Musings of a Mad Scientist

Okay, so this is a short piece I've been thinking on over the past day or two.  Next time I'll get some more traditional exercises, but for the sake of getting used to submitting here and flexing my brain when its so near the end of the work week, I'll give you this!

This came about from my recent watching of the SyFy show "Eureka."  (Good fun, you should check it out if you haven't already.)  The town is full of these crazy smart scientists and their inventions that seem to always go arwy at the wrong moments.  This got me thinking on the whole "mad scientist" theme in fiction and how it's a perfect blend of fantasy, science fiction and horror/suspense.  Just look at Frankenstein, one of the most memorable books and movies of all time.

This little bit takes place moments before the mad scientist's creations/machinations are to make their debut.  What led him to this moment physically and emotionally.  What drives someone to cross that line from plain ol' scientist to the mad sort?  So, without futher ado, I present "Musings of A Mad Scientist."


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There is solace in science.  A quiet, calm place in the storm of the mind where emotion cannot exist.  Science with emotion is dangerous, corruptive.  It cannot happen lest the object of scientific study be corrupted in turn.  It leaves room for bias and error to accumulate.

I stand in my laboratory, all thick machines with too many buttons and cold steel to encompass my cold mind, body and soul.  The sun is setting, lightening the highest reaches through inches-thin slats in the stone, the warm orange and rose never quite reaching the floor or myself.  Like much in my life, the fire and and warmth never seems to reach far enough to make a difference.

Two years ago is when the fire finally died in my heart.  Two years since my wife Beatrice, with her playful eyes and thick lips forever smiling, was taken from me.  She was on her way to the market, her weekly trip to sell my contraptions and pick up the necessities.  Times were tough in those days.  Skies seemed darker, colors seemed faded.  But Beatrice's smile always fanned the fire of my soul and kept me going past all the rumors of brigands and taxes and war, to the end of the day when we would share our world together with idle chatter and playful games that only soulmates could understand.

Brigands must have not cared for fire in their souls, for on her way back to out remote cottage, she was stabbed to death and robbed of all our money.  I found her near twilight, her body skewed in the dirt track as if a flimsy doll thrown carelessly to the ground.  An irregular pool of crimson circled her body like a halo, the dirt giving it a grimy substance and the fruits and vegetables forever stained where they had been abandoned.

It was in that moment my fire was extinguised, replaced with a heaviness in my chest that seeped ice into my limbs, freezing my brain.  Throughout the next few weeks that ice grew to a sharp point, piercing what was left of my humanity, draining it away.  I don't remember much past the whiskey, its blurry edged memories blessedly comfortable.

After a time, I began to doggedly persue my inventions.  First finishing the projects and ideas that I had entertained and thought out with Beatrice.  But once they were finished I could do naught with them but destroy them, gleaming clockwork pieces of memory that should have died with Beatrice.

One night, in a drunken stupor so common in those days, I had an epiphany.  The brigands wished to take my fire?  I would take theirs for myself.

Night after night of toiling and experimenting, digging and scrounging, I finally found an old volume three towns over that would give me what I wanted.  I would create the perfect weapon.  For months I would haggle and barter for supplies, and grudgingly work for those I could not pay.  But after what felt like eternity, I began my true experiments.  Life would be in my hands, and people would live and die by my whim.

Between my experiments I slept little and ate even less.  I would use the time to track the brigands, finding their lair and learning what I could of them.  They were a cowardly bunch, thirteen strong with not a backbone between them.  They harassed and murdered innocent women and children for easy pickings, then cavorted off to a neighboring town to spend their loot.  Dispicable fools, thinking they could continue this practice indefinitely.

So now, on the eve of my revenge, I slowly flip switches, turn knobs, fuel machinery and triple check all of my readings for optimal performance.  The slow hum permeating the chamber fills my bones with an odd sensation, pleasant but alien.  Was this excitement?  Pleasure?  It had been too long since I had last known these emotions.

One last switch, and arcs of lighting race across the broad steel tabletop, the machine of a man twitching with the beginnings of life.  The arcs and humming reach a crescendo, a cacophony so beautiful to my ears that I felt icy tears sliding down my cheeks.  This was for you, my dear, sweet Beatrice.  You will be avenged.

The electricity stopped, the metal man and his shaking limbs subsiding in the silence.  Then, the metal man abruptly sat up, turned, and stood on the hard stone floor.  Its gleaming mix of bronze, steel and iron a tapestry of beauty.  The dark hollows where eyes should be reflected only a solid, bright ruby of intelligence as it got on one knee and bowed its head to me.

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There we have it.  Please feel free to leave any comments or suggestions.  I'm sure I misspelled some words that I was not able to catch, so just ignore those and look for the story behind the errors.  Thanks again and I will see you all again soon!!!