Broken toys to broken hearts

Broken toys to broken hearts
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LexiWills,United Kingdom,Professional
Published Date:31-07-2017
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Broken / Newell Broken : Story 1 Broken toys to broken hearts Bits and pieces scattered doesn’t mean the end Careful hands, a bit of glue, surely it can mend A little rough on the outside, still all worth the saving Why throw away the prize? Why throw away amazing? If you believe like I believe and see through open eyes It’s still a brand new one that works different on the inside Never just discard broken pieces to the bin For damaged goods can be repaired But ignorance of truth surely is the sin? Broken toys to broken hearts They are the one and same Broken hearts to broken toys, Face another day to face another game  Copyright 2013 Newell 3 Broken / Newell Part 1 - Insanity I loved her, I fucking loved her and my life was incomplete without her in it She was gone and no matter what I believed I could never bring her back - or could I? Is this why my life was driven by researching genetics and molecular biology, the reason why cloning had won me the Smithsonian for ‘Raja’, the first st Tasmanian tiger in existence in this so called 21 century of ours? I never even really understood how I got here or why? I always knew science was the chosen path in front of me, being the dux of school and my constant distinctions through Uni. But if you told me that this road to be taken would steal, as many years as it had and consumed every waking moment, or that my life passed before my very eyes looking through the end of a microscope, I would’ve never believed you . . . until Petra; she made it all perfect sense. We met at the Moscow science fair (in the not too distant future) she was lecturing on the advancement of nanotechnology and the future prospects it had for all of us. I wasn’t really interested in the actual subject matter but it was more her wild auburn hair and her black rimmed glasses that sat on the end of her ever so-cute nose, ‘oooh’ and the way she made a white lab coat look sexy, so goddamn fucking sexy I asked her out then and there, I just knew she was the one for me. We were destined for each other and were married within three months. So Miss Petra Sadovsky became Mrs Frank Einstein to my miserable heart’s blissfulness. Petra was euphoric and I was the luckiest man alive. It has been four long years since her unfortunate battle with lung cancer, I warned her so many times to give up, as she was one of the very few left on this planet who illegally smoked cancer sticks in the privacy of their (our) own home - and I will never forget the look in her dying drug-fucked eyes as she took her last painful bloodied breath clutching my hand . . . as I wept like a baby. We had her head cryogenically frozen immediately as we had always planned. We both knew that research had come tenfold in this area and would only be 5 to 6 decades away from full body regeneration. We would be together once again but could I wait that long? And how old would that make me? Petra would once again be 33 while what would I be 105? This just didn’t add up to me. I had no choice, my hand was forced, and I must bring her back now I began by rapid-enhancement of cloning her a new body which I had perfected from a stem-cell anatomy growth technique I’d stumbled upon a few years ago. Growing human body parts on the back of lab rats was only the minute beginnings. I found the advancements of this simple procedure by growing them on coma patient’s stomachs Of course the repercussions at first were disastrous just as stem-cell research was in the early years, but save one cancer ridden child and ‘Hey Presto’ use as many brain-dead-coma-stricken vegies as you like The 4 Broken / Newell world loves medical science once again. I knew I was pushing the boundaries with the ageing hormones but I had no option, I needed Petra’s body - ASAP So you ask why didn’t I save Petra in the first place and save myself from all this insanity? I was the head neuroscientist professor asked to lead the ‘Replacement One’ Biogenic-replacement team 5 years prior to her death and we combined the elements of our DNA stem-cell, placenta and blood nutrient and cloning research to reproduce and 3D print, fully-working artificial protein based, cell replacement body parts for the suffering. I could’ve knocked her up a new set of artificial lungs easily from her DNA but she died a year before we perfected the procedure. Medical insurance refused to pay a cent for nicotine self-inflicted lung replacement . . . and was against the law Lung cancer patients (smokers) were considered suicidal junkies or outlaws My beautiful dying Petra would never allow me or my position as a respected scientist to break the law or jeopardise my future in this glorious scientific spectrum by over-stepping or pushing boundaries; truth be known – I had no future without her so now I would Her new body was completed in nine months, even I had to admit I had excelled. Question: How the fuck do you hide a fully grown naked headless female body in 60 litres of rejuvenating umbilical fluid? Answer: Easy - When you’re an insomniac who never sleeps and turns his bedroom into a rebirth suite. I just closed the door and lived a life of solitude, very rarely did family ever visit or check on my well-being. I must admit the smell of the fluid did have a rancid sock/fart smell but everybody just put that down to my once again being single and the lack of cleaning. It was truly off-putting so no-one ever really stayed long, (helped along by my inhospitable miserable nature) but in reality the place was spotless and sterilised daily. I could never take the chance of infecting Petra’s replacement body. I often lay awake on the couch chuckling at the insanity of the plan, just imagining my sister Karen’s face, walking in my bedroom to no queen bed but just a naked female in a pool of fluorescent green bubbling fluid. A fully grown body with no head just a steel plate with multiple tubes connected to what would appear to the normal eye as a heart rate monitor and a dialysis machine. Oh boy Get the straight jacket ready Her head was stored at ‘Thor’ cryogenic clinic; we had chosen this one as her parents were stored here as well. It was a mutual decision between the two families (oh and that was a fun day to remember). We all agreed to liking the freedom of being able to visit and spend time alone with your loved one (even if it was a cold bluish grey colour and they resembled a smokey popsicle) but it just had so much more warmth about death than the other clinics. I visited her twice weekly, it helped to fill my emptiness, just to talk to her, just touch the frozen glass and tell her about my shitty week without her. I had planned to steal her head and leave town immediately as if they’d find out, you wouldn’t need the services of Holmes and Watson to solve this one I would’ve been locked in a white padded cell before you could’ve said, ‘Stephen 5 Broken / Newell Hawkings’ - I converted our 2 door fridge into a gas operated holding tank for the body and hired a couple of dumb jocks to carry it down the six flights of stairs, to our car park where a brand new Mitsubishi Van (complete with nitro and oxygen tanks installed by yours truly) was waiting. The dumb-arses nearly dropped it and I nearly died of a fucking heart attack then and there, envisioning the headless torso fall out in front of their very eyes; I wasn’t stupid enough not to have put a locking system on it I couldn’t believe how easy it was to steal her head. Was it because I was the first person ever to do so? But then again who were we really? All the truly famous people, (full bodies not just heads) like our beloved Ex-President Jolie or Good Samaritan Father Sheen were under armed guard in ‘Fort Knox’. After entering the code and a casual greeting to the security guard - Gerry at reception, I walked into one of the many private viewing rooms of the chamber with a solar-powered freezer bag secretly stashed inside an old backpack. Petra’s head came to the viewing window so I quickly pulled out my screwdriver and pried off the stainless edging strips to enable unscrewing the perspex view panel, followed by removing the silicone anti-freeze seals. I had already taken out the head I’d stolen from the research and training mortuary and then I swapped them I could feel my heart pounding through my ribs and nearly dropped Petra’s freezing head as my gloves and nerves were a bad combination. But I somehow managed to get her head into the sterile plastic zip bag and then into the concealed freezer bag - before she started to thaw I had a leeway of twenty-five minutes tops and 15 degrees or she would defrost too much, then I would lose her for good; it was essential I get her back below minus 100 ASAP I then re-screwed the panel and watched the substituted head disappear back to the holding room after I pressed the red end-of-visit button. The get-away was the scariest thing I’d ever done in my life and yes I’ve accepted various awards for my work and all those awkward acceptance speeches seemed to go on for a lifetime of anxiety attacks, yet walking out of there through the security exit with my wife’s head in a backpack just made that seem like a walk in the park But I’d done it. I had bought a deserted run-down farmhouse (for cash) six months prior and about 1500 kilometres from here. The farmhouse was well hidden from any civilization. I had spent at least one day a week making it liveable, converting it to a state-of-the-art science lab (complete with spider webs). Thank God that both Petra and I had no interest in material things and lived very modestly as I had now diminished a hell of a lot of our saved funds. Bringing your wife back from the dead was never going to be a cheap operation. We reached my secluded farmhouse by nightfall and I couldn’t let myself be even remotely tired, not just yet, there was way too much to do. I placed Petra into 6 Broken / Newell my self-made cryogenic stabiliser and meticulously examined her for any signs of spoil but to my relief she was perfectly preserved. The body wasn’t quite as easy to move. I had no buff boys here and getting the fridge inside was a feat in itself but my foresight had enabled me to build ramps and that new motorised removal trolley which took away most of the pain of lifting - literally had paid for itself. Transferring the body wasn’t that easy though as I went from a bigger area to smaller one as when I relocated it to the holding tank/fridge, yet getting it back out was something I never really thought that much about and here was my first dilemma. A crude winch was rigged up and I unfortunately bruised the body under the arm pits and across its perfect breasts, as the rope cut a little too deep on lifting. I examined it closely on the operating table and the wounds were only superficial. The body was young and healthy so it would easily be fully recovered by the time Petra’s head was ready for grafting. This day was a long one for me and this burnt-out insomniac finally slept like a baby. It was easy - she was home. The next two weeks I worked my arse off with the utmost precision of preparing Petra’s nerve endings. It was painstakingly imperative to get this right checking every nerve response one by one - and if I ever wanted to see her function like a normal human being again I could not afford to make the slightest of mistakes or I would be bringing a living quadriplegic back and Petra would never accept this quality of life ever . . . as I. So I worked tirelessly and intensely for at least 20 hours per day carefully grafting the neck support-plate that eventually would bolt her skull and brain to her new spine and spinal cords. It was imperative I had to make it thin, saucer like so it would appear to the naked eye as a tight fitting necklace or choker between head and neck, otherwise Petra would never be able to venture back in the real world without drawing attention. I forced myself to sleep the other 4 hours per religiously so I would be rested and clear headed for the next working day. The body had recovered as I predicted and I could tell the fluid was starting to expire by the murkiness of the green colour and I understood that it had to be sooner than later; I didn’t have much of a window left. Panic was starting to hit this fool of a scientist for doubt was setting in and laying its traps, “You can’t do this You aren’t God You’re just a mad insane fool” but then again, I hadn’t eaten much in a week bar supporting my caffeine addiction on top of the minimal sleep. I started to believe that maybe this crazy combination of events, sleep loss and starvation had boxed me into a corner of uncertainty . . . but there was no backing out now. 7 Broken / Newell Part 2 - Petrafied Wood I was asleep in the chair next to her whilst she lie on the operating table as I caressed her brand new hand, exactly the same as I held her original one that I lost all those years before. I wanted to feel her fingers twitch before she’d open her eyes, then I would be the first memory she would have in this new life, as I was the last in her previous. It was shortly after that very night that I did feel her left hand twitch in mine just as I had predicted and I awoke immediately with my heart jumping out of my chest. I had done it I had actually done it I had brought her back from the darkside. Petra was strapped naked under a white sheet to the table for her own safety (and mine) except for her temporary neck brace to ensure and heal muscle fusion. Christ I didn’t know how she would react on her awakening? Her head turned abruptly to the right (the neck was much stronger than I had predicted) and looked straight into my watery eyes. At first she looked terrifying glaring into my soul . . . then she smiled so I breathed relief. She slowly lifted her herself turned her head to look at the surroundings around the room and then once again her gaze was directed and looking me straight in the eyes; she again smiled. Oh how I missed those emerald green eyes . . . but where were they? Her eyes were cadaver black and I could not tell where her pupils started or ended and there seemed a dead emptiness behind them. But my Petra was awake, she was awake, my gorgeous Petra and now smiling even more at me, squeezing my hand tightly. Petra was one of the top nanotech-surgeons in the world at the time of her death and with her attention to detail - and the endless notes on the workings of these little babies scattered all through our study; then it was inevitable I would be able to combine our 2 specialist fields and perform this first time miracle, this unbelievable miracle She was now our piece of renaissance - and she was almost perfect “Hi me ol’ Cocker Wher’s the bleedin’ loo Darl?” “What the f-f…uck?” where did that horrible cockney accent come from? “Darls I sed where’s the fkn loo? Gawdn I’d don’t ‘arf need ta take a piss” I was shell-shocked This looked like Petra but sounded like some common tart from a rerun of those ancient ‘Carry-on’ English comedies from the last century my dear departed Grandmother loved and forced me to sit through, (against my will - mind you) while being baby-sat I was horrified, where had her sexy Russian accent gone? 8 Broken / Newell “Oi I aint got eny fuckn cloes on Youn-aint been poking down der with ya nasty stick while I was sleepn . . . av ya Darls?” She was smiling while I loosened the straps but was this such a good idea? She groggily sat up on the operating table facing me then she let out a high-pitched laugh and slapped me on my arm. “Ah aha haha I’m bloody well alive ain’t I? I went to hand her a dressing gown to cover her naked body but she was too busy carefully examining her exposed perky 19 year (err 9 month old Now that sounds even worse) old breasts “Cor these are beauties love, saves gettn a fuckin’ boob job eh Ah aha hahaha” Oh my God It was like Barbara Windsor had invaded my Petra’s body, and then it had occurred to me. I’d created a MONSTER She was hideous, she was cheap and she was sent straight to me from the slums of London and she wasn’t my Petra at all I did my best to put my feelings of disgust in the background as the creature was beckoning me to help her stand, so I did. She managed to take a step or 2 shuffling side to side with her arms at right angles looking like some full-size wind-up toy. It was then I realised she was attempting to make her way to the toilet. The creature relieved herself and didn’t even shut the toilet door or wipe herself afterwards For fuck’s sake Where did this cheap trailer trash (who just farted) come from? “Bath Bath love gawd you gotta let me ‘ave a bath love. I feel fukn filfee.” So I ran the creature a bath praying the water would wash her away, far away from here and bring back my Petra. While it was bathing I contemplated what actually went wrong and it came down only to 2 of the tiniest of possible errors, either I’d screwed up Petra’s nanotechnology notes and procedures or there was defrost damage to her brain cells before or after freezing but now there was a bigger problem facing me . . . what the fuck do I do with her? Her memory was very limited and she could remember little unimportant memories like how many times per month we had sex Twice actually The first rd Monday and the 3 Saturday religiously, well we were always too busy so it was a date She even remembered Paris yet not that we honeymooned in France only the sites - and sex She couldn’t remember anything useful that my Petra would have, such as her expertise on nanobots or any science related topics at all. Even doing up her own buttons on her blouse was a lesson in itself. The creature had forgotten most miniscule tasks, in other words she was totally fucking useless 9 Broken / Newell Over the next week the creature grew stronger and the neck brace was gone. I decided to try and accept her for who she was and not whom I remembered - it was hard, very hard but it was essential now. So I forced myself to say goodbye to my beloved Petra and admitted that she was gone, truly gone forever. I watched the creature closely and imagined what name would suit her best and it was clearly obvious, staring me straight between the eyes . . . Barbara I taught Barbara to speak more socially acceptable by cleaning up her atrocious gutter mouth, yeh, she kept her cockney East end accent and it was starting to not annoy me quite as much as at first. I retaught her about grooming and the importance of cleanliness of the body and of course, she did forget all of this, especially about menstruation and so this lucky male got to witness the screwed up face pulling of what he envisaged all mothers would go through with their daughters, when they explain the complex workings of the female anatomy for the very first time – “FUCK OFF” Her body was working better than I had ever hoped for and even her walk steadied way faster than I had predicted, complete with hip wiggle. I must admit I deserved top marks in the Body Making Department as this new body was perfect in all proportions and Barbara knew this as well, as she was constantly looking at it in the full-length mirror - naked. Her libido was like a new toy for her and she wanted it constantly (maybe I’d fixed her sensual nerve endings from head to body just a little too perfect) - and this I was still having my own personal inner battle with thinking God would possibly pay me back for taking advantage of the body? Then I was reaffirmed by logic; I was a scientist and this meant atheist So guilt was soon concealed but for some reason I could not kiss her, I just couldn’t . . . she was dead Barbara’s learning abilities were increasing rapidly as her dependence and intimacy and this was something completely new to me as my Petra wasn’t ever your touchy, feely type at all Our marriage was based on intellectual stimulation not physical (except for the so-called Honeymoon period in all relationships). The creature was developing a whole new bunch of habits that contradicted her previous personality, such as her image for starters. Petra’s skirts were never worn above the knee and every skirt I had brought from her wardrobe had now been torn to just below pantie line (and did she ever wear pants – no they went out with the bras). Bras were out and those perky breasts that should’ve been registered as lethal weapons enjoyed their freedom, as they so deserved. Her smoking wasn’t resumed, (she wouldn’t find any around here - I hated smoking and no prize for guessing why) but it had been replaced by her taste for coffee (now white with 5 sugars). Her thirst had increased to 15 cups at least per day; she would have been lucky to ever drink 4 at the tops in her previous life (black with no sugar) But I accepted there would be side effects from this whole crazy ordeal and if coffee addiction was the main one then I could easily live with it - as her. 10 Broken / Newell It was 3 months now since Barbara’s awakening and neither had left the farm but it was soon time. Food supplies were running low and I was getting quite concerned for my family - they probably thought my disappearance off the face of the planet meant I was dead Stealing Petra’s head was the other concern and I wondered if it would be known about at all? My imagination took me to dark places of thoughts of my family, whom had most likely been mourning me by simply knowing about my little frozen theft and losing it all to only go off somewhere secluded to commit suicide - so we could be together forever. How fair was it to them? And they had a right to know the truth, the whole truth. The time was now. It had been long enough so I would call them up and they would hear my voice and at the least accept I was alive and alright . . . and then I would floor them all into shock by announcing we were both alright. 11 Broken / Newell Part 3 - The real world My heart yet again felt like it was jumping out of its chest as we pulled into the local town of Darsby. Barbara was clearly excited, like a teenager actually. I knew this was the true test for her, the true test for us, if we had any chance of survival in the real world. My main concern was she would draw attention to us both and also it had been 3 months since I had any contact in the real world too - and I wondered if suddenly I’d topped the wanted lists known as the No.1 MAD scientist in the world I was so suspicious of everyone that was checking us out but most of these country-bumpkins were polite and welcoming, while all their focuses were firmly attached to Barbara’s shapely legs or cleavage. “Nice day for it” and the cowboy tipped his hat towards us as he walked by. ‘Day for what?’ I thought; my paranoia was kicking like a mule. “Please Babe can I ave me ‘air cut? Please . . . please” She was begging in her now ever-so sexy English accent while walking backwards in front of me clasping her hands to her chest. Barbara looked like an excited schoolgirl bouncing up and down jiggling those jubblies. Even I had to admit it – she was sexy but her hair had something all wrong about it, the ageing drugs had not worn off yet and her hair had turned fully jet black and had grown to twice its original length and was looking quite hillbilly, especially with that torn mini skirt she was adorning. “We’ll see,” I still felt uneasy in the town while Barbara was quite the opposite. The locals were paying us no attention which suited me fine but I could not take any chances for our freedom, “- we’ll just get some supplies first and then we’ll see.” And I looked around to see who was watching us – no one After loading the car with groceries I decided the locals had given us a warm enough welcome as unsuspecting newcomers to the area. It was small-town community and we definitely had a good chance of possibly fit in; we were no threat here Barbara convinced me it was more than safe to get her hair styled so we headed towards Bassey’s Hairdressing. I made sure she understood that her neckerchief/scarf was NOT to come off or to reveal her neck plate under any circumstances at all - or we both were screwed The scars from the neck grafting to the plate were still too fresh and she understood the consequences, so Barbara just nodded squinting up her nose with her excited lifeless eyes looking into mine. It was this actual moment in time I realised how beautiful she truly had become - and not in a Petra way, but in an innocent Barbara way with a youthful effervescence and always accepting of my words and instructions. 12 Broken / Newell I was not comfortable, squirming back and forth (obviously re the plate and because she was as chirpy as a baby blackbird) while she sat comfortably in the hairdresser’s chair. She was impressive in the way she chit-chat to Shirley about nothing in particular telling our story of how we met (remember? Well it wasn’t ‘THAT’ story), she lied her tight little butt off It made me just wonder if there was just a little of Petra left in there after all, as it was the only thing they had in common – they could talk all-night . . . about nothing I bought her some new outfits to her obvious delight and I gave in to a pair of red hot 4” stilettos, (she’d only just learnt to walk on flat feet for fuck’s sake) against my better judgement I asked Barb to wait in the van while I drew up enough courage to make the call to my parents. I still had no idea how I would break it to them but it was now or never They deserved to be told the truth. “Hello Pa-” 13 Broken / Newell Part 4 - After the rain One year had passed and I had no option but to return home, to the lab and to my destiny. In the beginning it was only getting better and better for us both and I admit that I sooner than later fell in love with Barbara, she was the light that filled the darkness of my soul and her learning capacity was second to none (except Petra’s of course). She became this sexy sweet innocent English girl-next-door grade ‘A’ scholar with the IQ of a budding genius and was nowhere the retard as I had believed. But it was her love for the arts that was her true calling and she had taught herself to paint, play guitar and sing. Her singing voice was hypnotising and I could listen to her sing all night. The way her new memory worked was kind of freaky, especially with music. She’d listen to a song then virtually play it remembering all the lyrics after maybe only 2 play throughs. It was always just us two, no TV, no outside media at all, no one but her guitar and us. My life should have been empty in this solitude as I was supposed to be this crazy insomniac workaholic yet here all I really was, was a teacher, handyman, gardener and a lover - yet I was happy and in true love and every night I slept – deep It rained at the end of winter for nearly 2 whole weeks and it was around this time the bitter sweet timing of life decided to cut us with its double edged sword. Barb was pregnant . . . and as any couple in love would expect, we were both nervously excited as our perfect duo would soon become a trio. But within her first trimester the signs had started to emerge. Barbara was ageing . . . and fast I’d monitored her over the next trimester and she was appearing to age at first by just a few years and before long 10 years in every month or so. The baby’s heartbeat sounded strong and fine but Barb’s illness was starting to dwell upon her now and she was constantly counting the wrinkles and crow’s feet on her face, as her nubile body disappeared quickly; bras were now a must At 8 1/2 months Barb was clearly older than me with mostly grey hair (except for one full streak of black at the front), failing eyesight and arthritic pained fingers with nails that needed clipping daily. The baby would come soon and she was concerned that her body was getting too old and had no chance to survive any natural type of birth. And in her sickness she begged me, “Babe, please save our baby . . . before I die.” No cockney slang just the cold hard truth and a request from a sweet caring girl with a significant mother-like instinctual behaviour whom would sacrifice herself for her child . . . without even blinking an eyelid. I knew what had to be done and it was now or never so I packed up our belongings and helped this beautiful creature to the van. We left midnight sharp th on Friday 13 with our farmhouse burning in the background like some cheap ‘B’ grade horror movie. But we could not leave any evidence or memories behind, for this place was our home and sanctum and I refused to leave any buried skeletons of our dark secret lying around to be unearthed. I had to ensure no one could 14 Broken / Newell dissect its beauty and its integrity, not even for science . . . so we burnt it to the ground. I pulled into my old car space at about 5pm and no one was around except the cobweb covered security camera that was definitely activated and flashing. I helped Barbara out and we huddled together making our way to the lift and I pressed floor 7. How long had it been? It had been a long time and it felt like an eternity. Barbara was looking quite exhausted now and she still managed to look me in the eyes and whispered, “Thank you.” It was in this flickering fluoro light of the elevator I realised her cadaver eyes had developed specks of green emerging and sparkling through both of them . . . Petra’s. The unit was cold and very musty but was exactly as I left it (except for dust and few spider webs) and Barbara never remembered this place where Petra and I started our life and love. After making Barb comfortable on the lounge to rest, I unloaded the van with all the medical equipment I thought I needed to perform the surgery. I could see Barb’s eyes watching my every move until she drifted off to nowhere land. I soon set up the make-shift operating table area and was able to commence immediately with the layout of all my frantically scribbled notes, books and drawings from the awakening. After only an hour or so it was clear to me that what used to be my comfort zone of insanity was now just a jumbled panic mess . . . I was fucked I had been going over this scenario in my mind since we decided to leave the farmhouse. I knew what I had to do but how? This was the real question here and then she spoke . . . and I heard a Russian accent, it was Petra “Frank, it cannot be done my darling, we are both going soon. You must accept the truth here and act quickly, save our miracle creation . . . the child.” And then Petra’s Russian voice was gone. Only Petra would have guessed I had brought Barbara back, not just to perform the caesarean but also somehow find the answer to the flaw in the ageing nutrient’s process. I alone was the one who had created this procedure so surely I could pull the handbrake on the fucker and slam it into reverse . . . couldn’t I? My tears flowed freely as I sat in my dusty chair while my handyman calloused hands covered my face, I was crying for hating reality. Sweet Barbara was out like a light so I mourned her forthcoming death privately. Petra was absolutely right and I knew I had left this run way too late; it was time to finish the story. 15 Broken / Newell Our last night together was here and we decided to just hold each other side by side on the lounge. There were no words to express our inner thoughts so we just did our best to drown in each other’s eyes silently listening to her favourite Mp6’s while I caressed and stroked her now brittle hair. Barbara’s dilated pupils were the only cadaver left within them as here once again were Petra’s emeralds - and the brutality hit home hard . . . it was my Barbara’s eyes I truly wanted to see at the end. I loved their bottomless emptiness; her eyes were my heart and my new-found soul. 16 Broken / Newell Part 5 - Life and death I called my sister Karen around midnight and before she could even get a word in, I told her of my impending doomsday plan that was already in full swing. Karen was well aware of Petra’s head and body resurrection but not of Barbara’s birth into my life or heart for that matter. After failing to do my best to explain to my dear father my actions and reasons, (that same day Barb had her long scraggly mane chopped to a shoulder length style that made her look, dare I say it . . . alive) the conversation was cut short and all family ties were severed. He believed I was criminally insane and blasphemous, ‘Nature’s Enemy’ as he put it. So I never had the balls to ring my dearest sister or anyone . . . I was ashamed and ostracized. “Kaz, please come over I need you now, our baby is coming he needs you” and I spilled all to my dear sister whom was silent on the other end. Barbara was drifting in and out of consciousness and she was clearly upset, moaning and crying but no teardrops appeared in her eyes at all and I realised I had never seen her cry, never ever, there was never any need to – before now. I had simply forgotten that her beautiful face was always partly dead and I that had grown to love the touch and coldness of her purple/bluish lips and tongue against my warmth when we made love. I continued my instructions to Karen to bring all newborn baby related things she could think of, blankets, bottles, formula, baby capsule and most of all, her understanding. I thanked her and told her to take it easy in the rain; a savage storm was about to hit us Barbara passed away while I was on the phone to Karen. I never got to say my final “Goodbye” to my soul mate or watch her eyes drift to the darkness for the second time. But as I wept openly I went into Stage 2 of this horrific nightmare. Thunder and lightning filled the room as I placed her still warm lifeless body on my make-shift operating table (the dining table). I slashed her stomach immediately doing my best to remember all I could about caesarean birth procedures that I’d learnt in medical school an eon ago. I pried the bloodied baby from Barb’s still warm placenta . . . and then my daughter cried; we had a daughter. After tying and cutting the umbilical cord I wrapped her tiny bloodstained body immediately in a bath towel and placed her gently on the couch . . . I didn’t even have time to clean or appreciate her; it was time for Stage 3. I removed Petra’s head from Barb’s body crudely but quickly and thanked God I had forgotten to turn off my back up cyro-freezer before I had left a year ago and thanked God yet again for solar energy (and I’m sure he – God, had been listening). I sealed her head within the same bag I had brought her home in and the memories came swirling back. Her face disappeared from my vision as the see- through bag frosted to ice instantly from the fresh oxygen It all came back - the heartache of loss . . . the heartache of loneliness . . . the heartache of being me – all returned 17 Broken / Newell I had just covered Barb’s dead headless torso (after respectfully stitching my hack job back to closure) when Kaz knocked on the door. She hugged me as soon as I opened the door and she was crying. We never spoke a word, we didn’t need to. We just hugged and held each other as my eyes opened to see it all. And how much stuff did she bring? She was our saviour. 18 Broken / Newell Part 6 - Destiny Oh how the insanity continued on that crazy night as soon as Kaz left with the baby, I yet again set alight my old abode to conceal as many truths or secrets about our misguided past as I could. And this time all my books and notes were piled and lit first; my scientist days were over and I had to start again from scratch. I had a baby to raise for Christ’s sake and I owed it to her mothers. I needed to live for her, for them, for us I wasn’t thinking clearly as all the events were swishing around my tired mind, as the taste of sickness filled my throat. I drove through the storm’s swirling wind and rain relentlessly; I just had to get her head back into “Thor”. I kept driving like a madman while branches flew in the van’s path and the wipers kept their constant timing at full speed. Nothing would stop me now I could see the white clinic through the fogged-up windscreen faintly in the distance. I pulled up outside and its fluoro lights were just as inviting as I always remembered except this time there was not much to look forward to, no chit-chat and no reminiscing, just Hell. I glanced into the rear vision mirror while a flash of lightning lit up the van and I looked like shit My nose was running and my hair was a fucking mess I did my best to finger-comb it back. My eyes were sunken and baggie so my old scientist eyes had finally returned – too late I took a deep breath as I grabbed Petra’s head from the passenger seat placing her into the backpack, then I nodded in the mirror as I pulled the yellow rain-hood over my head doing the best to convince myself, “Destiny my friend, this is about your fucking destiny” I nervously approached the glass entry inside the building where a security guard whom I’d never seen here before was on duty. Where was Gerry? My adrenalin was at its highest and refused to show any signs of weaknesses for them both. I took a deep breath. “Hi,” and I pulled my hood off and then thumbed the straps of my backpack downwards (yeh I knew, body language). “I’m here to visit Petra Einstein,” while handing him my security key and even I thought that that was a convincingly calm act of Dutch courage. The guard just nodded and entered my pin codes into the computer, then I placed my hand on the security scanner and my previous adrenalin rush faded, as fear took ahold of my twitching left leg. “No worries Mr Einstein, you’re good to go, enjoy your visit.” The guard smiled at me while cocking his head to the right nodding. I nearly dropped my card as he handed it back to me and I could hear my stomach gurgling as the glass doors creaked open. 19 Broken / Newell The chamber was exactly as I remembered and we entered the first available viewing room. I swiped the code and within a minute or two Petra’s space appeared with the head of some poor female I had pilfered at the beginning of this whole insane plan. I was amazed at how well no one would’ve picked the difference as the female’s features were so close to Petra’s and the nitro smoke haze of the chamber hid any finer details. I then wondered how on earth someone was able to explain a missing head but I had been long gone by then so it wasn’t my problem. Err correction Yeh it was Buster I quickly unscrewed the strips and the cover plate just as before. After placing my gloves on, I removed the head and placed it on the ground as I carefully lifted Petra’s head out of the freezer bag. I held her for the very last time face to face and blew her a frozen kiss goodbye before I stared at her for a few stolen seconds, reflecting back to our lives, my life with Petra and my life Barbara and I pondered which one was better? I could not answer they were chalk and cheese and so was I. I was leaving with the substitute head when the security guard pulled me up at the glass doors as my finger touched the red exit button. . . I was fucked So I questioned if I should make a run for it? “Stop Mr Einstein, I have a couple of questions please.” The guard placed his hands upon the cold backpack and without even realising the guard had directed me to the inside counter. Oh I was truly fucked, it was over. I actually breathed a sigh of relief no more torture I would just accept it all, take my punishment and rest, I was too tired to fight or run, I needed to rest. “Would you mind filling out the survey? Yeh, I know it’s a pain in the arse, I hate asking but its part of job? They drill me if I don’t make my quota.” I had nearly pissed myself and my bladder was hanging on tightly. “Of course” I said shakily, I was dying inside and I just wanted out of here for fuck’s sake - just get me fucking out of here The survey was just your average Y/N tick the square box fucker so I did randomly not even reading one page of the questionnaire. I farewelled the guard and nervously vacated the clinic with the backpack tightly gripped by my overheating sweaty hands . . . I was out at last I threw the head off a very secluded Gladstone Bridge with 2 bricks placed in the bottom of the backpack and I farewelled the head with a salute then a wave . . . she had earned it Evidence gone. It was over and I just stood there closing my eyes breathing heavily . . . I had finally started my destiny. 20 Broken / Newell Finale - Razor’s edge I believed Petara was my penance for going against the natural order of life and a constant reminder of what I had done – in every moment of what was left of this bittersweet one of mine. She was both of her mothers with Petra’s ability to analyse and solve way beyond her years mixed with Barbara’s playful creative blackened soul and voice (minus the accent). Her eyes were what I would call God’s torturous paybacks are a bitch joke on me as her left one was bright emerald green while her right, cadaver black and lifeless. Petara was dark and loved the darkness and all things dark, she wasn’t into TV, only music and her first love - books. She had a 10 year olds capability to read and write. Black was her favourite colour and she wasn’t into any bright colours at all, only black And her hair was just that, jet black and waist length. It was obvious the ageing drugs had become part of her DNA, but only affecting her hair at this early stage and it would need trimming weekly. It has been 5 years to the day since our little Petara was ripped into this cruel world so her Auntie Karen and family would celebrate her birthday along with me at her favourite place . . . “Thor”. I visited Petra & Barbara weekly and would until I was not around or better th still they were. I introduced Petara to her mothers a year ago on her 4 birthday and she seemed intrigued and asked so many questions . . . but she was never freaked out or scared in the clinic as if she got it and it all made sense. She understood she was different from the other kids at kindy and she liked it that way (even the carer’s seemed a little apprehensive towards Petara’s solemness). I told her the truth of how Daddy made a new Mummy from the old Mummy and that is where she came from. I never lied to her - I could never lie to her. Petara understood that this was our little secret and no one must ever know or Daddy would be taken away to a bad, bad place. She wasn’t a talker she was a loner just like me, so obviously one of my genes had slipped in there somewhere. I reassured Petara that one day her Mummies would be alive again, as it was inevitable someone would follow through on Petra’s expert workings in the field of nanotechnology and my proven work in genetics; it was all too well documented It would only take one bright up and coming spark to open his closed brain to figure out the missing pieces of the jigsaw of joining the two to make one just as I had. And suddenly their curiosity would take the better of them and as I - break the laws of nature. But this time I would wait until the ageing elements were more advanced and side effects would be less than minimal. I knew that Petra or Barbara brought back to life would make them a ripe old age of 65ish so in reality I had 30 or so 21

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