A Different Road

Charlie ran down the road. He was agitated. Was this the right direction? So many times it seemed that he’d stumbled into a dead end.

He could feel the expansion of his veins as blood surged through them with each beat of his heart. His eyes bulged with exertion; his feet ached from pounding down the endless lanes. His mouth was dry, respirations harsh as he panted through parted lips. He needed a drink.

Right turn. Run. Left turn. Run. Left turn. Dead end.

He spun on his heels and doubled back the way he’d come, desperately trying to remember the confusing sequence of turns in reverse.

He stopped, disoriented.

Which way? Which way? Oh hell, which way?

He wanted to stop. How easy would it be to just give up now, to quit. Lie down and curl foetally, allowing the haze of blessed slumber to engulf him.

He pressed on, willing his legs to run. He’d no idea why he had to reach the end. It was what he had to do. Why does a river run downstream? Why does the sun rise? Why does Charlie have to reach his goal? For the same reason as last time, the same reason as next time. For the same reason as every time.

He increased his speed, tortured lungs urged to bursting, diaphragm open to its limit, gasping for oxygen in the enclosed walls rising high above the road on either side of him.

Shaking his head for clarity, he forced the threatened blackness from his peripheral vision. His mind cleared and the darkness retreated, thoughts focused.

I must think clearly. Have to think clearly.

He’d lost weight, his bones visible, vertebrae raised and defined each one protruding, clearly separate from its neighbours. How long now since he’d eaten? How long since he had tasted water? His hair was matted and dirty and he smelled strongly of his own waste products.

He turned the corner. It was a dead end.

He missed his friends and family, was isolated and alone. He hated being taken from them. Maybe at the end of this road they would be waiting. Or perhaps they’d be at the end of another road.

Retrace, retrace, think, and concentrate.

Time was running out. His mind clouded as he tried to remember how long he’d been running or how much time he had left. He felt desperate, alone, scared, determined. He had to reach the end.

Right turn. The end was ahead of him. He’d done it. Extra reserves, extra speed as he burst through the gate at the end of the course.

Professor Harland lowered her clipboard.

‘Four minutes and twenty eight seconds—and it’s a tougher maze. He’s clipped three and a half seconds off last week’s time. Amazing what a little hunger can do, isn’t it?’
She gazed benevolently down at her creation, a mother marvelling for the thousandth time at her clever infant.

Charlie was the world’s first rat genetically bred with implanted human intelligence. Charlie cursed his human emotions. If only he also had the human vocal chords to tell them how he felt.

The large Black rat finished drinking and turned his hate filled, human face towards its creator.