Ficlets

Kent walked with measured strides through the dim halls of Poplar Hill, head down, avoiding eye contact. He could hardly stand to look at anyone. A smirk creased his face as he thought how flattered he’d been to be recruited.

“Your work with the mentally ill has been noticed, doctor, by important men.”

Turning yet another corner, he glanced at the summons again, a typically bland, authoritative missive: Report to Loading Dock 7.

“We too see the inherent potential that lies behind the madness.”

He’d given up so much to come here. Kent tried to think back to life before, the friends, time with his family, and her. His Sherrie. There was no getting it back now, he tried to tell himself, whether as consolation or recrimination he wasn’t sure.

“And wait ‘til you meet the boss. He’s…well, god-like. You’ll come to love working for him.”

Absent mindedly, Kent signed the papers. The ambulence was opened. There was no mistaking. This was it. This was redemption. This was salvation.