed. Then Freaky Kate had giggled, "I'll be busy, anyway. I'll be busy, anyway," to no one in particular, before stumbling back to special ed. Chaz will call me, or he'll text me, Summer thought. After yesterday, he will. But amid the happy buzz of her smartphone she thought, Why does my face itch? A supple, perfectly-manicured hand rose to touch what was now a monstrous wreck of a face, crudely-stitched sutures dancing in obscene patterns as the last of the ether wore off.
Freaky Kate, she realized, had been very busy.
Summer Blair clawed her way out of a wet-blanket sleep. What was wrong? It couldn't be the way she'd outed Freaky Kate in the cafeteria yesterday about her crush on Chaz Foreman. That had made the whole room laugh til they cried, made Freaky Kate cry til she laughed. Then Freaky Kate had giggled, "I'll be busy, anyway. I'll be busy, anyway," to no one in particular, before stumbling back to special ed. Chaz will call me, or he'll text me, Summer thought. After yesterday, he will. But amid the happy buzz of her smartphone she thought, Why does my face itch? A supple, perfectly-manicured hand rose to touch what was now a monstrous wreck of a face, crudely-stitched sutures dancing in obscene patterns as the last of the ether wore off.
Freaky Kate, she realized, had been very busy.
11/15/09
Final Session
Copyright 2009 By Carl Garrett
The scream gradually dried up on his lips. He pried open his eyes, felt salt-sticky wetness on his face (had he been crying?). He realized he'd been under hypnosis a lot longer than usual. "Was it a bad one?" He asked.
Judging by the blood, the horror frozen into his psychiatrist's face, he guessed that it had been.
The scream gradually dried up on his lips. He pried open his eyes, felt salt-sticky wetness on his face (had he been crying?). He realized he'd been under hypnosis a lot longer than usual. "Was it a bad one?" He asked.
Judging by the blood, the horror frozen into his psychiatrist's face, he guessed that it had been.
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