The Slowest Thing Ever

So here he was, a head on a gurney attached to a body that was of little use. He wondered what he could move. He shifted his glance around, up down and side to side. He closed and reopened his eyes. He licked his lips, puckered his lips, smiled and frowned. He tried to wrinkle his forehead and nose respectively. At once he remembered that this was important. That guy Hawkings, did all kinds of stuff by moving his face.

The doctor returned followed by a medical transport team. They started out trying to put a collar on his neck, but because of the strange angle that his head made to his body they couldn’t make it work. He protested, who did these lunk-heads think they where jerking him around like a hunk of meat.

"Just exactly what do you clowns think your doing?" he asked.

"We have to keep you immobile while we move you to a back board." One of the medics responded.

His indignation unsatisfied, he threatened. "Well get a clue and get me outta here or I’ll add you to the list of people I’m suing."

The other medic offered, "Careful Jim, the big scary killer might drool on you if you don’t treat him nice"

"Good point Phil, lets make sure he’s not HIV positive before we get our hands too close to his mouth." Jim responded.

"I’m not someone you guys want to mess with." The hanged man challenged.

Phil observed. "Must be weird for a lifelong tough guy and bully to be reduced to a helpless lump.

Pulling back into his own thoughts, knowing that these jerk-off corpsman didn’t have a clue, He again sought comfort in thinking about that Hawkings guy. He could run mental rings around these medics and he’d make them pay. First thing, find a greedy lawyer. Non of those public defender types that he’d been working with for the last fifteen years, but a real slickster. Then get the best specialists money can buy, next get him an army of henchmen and handmaids and housekeepers. A burp found itself in his mouth without warning and it tasted nasty. Maybe he should get the medical attention first. Damn, he always liked making lists of what he had to get done and cross things off and add things as he went.

The ambulance team finally got him moved onto the backboard and transferred over to their own stretcher. They where getting ready to roll him out when the doctor came over with a clipboard for them to sign. "He’s all yours," he said, "and may you never have a moments luck with him."

Jim looked over the form on the clipboard and scribbled across the bottom. "Hey Phil!" he joked, "we got us a celebrity here. This is William Groen."

"Never heard of him." Phil admitted.

"Oh, he’s a real prince of a guy. He spent four months raping a seven year old kid to death." Jim informed.

Phil puzzled. "I think I would’ve heard of that."

Jim pointed out. "It was along time ago. The only reason I remember is because when it was in the news, my wife didn’t want to name our kid after my dad because his name was William."

"Billy?" Phil questioned, "Isn’t he like fifteen by now?"

"Yeah, fifteen years ago. What a piece of shit." Jim referred to the man they were rolling out to their ambulance.

William almost said something, then remembered that these jokers weren’t worth the sweat off his... upper lip. Again he remembered that he wouldn’t know if he was sweating anywhere below his chin. God, they hadn’t covered any distance at all. They were still in the corridor outside the infirmary. He wondered if he could sleep. He closed his eyes, but thoughts just bounced around inside his head. Mostly emotional stuff. He was mad, then he felt sorry for himself. Then he worried what the medical tests would find out, and then he was mad at everything he could think of again. He found comfort in hating everyone, he’d felt that way most of his life.

Thinking about people he hated reminded him of his old man. Fredrick Groen, what a son of-o-bitch. Dragging him to church three times a week, serving as a deacon and a Sunday School teacher. Screwing his daughter every night and when he was up to it, coming into his son’s room and raping him as well. Pillar of the community his dear old dad.

He opened his eyes, he’d been rolled a whole six feet down the hall since he had closed them. He wondered if he could sleep, he closed his eye. His sister, he’d have someone get a hold of his sister, she might be able to get him a good lawyer. Man, he was going to make the world pay.

He continued thinking about his revenge and remembering things thoughout the hours it took to get into the ambulance. It took days to get to the hospital. Weeks before they got the x-rays and blood drawn. Years later he was alone in a hospital room, he hadn’t spoke a single word. Why bother, all these people were on the opposite side of his legal battle.

As the sun came up he was staring at the wall. He had been hung at midnight and morning only took six years to get here. He might have slept awhile, he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t roll over, stretch, scratch, or lift his head for that matter.

In a few weeks a nurse came in and gave him a shot. Well, there was a plus, he didn’t feel a thing. He asked, "what time is it?"

"Oh!" she started, "I didn’t know you were awake. It’s five fifteen, here let me move the clock so you can see it." She propped a twelve inch wall clock up on the table directly in the middle of his field of vision and left the room.

Five fifteen and forty one seconds. Five fifteen and forty two seconds. Five fifteen and forty three seconds. Five fifteen and forty four seconds. It was like he couldn’t look away. What a kind gesture on the part of that sweet nurse, the bitch probably did it on purpose.

No one else came in till eight thirty three and sixteen seconds, some orderly carrying on about something to do with a MRI. The orderly rolled him out of his room and down the hall, and he actually almost enjoyed the view of a wall without a clock in the way.

After the MRI, he was brought back to his room by a different dude. He asked the guy to move the clock, The shit-head just said "Not my job man, tell the nurse," and zipped out of the room.