Inferior Selectives

The moment Angus had stepped in the examination room, he fell to the ground, falling backwards.
He was always clumsy, always bumping into people, always tripping on his shoelaces, and always had silly, bedridden hair.

He awoke, in a white room, surrounded by the white walls and a white lady, in a white coat. Angus felt a black, throbbing pain located near his brain, and glanced toward the white lady in the white coat, with hope for answers. She had only wrote down a few words on her clipboard, stared at Angus' ever-so-thin limbs, and left the white room.

Angus stood, looking up at the door with the figure of a male imprinted in white, and pushed as hard as his fragile set of arms would push. The smells of toilet water and mixed fragrances of urine and unpleasantness had traced its way to his nose, causing him to gag. His hesitant steps were prominent and clanky, echoing after each step, one by one. He walked, peering through each stall, as if he was in an Easter egg hunt. After sighing with relief, he locked himself in the furthest stall from the door with the figure and fumbled with his pants.

'Angus Martin: Patient #1725382 - Please return to your unit, your family has come to permit your leave', the speaker echoed throughout the stalls with a droning tone. Angus made a peculiar sound after he had relieved himself and dashed out to his unit, with his black ache still residing in his cranium. People stared as he fell up the stairs and ran into doors.

His Ma and Pa, standing side-by-side to each other, looked at Angus, flabbergasted when he burst into the white room, panting and flushed.
'Gus! What are you doing, honey? Why were you running? You'll get sick! Oh, look at you. You're all red and humid. Why didn't you take the elevator?' Ma had rushed toward Angus with great concern and hugged him with forceful strength, yet, empty and cold.

From afar, the white lady was in the white room, staring at Angus' thin physique, analysing with such intensity that Pa had suspiciously urged Ma and Angus to hurry and leave the unit. Pa had stayed in the white room a second longer, and shook his head in disapproval.

When driving home, Angus was still bustled by a black bother in his head, trickling throughout his body. It was a ticklish sort of pain, which Angus was unsure if it was torment, or just simply there. The burning sensation had left Angus wondering if he had not been treated with proper care.

'Hello? This is Martin, no?' The abrupt sound made Angus jump. The voice that came out of nowhere was delivered to Angus' ears. His eyes darted to both of his parents, who were asleep beside him, and to the cabbie driver, completely oblivious to any sound but the earphones that voiced a podcast about learning how to retire, rich. No one reacted, but him.
'Uh . . . Hello, M-M-Miss?', Angus replied shakily, and unsure.
'Angus Martin, you have been dispatched from your unit, and are currently driving home?' This voice had, somewhat, reminded him of the white lady from the white room, formal, discreet, unfriendly.
'Yes, Miss . . . Why can't I hear you, but can hear you?'
'Angus Martin, you are to refrain yourself from asking further questions. You are to only answer what is being asked and listen to me only.'
'O-Okay, Miss . . .' responded Angus almost too quickly. He was unsure if this person was good or not, but he was still scared. He did not know why.
'You are to make continuous check-ups at your unit, and if your parents ask why you are making frequent visits, you are to tell them no more than your headache.'
'Yes, Miss.'

Days, weeks, months had passed and Angus had always feared returning to the white room every two days. Each check-up was more painful than the last, and the black ache festered down, near his heart.
'Are you going to your unit again, Gus?'
'Yes Ma.'
'All right, honey. Don't forget to take the taxi home! I don't want you to catch a cold.'

As Angus closed the door, he overheard his parents, speaking to each other. A rare occurrence.
'Again? How many is that? Eighty-seven! Eighty-seven check-ups in the last six months!' his Pa's stern voice resonated through the walls.
'Don't raise your voice . . . They'll hear. He is already gone, Cooper, like all the rest. It was finally his time.'

Angus was outside of his unit, somehow, questioning why he had obliged, willingly, to experience Hell every two days. It hurt to walk for long periods of time, as if some metal was jammed inside his bone . . . His breathing was short, cut and torn.
'Oi, Gus! Thank God I was able to reach you in time. You ain't really going to open that door, are you?', a husky call came from behind his ear. Angus had not swiftly swivelled around to see who it was. He could not. It was futile. His body would not allow such fluid movement. Step by step, Angus' body had made a complete and successful 180 degree rotation, to see who called out to him. Sadly, he found that there was no one behind him.
'Angus, you're so slow and lifeless! Are you seriously thinking of attending this check-up? After six months? After all the excruciating pain and severity it's caused to your body? Do you really believe you'll return home so safely this time?' The young and youthful voice barked at Angus like rapid gusts of air.
'What, sir?' Angus tried to cry out, but only a monotonous articulation escaped his mouth.
'Ya body ain't even respondin' to ya now!' The voice had reveal their thick accent. 'Aight, if ya can't even speak for yaself, I'll talk an' try ta convince ya to stop yaself from ever walkin' through that damned door ever again!'

Angus had gone pale. Or at least, he felt faint, At least he felt something, even if it was an uncomfortable stir in his stomach. His heartbeat fell into familiar pace, and he felt warm explosions fill his heart, as if the black ache had finally dispersed into small fragments of bliss and relief. The mixed emotions caused Angus to whimper, a small cry to his parents.
'They're tryna' control ya, Gus! Ya notice how hard it was ta move, even? Guess what? It's all them. They're puttin' all this ugly, black materials into ya body, I think they tryna' make ya into some sorta-!'
'Angus Martin, #1725382, you have yet to return to your unit for your check-up.'
Angus froze. Everything inside him had begun to burn and it was all black. All the colours, gone.
'Miss. I shall attend to my check-up now.' Angus droned. The poison was up and running all throughout his rigid body.
'Don't! Gus! Yer gonna go crazy!' The young boy's voice had now only blared against Angus' ears. They had not reached him.

Angus did not return home that day. How clumsy of him.