The Terrible Discovery

He moved on to the next case, with growingly provocative footsteps at regular squeaky intervals.

The same opening process, the same person inside, the same closing process. The same slow, organised footsteps. As he neared the end of the room after checking on each and every one of the identical case-bound bodies, the clock showed three-thirty seven. It’s ticks never slowed or stopped, as if to demonstrate that time wasn’t going to stop either.

There were three cases left. The scientist opened the door to the nearest one. Slowly he pulled it out. Before it was halfway out, he knew that something was wrong – the glass seemed slightly misty. The mist grew bolder and bolder until it came into a thick, translucent steamy crescendo around the mans mouth, like when you breathe onto a mirror on a cold day. Only when the case was fully pulled out did the scientist notice the mans chest rising and falling, his bulging, pulsating veins throbbing and his eyes wide with pain and fear.

The scientist stepped back, and emitted a high-pitched scream, his eyes fixated upon the mutilated but nevertheless living body. In his scramble to get out of the room he tripped over his own foot and slammed into the door. This wasn’t the same, reserved, confident, slow moving person as before. It was a crazed animal, desperate to tear away from the terror held within the glass case he had seen. He crawled back up again and ran, full pelt, through of the door.

The room was quiet again, with nothing but the metallic ticks emitted by the clock and a new, barely audible sighing sound created by the breathing man to break the silence.

*********************************************************************

As she steps out onto the platform she has an obvious gleam of confidence in her warm, smiling eyes. There is a mob of reporters fighting below her for a glimpse of her face… And when they get it, FLASH! A blinding light leaps out of the camera and attacks her eyes with would-be blindness.

However, her eyes are used to this sort of mistreatment and they stay wide open with the same warmth, the same confidence. Her footsteps stay even without faltering. She reaches the stand at the end of the platform, clustered with microphones and notes, and smiles. It is only a small smile, but it is skilfully placed and has a stunning effect on the audience. They stop the photos and begin to shout questions.

"What’s the next move for the BIA?"

"Has anyone woken up yet?"

"Aren’t you playing God?"

But all she hears is a wall of noise, like the roar from a hungry animal. When shouted together, their questions are futile, and one reporter is as useless as the next. She knows how desperate they are for information, because information is power and the more power you have the more secure you are. And security is everything.

She raises her hand and begins to speak, sternly but softly. She has spent hours perfecting this voice – making it powerful and demanding but still beautiful and pleasing, and like a waterfall her strong words gracefully plunge down onto the crowd below.

"Quiet, silence…" The crowd are now quietening down, beginning to listen. "Thank you all for coming! As you know, this is the 100th anniversary of production from the BIA. We at the BioIndustry Association have, for 100 years today, donated life-saving organs to thousands of people across the world. America, Australia and all across Europe (including our very own dear England) have benefited from our services.