Microstory Monday

The Infection Farm
The warden is standing outside my cell when I wake up.
"Is it time for more scraping?" I ask, not really wanting to move.
"You're not meeting quota, Jimmy," he says.
"Quota?" I say, sitting up, and a scab I'd forgotten tears loose from my hip.
"We don't publicize it," he says, starting to pace. "We don't want it to be about the numbers, you know?"
"Okay..." I say, a little confused, and the warden throws up his hands. "You're not even trying! Look how clean you are!" he shouts, pointing at me. "Do you think your toilet is flushless because we have a plumbing problem? Of course not! We leave it for you to use on the sores!"
"You do?" I ask.
"Yes!" he says, clearly irritated. "Would you prefer someone else's waste!? Would you prefer to have it forcibly applied!?"
He stops, and then starts fluttering a hand at me, and I realize he's expecting a response.
"No," I say. "I guess not."
"I didn't think so!" he shouts, and then takes a deep breath.
"Look. Jim. I'm trying to help you," he says. "See what you can do to increase production. When they come in to squeeze you next week, I want to see at least 5 ounces of pus. You think you can do that? Tell me you can do that."
I look over at the toilet, and then back at the warden.
"I can do that," I say.

Comments

[Bonnie]

I would hate to see your dreams. How do you sleep?

[Dean]

I don't. If I do, the night gaunts come to steal my stomach.

[Gaunt #7]

Oh, no we do not.

Now hush, and rest your tired head.

There's a dear.

[Gretchen]

And a merry Christmas to you, too!

[MAYday]

Wow. All I can say is - very interesting. Where do you come up with this?

[Enna Isilee]

Severly creeped out!

[Katee]

Ok, then. Hmm.