Every Available Space by Nat Whilk

Archive Fiction Literature Original Lit

A doctor in a white coat enters a crowded press conference as lights flash and cameras click.  Television cameras are sprinkled around the room and poised like visual vipers ready to strike.

Doctor:  Questions gentlemen?

Reporter (standing with notebook in hand):  Doctor, can you tell us more about the president’s condition.

Doctor:  Yes, ah, he seems…I mean…he’s only been here for a little over an hour.  And I say seems because we haven’t had time as of yet to diagnose him properly.  He seems to be…ah…slowly dying…ah…choking to death.

Reporter:  Is he responsive at all?

Doctor:  Not really.  Ahhh…he was able to speak some when he was brought into the emergency room.  After the press conference where he collapsed, he said he remembered next to nothing.

Reporter:  Well, what’s actually causing the symptoms?

Doctor:  Like I said, we can’t properly assess his condition as of now.  We need a bit more time.  All we can really pinpoint at this time is that the growth of the hair started somewhere in the bronchial tubes and has spread throughout the entire digestive system.  The hair is similar to that found around the reproductive organs.

Another reporter (standing):  What measures have you taken so far?  After all, he is the President of the United States.

Doctor:  By a laser process we have cut the hair several times.  We have cut it out, but it grows back very rapidly.  Almost immediately.  At this time, it seems that it is impossible to stop the growth.  Ahhh…any further measures we could take at this time could be very harmful.  We have administered drugs to reduce the metabolic rate but so far that has been futile.  The hair continues to grow.

An assistant steps into the room and whispers into the doctor’s ear.

Doctor:  Gentlemen, I’m sorry to say, the president is dead.  He has died from suffocation.  The hair eventually filled every available space within his body.

Gasps from the audience.  The doctor turns and exits.  Lights flash and cameras click.  The reporters sit motionless as murmuring fills the room.

©2011 Glass Onion Productions

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