Vondogood insouciantly adjusted a minature, greaslicked follicle from its reverential site atop his brow. This apparently perfunctory correction of his appearance was, however, novel, given his normal extreme disvanity and indifference to any constructed image which other may have of him.
Ahead his sightline the patient quivered and hyperventilated. The dirty white light powered by the camp generator lying far beyond the fence, flickered occasionally, exposing the hastily painted interior.
Other. Observing, in stasis, a very separate time.
He stepped forward and, placing his palm on the patient’s forehead, used his thumb to stretch the eyelid up (as he had been taught, so many years ago, in Freiburg, with Dr Hoffelgammer), shining his torch into the lens, seeking signs of being.
From the gramophone in the corner, a Schubert symphony played, dislocated from presence.
He stepped back, conscious of a sudden, violent disarrangement within his sensory apparatus. Dropping the torch he lurched and thrashed his arms, falling as he did and, half gripping the edge of the examination table upon which the patient lay, collapsed on the floor.
Again, Dr Hoffelgammer’s word pulsed, inside the intensity of the pain, an adjunct to the realisation of his destruction, reverberating as his tremulous, terminal reality metabolised before his eyes.
“As we can see from this patient, the coupling of aneurysmal dilation and increased wall stress is approximated by the Law of Laplace.”
The light flickers.
The Symphony climaxes, then dies. The spinning recurrence of the crackling ’45 now the only sound in the room.
The patient, still, remains.