The Lemon
A study in undying experimentation
The Lemon
By Ta'kom Ironhoof
Sometimes, life gives you lemons. Not real lemons, though. At least then you could make lemon-aid or something.
That thought swirls around in my head as I wake up. Another day strapped to a gurney. Over the years, I've gotten used to flat metal on my furred back. Least they could do was make it padded. Familiar sights and sound returns as my vision clears: a single, bright overhead light and the scent of antiseptics. With a quick tug at each of my limbs, my restraints remind me of my purgatory. The only part of myself that I could move was my tail and, given my equine biology, the stubbiness makes for a sad display of 'movement'.
With a loud crackle, the building's intercom system came on and a familiar voice filled the room. I had known Dr. Julius Rivers for the better part of the last decade. He was more friendly than the rest of the staff, even apologetic, but never relenting in his quest for 'science'. The giraffe bull was, and still is, well respected in the medical community for his research into my 'condition'. He was a tall, beautiful man, even in his now advanced age. Regal and refined, he spoke clearly, giving his annual speech to a conference of other medical doctors and researchers.
This could only mean one thing; today was examination day.
"Welcome everyone. In today's observation, we'll be examining the life of Anthony Storents, a mustang stallion born February 7th, 1902. We're going to skip his childhood years as, besides his birth certificate, there are no records of him. All that I'll say about it is that his father was a colonel in the Army and his mother was a simple home maker with nothing special to account for.
Moving to adulthood, the first record of Anthony is his enlistment record for the military. It is presumed that he intended to follow in his father's footsteps by joining when America entered the second great war just before the Age of Atomics. However, in his record, there are no listed tours of combat and his only duty station was stricken from his record by black ink."
As Dr. Rivers reached this part of his speech, an orderly entered my room and began fumbling with the IV drip attached to my arm before writing some notes on a clipboard, the details of which I've never been privy to. The old giraffe's voice continued to call out from the speaker system, reverberating through the halls, as well as my body.
"You might ask, why would they even have a record of his enlistment? Couldn't they just expunge his record altogether? You'd be right in thinking they could, but his father, through various court fillings, fought the government tooth and nail. Four days after the final hearing, Colonel John Storents was found decapitated in his living room by his wife upon returning from getting groceries. Mrs. Storents disappeared shortly after the investigation."
Ah yes, my father Colonel John Storents. He was a real bastard. A military man through and through. And Dr. Rivers was correct. I had intended to follow in his footsteps. Well, until my father decided I was meant for greater things. Dr. Rivers continued on.
"Moving on and back to Anthony now. If you'll look at the photo that I have on the screen, you can clearly see a stallion in uniform. The name tag says Storents and by the surroundings, it appears to be set in the desert regions or at least nearby according to the signage in the background. This photo surfaced a few years ago after the government acknowledged that Area 69 did indeed exist."
"Anthony had a bit of bad luck with eyewitness accounts, as there are no official records to back this up. During his boot camp, 26 people were wounded or killed when Anthony's rifle jammed on the firing range according to one of the surviving drill instructors."
The orderly who had entered my room began rigging up a drip bag holder to my bed as my mind drifted back. I had heard this speech dozens of times before and knew what was coming next. I found my mind back in the moments that Dr. Rivers was about to describe.
"Anthony goes to fire. The bullet jams, and while clearing the jam, the jammed bullet fires. His bullet then ricochets, hitting a fuel canister on a HUMVEE. The now leaking canister is ignited by the bullet ricocheting again. The bullet finally stops inside the skull of one of Anthony's fellow squad mates.
The leaking fuel also coats the three other people in the HUMVEE, igniting them. One of them stays alive long enough to run toward the rest of Anthony's platoon, setting fire to the grass on his way. The soldier finally falls down near the ammo shed on the range, which contains loose gun powder. This shed is attached to the sitting area. The resulting explosion accounts for the remaining injuries and deaths."
A loud click echoes as Dr. River changes the slide of his presentation.
"This picture is of the aftermath. The entire range is black from the fire, and only Anthony and the drill instructor helping him clear the jam walked away unscathed."
Another loud click projects as the orderly finished moving the bags over and unlocks the wheels of my bed.
"This is a picture of Anthony a few years later. This was supposedly taken inside of Area 69 during the second great war but no evidence has ever surfaced to prove it. As you can see, Anthony is strapped to a bed screaming with most of the meat of his arm left arm missing. Though the picture is taken from the portcullis of the security door of his room, you can see 'something' in the corner near his bed. Two supposed eye witnesses claim that Anthony was being escorted by to his cell when the door slammed on his arm. In a panic, he pulled his arm out, tearing away the flesh. How or why he was in a cell was never mentioned."
Another click rings out as the projector changes slides. The orderly has now pushed my bed to the doorway of my security room.
"Moving forward a bit to the next known photograph, here is a picture of Anthony....in 1945. I know what you are thinking. How can the young man in this picture be the same young man from before? This photograph was attached to a folder that was discovered just a few years ago among the rubble from a terrorist attack on a government facility that had happened a few days prior. The documents inside the folder confirm that this is the same Anthony Storents, though these documents are not part of the public record.
In the picture, you can clearly see Storents standing near what looks like a dilapidated building in the middle of the desert. According to documents, this picture was taken the day before the first atomic bomb test in 1945. The documents further state they wanted to test the effects of nuclear radiation on living subjects. It is known that there were other soldiers in the area during the test, but according to these documents, Anthony was inside the house that explodes during that now famous film about the test. The house was demolished and yet..."
The sound of the projector changing slides as the orderly brings me into the hallway, heading toward the observation room.
"Here we see Anthony in yet another sealed room. This picture shows the extensive damage that his body has taken. The later documents inside tell of doctors working night and day studying Anthony's clearly mangled body, with one doctor being quoted as saying, 'By all scientific understandings, Anthony Storents should not be alive. The trauma that he has endured is beyond anything a normal being is capable of, and yet his constant screaming is forever etched in my mind. The bastard just won't die.' Let his words sink in as we advance through the slides."
The projector clicks as we pass under one hallway light.
"Moving along, here is a picture of Anthony, strapped to a gurney, being set on fire..."
The projector clicks as we pass under the next hallway light.
"... and being shot in the head at point blank range..."
The projector clicks as we pass under the next hallway light.
"... and being given a lethal injection..."
The projector clicks as we pass under one more hallway light.
"... and run over by a tank..."
The projector clicks as we pass another hallway light.
"... and finally being dissected and put into an industrial wood chipper."
After every click of that damned projector, my mind was forced into the exact moment that Dr. Rivers spoke of. All memories that I'd much rather never be forced to remember again. Today would be another of those days I'd rather forget.
"Each of the previous pictures was taken ten years apart, according to the record. Anthony Storents is truly a man to be marveled at and the research continues to this day. Yes, Anthony Storents is alive today and your research will help to further our understanding of this mystery."
The orderly pushing my bed pushed it into the doors of the observation room with a slam. While I couldn't move my head around, I could see some people in attendance, their faces all covered with masks of various shapes and styles to cover their features.
"And here comes our guest of honor, Mr. Anthony Storents himself. He is currently gagged and bound to the gurney, but I assure you he is still fully cognizant. We will extract parts of Mr. Storents today to look at his cellular makeup. This had been attempted before, but it has been unsuccessful in the past. We have better tools now, so maybe this time, we will get some answers."
The orderly slowly brought my bed down the ramp to the center of the observation room. From my current position, I could tell that the auditorium was full, though the bright light hanging from the middle of the room blinded me from seeing any details. Besides the orderly, only Dr. Rivers and one other nurse stood next to my bed.
"Now some of you may be worried about Mr. Storents and I can assure you, so are we. Let me say that so far, in all the years that Mr. Storents has been under observation, we have not been able to find a drug to ease his pain in any discernible way. We have provided each of you a set of earplugs. These should help to muffle his screams."
Once again, the same thought enters my head that I had upon waking.
"And as I said at the beginning of today's class. Sometimes, life gives you lemons. Let's begin."