The light was low, with the solitary, swinging bulb in the centre of the room smashed, and the lamp in the corner flickering. The white tiles which coated the walls shimmered like the scales of a fish. The grouting between them was chipped and cracked. On two walls, it had been stained almost entirely brick red by drying blood. In the centre of the room, a small pile of glass was spattered the same colour.
A trolley, laden with dull scalpels, canvas-covered syringes and other surgical equipment, leant against the walls in the far left corner. One iron caster wheel was missing, and so, the far corner of the trolley rested on a low pile of books. Against the back wall was another trolley. This one was higher, and considerably longer. The draught from the opposite door toyed with the dirty white fabric which was bunched over its surface. Small, crimson puddles had formed in the rails which ran between the wheels, and a black, leather strap reached down, towards them, like a python longing for water.
Guttural voices could now be heard echoing down the corridor, towards the laboratory. Two men were conversing. One voice was crisp, and only spoke in short, purposeful bursts. Like those of a Messerschmitt's cannon. The other was led into long, hesitant explanations.
As the footsteps drew closer, a yellow light pooled towards the doorframe, sending small beetles scattering for cover. The source of the light seemed to be bobbing up and down, as if carried. The second man's voice sparked up.
"Es tut mir leid... Aber... Mein Kopf.. Und.. Und die Glühlampe,"
The first man sighed as his boots came into line with the threshold. They were black patent leather, and came up to the tops of his ankles, clamped against his smart, dark grey trousers. A row of gleaming medals hung from the breast of his scratchy, green jacket. Despite the humid air, his golden buttons were fastened straight up to his clean-shaven, angular chin.
A gloved hand peeled the heavy, wooden door back somewhat further, across the flagstones, revealing its owner. A long, stained, off-white lab-coat dangled down to his knees, and his outfit was concealed by an apron of the same material and length. An old dress cap, which might once have been smart, rested clumsily atop a bundle of bandages and outcrops of hair.
At the gesture of the doctor, the officer took a cautious step into the room. His nose scrunched at the sight of a bucket which contained filthy utensils, plunged into an acrid cleaning fluid.
The doctor waited anxiously in the doorway. The narrowed eyes of the officer flicked from object to object in his murky surroundings. They finally fell upon the bundles of fabric, and widened slightly.
Had it not moved?
Slowly, deliberately, he stepped towards it. A silhouette could be made out behind one of the folds. It looked like... Hair? His left hand fell upon his Luger, as his right glided towards the fabric.
He snapped it back. His eyes widened further. He blanched. His mouth sagged wide. He almost couldn't utter the words.
"Mein Gott," his voice was hoarse, hardly more than a whisper. "Was ist das?"
"Das," by now, the doctor was full of confidence, his chest puffed out with pride, "Das ist mein Meerschweinschen!"
A trolley, laden with dull scalpels, canvas-covered syringes and other surgical equipment, leant against the walls in the far left corner. One iron caster wheel was missing, and so, the far corner of the trolley rested on a low pile of books. Against the back wall was another trolley. This one was higher, and considerably longer. The draught from the opposite door toyed with the dirty white fabric which was bunched over its surface. Small, crimson puddles had formed in the rails which ran between the wheels, and a black, leather strap reached down, towards them, like a python longing for water.
Guttural voices could now be heard echoing down the corridor, towards the laboratory. Two men were conversing. One voice was crisp, and only spoke in short, purposeful bursts. Like those of a Messerschmitt's cannon. The other was led into long, hesitant explanations.
As the footsteps drew closer, a yellow light pooled towards the doorframe, sending small beetles scattering for cover. The source of the light seemed to be bobbing up and down, as if carried. The second man's voice sparked up.
"Es tut mir leid... Aber... Mein Kopf.. Und.. Und die Glühlampe,"
The first man sighed as his boots came into line with the threshold. They were black patent leather, and came up to the tops of his ankles, clamped against his smart, dark grey trousers. A row of gleaming medals hung from the breast of his scratchy, green jacket. Despite the humid air, his golden buttons were fastened straight up to his clean-shaven, angular chin.
A gloved hand peeled the heavy, wooden door back somewhat further, across the flagstones, revealing its owner. A long, stained, off-white lab-coat dangled down to his knees, and his outfit was concealed by an apron of the same material and length. An old dress cap, which might once have been smart, rested clumsily atop a bundle of bandages and outcrops of hair.
At the gesture of the doctor, the officer took a cautious step into the room. His nose scrunched at the sight of a bucket which contained filthy utensils, plunged into an acrid cleaning fluid.
The doctor waited anxiously in the doorway. The narrowed eyes of the officer flicked from object to object in his murky surroundings. They finally fell upon the bundles of fabric, and widened slightly.
Had it not moved?
Slowly, deliberately, he stepped towards it. A silhouette could be made out behind one of the folds. It looked like... Hair? His left hand fell upon his Luger, as his right glided towards the fabric.
He snapped it back. His eyes widened further. He blanched. His mouth sagged wide. He almost couldn't utter the words.
"Mein Gott," his voice was hoarse, hardly more than a whisper. "Was ist das?"
"Das," by now, the doctor was full of confidence, his chest puffed out with pride, "Das ist mein Meerschweinschen!"