“A LITTLE REVENGE”

A short story presented to

Dr. Eden G. Aquino

Faculty Senior High School Department

ZAMBOANGA CHONG HUA HIGH SCHOOL

In partial fulfillment of the requirements

21st Century Literature from the Philippines and the

world

By: Sharah Ghyll Lui 12-Hawking

September 7 2018
George Chouse rolled out of bed, Monday morning about

eleven o’clock. It was an hour later than was his

customary hour of rising. He wasn’t sure if it was a

dream, or a premonition, but he had the feeling that to-

day would start a new direction for his life.

George was a nerd; he knew it was true even though he

wasn’t sure, just what was meant by the term.

It had to do with a person’s education, he thought,

specifically education in the sciences. There was a social

issue of course—it’s hard to react to people, who don’t

have the education level to understand.

George’s considered reaction, to this problem was to

ignore those he felt were his inferiors. Even most of his

 contemporaries did not like him. He was, they argued:

opinionated, rude and overbearing.

You see George was literally a basket case as far as

communication on an oral level was concerned. It was

the one and only level of education he couldn’t master.

The few times he had tried were etched in his memory in

horrific proportions. George was tongue tied—the very

thought of public speaking terrified him.

Scratching his butt, he waddled to the bathroom, it

wasn’t his favorite room, but none the less a necessity.

Looking in the mirror he was always shocked by his own

refection. ‘If ugly was a million dollars you would be a

person of incredible wealth,' he told his refection.

Looks and appearance were something beyond his

control, so he ignored them, but he couldn’t help but

 wonder how perfection could be packaged in such an

unbecoming shell.

His professional papers were generally accepted without

even being read, such were his credentials. Most of his

conclusions were accepted without question, because he

had always proved them to be right.

Since leaving university with a master in medical science,

George was working on a master serum. He had won

critical acclaim based mainly on his written submissions.

The reaction of the academic world was, if anyone can

create a super serum it would be George. That won him a

research grant of respectable proportion. Seven years

had passed since his first grant and it had been renewed

several times, but now it was being questioned, money

was becoming scarce to say the least.

 George traced most of his problem to the feet of Alex

Baldwin. He graduated from university the same year

George had, but with a BA in political science and a

master’s in public speaking.

Now the cancellation of George’s pet project was in the

wind and there was little he could do about it. Alex spoke

elegantly against the project, arguing that we were

throwing good money after bad.

Well he thought there was one chance to save this

project; he would have to push up the human trials. The

trials have passed both the rodent and monkey stages,

human trials were all that was needed. He had hoped to

do some in-depth checks first, but thanks to Alex

Baldwin, that was no longer an option.

George walked south on Brant St. It was just a few blocks

to the slums where homeless people would be available.

George was rather particular in regards to his choice of a

human for the final test. It couldn’t be some mindless

wreck—no the specimen would have to be rather high

functioning, someone who could at least communicate

logically.

He wandered around for an hour without running across

anyone with the grey cells necessary to paste two words

together. Disappointed he sat on a bench in what the

City Administration laughingly called a park. It was in

reality a vacant space between two buildings created

when a restaurant burned down. No one was interested

in rebuilding on what could only be called wine-o-street.

There was a diner just across the street, so George

decided to have a bite before resuming his search. When

 he stood up he noticed a man sitting on the stone wall

that ran along the front of the park. He was rocking back

and forth, both his hands firmly clasped to his head.

George headed toward the restaurant, but when he drew

near the man he stopped.

“What’s the matter pal—you got a headache or

something?”

The man looked up at him through blood shot eyes.

“Yea, it’s not unusual, I get one every time I go without

food for more than three days.”

“I’m sure you have your problems, hell I have some of my

own. I’m going across the street for a bite—come on the

food will do you good and perhaps we can solve each

others problems for a while.”

 “I haven’t any money?”

“Oh never mind. It’s on me.”

The strange duet crossed the road and entered the diner.

A non-descript waitress laid two menus on the table.

“Coffee?”

George watched his companion, who nodded.

“Yes please, mine black.”

“Just a little milk, in mine please.”

The two men were left on their own, as the waitress

prepared their coffee.

 “How long have you been on the street?”

I don’t rightly know—time on the street takes on a

meaning of its own. Its time: to find something to eat, or

a dry place to catch a nap. Of course many, myself not

excluded, take to booze just to help forget the pain of

being hungry and cold. I don’t know, but I can honestly

say it’s been too long.”

The coffee arrived and George watch as the street man

gulped a couple of mouthfuls of coffee seemingly

impervious to the temperature.

“Ohhh! That’s good.”

“You better look at the menu and decide what you want

to order.”
 George watched as his guest leafed though the menu

several times, but still no decision.

He waved the waitress over.

“My guest seems to be having a hard time deciding what

he wants. He is perhaps a little overwhelmed by the

scope of your offerings. Maybe you could recommend

something—well if you don’t know what’s good who

does?”

The waitress reached across to the menu and pointed to

the beef stew.

“That is without a doubt the best bang for your buck.

Thick rich gravy, lots of meat and an interesting selection

of vegetables all in a large bowl, you can’t go wrong.”

The street man was nodding eagerly and pointing to the

stew.”

“Two bowls of stew, two orders of bread and butter, oh

yea our coffee cups are almost dry.”

George was genuinely concerned about the welfare of

his potential lab rat, but certainly not to the extent of

seeing his passion of over seven years fail. What’s the

value of a human life?—when weighed against the

betterment and welfare of society as a whole?

George’s thoughts were interrupted with the arrival of

the food.

The man’s reaction to the food was not what George

would have expected. He seemed almost aloof slowly

savoring the flavor of the food. He seemed to genuinely

enjoy the food, but at a slow and measured pace.

“I would have expected you to wolf your food, seeing

that you have been without for so long.”

“I don’t know why I would do that. I know what its like to

be without food and I don’t like it, so why would you

expect me to hurry back to it?”

“Yes I can see your point. Maybe when we are finished

you would accompany me to my lab where can discuss

our individual problems and how we might assist each

other.”

“I’m more interested in the possibility of another helping

of stew right now.”

“Of course, when ever you’re ready signal the waitress.”

George wondered why he was reluctant to learn this

man’s name. Was it tied to the fact that he was trying to

exploit him. It’s after all a lot easier to use and abuse

someone you don’t know, than it is to stab a friend in the

back. What in the hell do I know about friendship at just

short of thirty years old I can’t even remember a

friendship. Even as a child I was on the outside of the

loop the nerd that just didn’t fit in—well when my serum

is proven we shall see who fits in.

George was brought back to reality with a jolt. The street

man was examining him like he was some kind of

specimen.
 “You okay pal?—gee you were in the other world there

for a while. I sometimes go there myself, often wondered

what it would be like if I never came back.”

“Okay you ready to go.”

As the two men walked back to George’s living

quarters/lab they were indeed a study in contrast.

George dressed in the latest fashion, still managed to

look seedy, while his slim almost gaunt companion dress

in rags almost looked regal.

Safely in his loft George made a pot of coffee.

“Okay I’m rather anxious to get this underway. Here’s

what I expect and need from my volunteer. Let me finish

first, then I will answer any questions you may have. I

have been working on a super serum, one that would

 render those taking it, immune to all known diseases. I

have been working on this serum for about seven years

and I believe success is at hand. All the tests I have

subjected this serum to have been satisfactory. Mice,

rats, dogs and yes even moneys have all been tested and

found disease free.

The next step is for human tests. Normally human tests

take upward of seven years, sometimes even decades to

get approved and quite frankly, I just don’t have that kind

of time available.”

“What do I get for doing this?”

‘I’m offering five thousand dollar and that’s very

generous considering that there is no risk involved in

these tests, at least in my humble opinion.”

“Okay what are you going to do to me?”

I will inject you with a dose of my serum combined with a

sedative. It will take only second for your body to

completely absorb the serum. I will after an hour infect

you with Yellow Fever, Hepatitis A & B and a rather nasty

strain of Flue. At four hours I will test you and find you

are free of any of the nastiness I have exposed you to.

Then I will wait until you come out of the sedative, so we

can celebrate a great success.”

“Okay, I have little to lose, let get on with it.”

“First I want you to take a bath. I will lay out a pair of

pajamas. I think they will fit you well enough to cover the

essential areas. When your done I will get you to sign a

consent form and then we will be hours away from fame

and fortune.
George went to the kitchen pour himself a cup of coffee,

sat down and then pinch himself just to be sure this was

reality. Seated at the table drinking coffee George could

barely contain himself. Already plans of a gigantic

celebration were being formulated in his mind.

Rummaging around in a cupboard he found an almost

forgotten bottle of bourbon. He poured a generous shot

of the fiery liquid into his cup smiled and raised his cup in

a silent toast.

Finally on his third lap around the kitchen the sound of

the shower finally became silent. George forced himself

to wait until the man had time to get into bed. Then

armed with the consent form he made his way to the bed

room.
The change a bath made to this man was dramatic to say

the least. Gone were the deep angular lines, sharply

imbedded in his filth incrusted face. His whole persona

was so dramatically changed he could have been a

different person.

George pointed out on the form, where he needed to

print his name and were his signature was required.

He prepared the hypo while glancing at the name on the

form: Arthur Gant, so the mystery man had a name.

With time to kill George was too antsy to just sit and

wait. A couple of circuits around the kitchen and he was

off. He walked several block till he found a men’s clothing

store that was not top of the line. A pimply face

attendant who looked like he was the result of not

enough education and too many sweets greeted him.

 “May I serve you sir?”

“Yes I want a complete outfit for a man with a thirty-two

waist and a thirty-one inseam. Two pair of socks and

underwear, one each of the rest, pants, shirt, spring

jacket and winter coat.” The purchases came to just a

little less than a hundred and forty dollar. George pay by

cash and took a receipt.

He glanced nervously at his watch as he hurried home.

The two hour deadline for the next injection was drawing

near and although the timing wasn’t that important, in

was an insult to George’s work ethic to prolong it.

The shot was given fifteen minutes late and the clock

started counting down to the climax.

 The sandwich was as much a nervous habit as it was a

sign of hunger. Coffee and sandwich in hand he paced

the limits of his rather small kitchen. The time seemed to

have stopped.

Glancing at his computer, George thought that was a

good way to kill time. He called up a poker game and

waited fifteen minutes until an opening appeared at the

table. One thousand dollar stake and a participation fee

of two dollar was the cost of playing.

George was smart enough to realize he wasn’t a good

gambler, but he also realized he was a much better

player on line then he was in person. He could count

cards pretty good and without his presence his

excitement was invisible.

He played as a means of passing time, rather then a real

interest in the game, but an hour and a half later, when

he punched the bank/exit button he was a rather

impressive winner.

Scooping up the needle and vials necessary to draw

blood samples he hurried in to the patient’s room.

Ten minutes later he was in the lab running toxicology

tests on the samples. George was a no stranger to the

procedure, but when he got perfect results, he reran the

tests just to make sure.

George, back in the kitchen laid down the test results, as

if he was presenting a copy of his homework, to a very

strict teacher. Just as Georges’s excitement was nearing

the uncontrollable stage, he heard a sound from the

bedroom.
Rushing into the room, George found his charge sitting

on the edge of the bed.

“We have succeeded; the serum is everything we could

have expected. We will be famous Arthur.” George stop,

all of a sudden award that Arthur’s reactions to the

information was not normal.

Arthur was looking at him quizzically, like he didn’t

understand a thing that had been said. The next hour

was spent learning the Arthur was indeed mentally

challenged.

George told him, using a method of gestures and hand

signals that he should get dressed. The process seemed

to be rather slow and thought provoking, but with

George’s help the task was soon completed.

 When dinner of steak and fried potatoes was finish,

George found a T V show that entertained Arthur. He

didn`t shown any interest, until George stumbled onto a

cartoon show and now he was enrapt.

George speed dialed the medical lab of the local

university. It was after hours and he knew if anyone was

there it would be Frank. He was undoubtedly the closest

thing to a friend George had and undoubtedly the

reverse was equally true. Their friendship was work

related, not by design, but due to the fact that neither

had considered anything else.

“Frank here, it’s your dime so state your problem and we

shall see if I can help.”

“Hi Frank, George here and I need to ask you for a huge

favor. I have a patient who is showing a rather puzzling

medical condition. I would like to run a brain scan on

him, so I can understand what’s happening.”

“Yea that can be arranged, but I think I’m being

monitored. Oh they of course know I’m living here, but

lately they have been questioning any spikes in hydro or

heat. How does nine tonight sound to you?”

“Nines okay, but I don’t want to cause you any problems.

“Don’t worry about it. They think I’m a genius in the field

of radiology and they’re right. Considering what they pay

me, I save them literally thousands a month, cobbling up

this bunch of trash, they call learning machines. No, they

won’t fire me—it would probably be the best thing in the

world for me if they did.

“Okay we’ll see you at the back door about nine tonight.”

All ready George’s mind was formulating plans, to

address the worst possible outcome, that the serum did

indeed cause the changes to Arthur’s persona. The

injection needed to safeguard a person from disease was

minuscule—one cc of George’s serum was all that was

needed. The depth of penetration was not important a

simple scratch was adequate. George was shaken out of

his meditation, by the realization time was getting on.

In the living quarters, Arthur was still engrossed in the

cartoon channel.

“Come on Arthur, we need to get something to eat, then

we have to visit a man I know from the university.”

George watched carefully to see the reaction to his

 words, but although it was evident Arthur heard the

sound, the light of understanding just wasn’t there.

Frank met them at the rear door of the radiology lab.

“Hey, George, long time, no see.”

“Yes, it’s been a day or two. How have thing been going

for you?”

“Oh I can’t complain. So this is the patient, I take it.”

“Yes, this Arthur and we need to know what is happening

in his grey cells.”

“Why don’t you grab yourself a coffee, while Arthur and I

conduct a few tests?”

 “I had kind of hoped I could be a part of the tests.”

“Well get over that, will you—nobody gets into my test

booth except me and the patient.”

George was ninety percent certain of what the results

would be, but he had to know for sure. There was also

the need to know if this condition was permanent or

would normality return with time. A deep sadness

engulfed him, at knowing his life would change

completely, with the failure of his serum. An all

consuming hatred was forming in George’s mind, aimed

at the one he most blamed for his failure.

Alex Baldwin would have to pay a price, for all the pain

he had caused, George just hadn’t figured out how yet.

“A portion of Arthur’s brain has lost its ability to process

information of a communication nature.” Frank tossed

the test results on the table in front of George.

"Read them and weep.”

“Okay, all you have told me is what’s obvious. A

blithering idiot can see this man’s mentally diminished

what I need to know: is it permanent, could it be related

to an injection, and finally, will he continue to regress?”

“I don’t know—what have you done to this man?”

“I entered into an experimental serum test with him. I

have a signed agreement from him and I now need to

know if my drug played any part in his condition.”

“Here’s my advice for whatever its worth. Find someone

stupid enough to agree to participate. Rerun your test if

the results are the same it’s a safe bet your serum is

responsible. In three weeks to a month I would like to

retest Arthur, which will allow me to compare the two

results. That will tell us if his condition is improving,

deteriorating, or is static. You are playing a dangerous

game, George. I will help you on a limited basis, but be

fore-warned at the first hint of trouble, I just don’t exist.”

George nodded. “See you in three weeks.”

On the way back to his lab, George’s mind was working

overtime. He knew if Arthur’s condition remained static,

his project was in trouble and so was he.

He needed time—time to think, unfettered by the need

to tend to Arthur.
George suddenly pulled over to the side of the street. He

franticly searching his wallet for the name and number of

a man he had used for odd jobs in the past. The

possibility of the number still being viable was remote,

but it didn’t cost anything to try.

George tapped the number on his cell-phone and

pressed send. The phone rang again and again an

unpromising sound, just as George was about to cancel

it, someone answered it.

“I’m looking for Jim Rudder, is he there please?”

“Yes, just a minute.”

“Jim Rudder here, who am I speaking to?”

 “George Chouse, how are you doing?”

“Oh—I manage to make the dollars stretch from pay to

pay.”

“I have a job for you if you’re interested; it involves

looking after a mentally challenged man of about forty.”

“How challenged is he?”

“He is rather high functioning; he just has a problem with

communications. Look if you’re interested, come to my

loft tomorrow about ten we can talk about it.”

“Okay I’ll be there.”

The ride back to the loft was a much more relaxed affair.

George got Arthur a glass of coke and a bowl of chips;

situated in front of the T V he seemed attentive. Armed

with a glass full of ice, half full of bourbon, he headed to

his workshop.

George was a dart enthusiast, but he was bothered by

tendonitis. He had worked on a method of firing a dart

without having to throw it. The concept was complete,

but it used compressed air to fire the dart. Powered by

miniature compressed air cylinders, it became a little

expensive, even if he could convince the authorities to

recognize it. He pulled out all the plans relating to his

dart game, along with his notes pertaining to the serum

that constituted his total adult life. For several hours he

poured himself into the data, finally he shoved it back, a

satisfied smile on his face.

George suddenly emerged a look of concern bought on

by the sudden remembrance that he had left Arthur

watching T V several hours ago unsupervised. He hurried

into the living room to find the TV shut off and no trace

of Arthur. A brief search found him to be snugly in bed

and gave George reason to wonder.

It appeared that Arthur’s ailment only affected his

speech and perhaps his understanding of speech. His

ability to identify and perform simple tasks seemed

unaffected. A confused George retired for what was left

of the night.

There was a certain satisfaction in Georges’s persona; his

step was noticeably lighter, springier this morning. The

redesign of his dart delivery system had played over and

over in his head last night; he could find no fault in it.

 The clock moved at a snails pace, inching it way to the

proposed appointment time. George was on his third

coffee when the buzzer rang.

He moved to his computer and entered a command,

instantly a closed circuit image of the guest was

displayed. The push of another button activated the

elevator and allowed Jim Rudder to enter his loft.

The negotiations were short, but intense and resulted in

an agreement that was to the liking of both men.

George was excited, now that his responsibility for

Arthur was being looked after, he put his mind to

revenge. Alex Baldwin would have to be discredited and

how better to do it then at a public address he was giving

on George’s research.
For the next two weeks George was immersed in his plot.

It was developed, tested, redeveloped and retested,

many times before it met his approval.

The decision about funding for George’s research would

be decided after the rally, discussing both pro and con.

He had no illusions; the chance of his grant being

extended was remote. Even if he succeeded in silencing

Alex Baldwin, his research grant was probably at its end,

so his action was not to put a wrong, right, but rather to

avenge a wrong.

George arrived at the public meeting an hour before Alex

was scheduled to speak. He wandered around the room

chatting with an acquaintance here, or there. He

suddenly realized he was networking the crowd,

something that had terrified him up until now.

As the prescribed hour neared, George moved closer to

the steps leading up to the stage. The best range was

four to eight feet, under four allowed the dart/hypo to

hit too hard, drawing attention to the fact that the

target, had been shot, while over eight made targeting

very problematic.

As Alex moved toward the stairs to the stage, George in

creased his pace, at about five feet from his target he

fired the compressed air activated dart launcher

concealed in the handle of his cane. The dart flew

straight and true imbedding its point into Alex’s thigh

mid way between the knee and hip. The penetration was

so sallow that it registered as an insect sting, causing

Alex, to involuntarily brush it away. Before that could

happen the movement of the clothing, dislodged the dart

and it dropped unnoticed to the floor.

 George stepped forward his hand stretched out in

greeting.

“Alex, nice to see you, I just want to assure you, there

will be no hard feeling, no matter how the decision on

my project goes.” To the most critical observer it seemed

like a friendly meeting, after which George took a seat.

It wasn’t long before a sense of confusion developed on

stage. It wasn’t apparent what was causing it, but in due

course one of the organizers came to the microphone.

“This meeting will have to be rescheduled, there seems

to be a medical issue which we need to look into.”

George expected a decision on his funding rather quickly,

but the issue of what happened to Alex seemed to be

slowing it down. Alex’s inability to speak was being

explained as a probable stroke and George was thankful

for any delay.

With Jim Rudder paid off, George was again Arthur’s sole

care giver. Time dragged on with George expecting a

decision, which just didn’t come. Finally it was time for

Author’s second brain scan. They arrived at the

university, about nine o’clock and George bided his time

while the tests were conducted.

“I have some good news for you. The tests indicate that

Arthur’s ability to understand oral communication is

improving and I see no reason not to expect it to

continue. I think within a month he will be as normal as

he was when this began.”

The drive back to his loft/lab was sobering for George. He

realized he must tell Arthur; this whole experiment was a

 farce, that without the extension in his funding he was

unable to honor his commitment to Arthur. How dose

someone explain something so important, to someone

who is incapable of understanding?

As they entered the loft George noticed the message

machine was flashing. He pushed the play button.

“Congratulations George, your funding has been

approved for one more year.”

Wow, he thought, what a differences a little revenge can

make.