I was innocently sitting at my computer one evening plugging away at a story (Countdown) when this thing oozed onto my screen.  Ah well, at least there's no rape or torture.  Or even mature content.  Or character development or plot.  Or title.

text fragment
by
NaOH_r
 
 

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STANDOFF CONTINUES AT LOCAL COLLEGE

A tense drama continued at a local college late this afternoon as a physics professor held another professor and at least two students hostage in one of the chemistry laboratories.

A college spokesman was unable to provide details other than to say that no one had been killed.

Wild rumors swept the campus community about a Fountain of Youth formula the physics professor claimed to have developed.

Other rumors about the formula indicated that it had different effects, some even claiming that it reduced the size of test animals, acting as a shrinking formula.

Teams of reporters were heading to the campus this evening to determine the truth behind the rumors.

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She was still cute.  In fact, she looked younger and freer this way, unclothed, with her hair unbound and eyes flashing.  Most would find her cuter now, less authoritarian, sexier.  Indignation mixed with forlorn helplessness suited her.

But still he preferred her the way she had been, with her prim glasses and plain skirt and blouse, with her lumpy labcoat over all.  She had been more dignified that way, more quietly assertive, more intelligent.

Probably she was still formal.  The students and staff always were Mister and Miss, the other teachers Professor or Doctor.  Everybody thought that made her cold and distant  but he was sure that was an act.  There was passions, demons hidden there, buried not so far from the surface.  He'd wanted to somehow bring them into the daylight since the day he'd met her but there'd never been a spark between them, never an opening that might lead them down the same path.

Certainly she'd been cordial to him, even friendly.  She appreciated his respect for her abilities, even as she seemed blind to his desires.  They were colleagues, they worked together, they collaborated.

And she was a good collaborator.  She had listened respectfully in her turn to his theories but was never afraid to criticize or even tear them to shreds when she detected any fallacy.  She had few original ideas but was talented at combining the thoughts of others, at producing wholes that were greater than the sums of the parts.  He was going to miss working with her.

She had been the one to see the limits of physics, that wires and rays and fields could only take them so far, that they weren't enough.  She had been the one to try the apparatus of the chemist, the beakers and test tubes and interesting liquids.

Didn't they see what he had done for her?  Now she would be young and vigorous for decades, even centuries.  Think of the things she could learn, the theories she could help refine, the papers she could write.  And what a teacher she'd be.  The knowledge she could pass on, the accumulated wisdom she could impart.  A dozen generations from now, there would be gratitude to him for preserving her beauty and charm.

He'd never live to see that, not now.  Look at the contempt and fear in the eyes glaring at him, at how the foolish coeds tittered in shock while the brutes with handcuffs in their hands waited to bind his, to lead him roughly away.

That was the hardest part.  Not the disgrace but  to be led away from her, never again to work with her, talk with her, be with her.  He'd be confined, in hospital or prison, for what remained of his life, far from her.

Only she didn't blame him, didn't see him as a madman.  Only she knew he was no danger to others.  Hadn't she been the one to convince him that it was wrong to use it on one of the foolish tittering coeds, persuading him that no matter how tiresome they were, they were still his charges, his wards.  So really it was her responsibility as much as his.  Somebody had to be first.  Somebody had to be the lightening rod for the attention that was sure to come.

There would surely be talk later, talk that he should have used it on himself.  But he knew it had to be a woman.  A young woman.  An attractive woman who could tease the cameras and soften the cynical hearts of the reporters and editors and finally charm the world.  It had to be the way he'd done it.

'Come on, doc, put it down.'  One of the security men was talking to him.  He looked to where they blocked the door.  There was no escape for him.  But they wouldn't come to him, not while he still held it.  He could throw it at their feet, give one of them the same gift he had given her.  But they scarcely deserved it, brutes too loutish to solve a simple equation, too cowardly to rush an old man.

'Please, Professor, let us go.'  The two coeds on the other end of the room huddled together, nervously giggling, pleading with him.  Perhaps one of them should be next, after all.  He'd used the contents of one test tube on her but one of them could still receive the gift of the full test tube remaining in his hand.

'Make way.  Let us through.'  The two strangers burst through the astonished guards to stand facing him.  The man was pointing some sort of camera, first at him, then at the two coeds, then back at him.  No, not at him, at the lab table next to him.  At her.  Then the woman started speaking.  Speaking to him.  Asking him questions.  Now the cameraman focused on the woman who had entered with him.  A television crew.  A television reporter.

'Come on, doc, put it down.'  The security guard repeated his line.  He looked at the test tube in his hand.  His arm was tiring, he couldn't stand here much longer.  He looked over at the foolish, frightened coeds, pleading still.  He looked down at her.  She caught his eye, read his thought and shook her head.  No.  But she would need company.  It wasn't fair for her to be alone like that.

He looked at the television reporter.  He recognized her from the local news program.  She was dignified.  She was assertive.  She was intelligent.  He raised his arm and silence filled the room as the loutish, cowardly security guards vanished out the door and the cameraman retreated into a far corner, still panning from the reporter to him to her to the foolish but now quiet girls and back to the reporter, silent mouth hanging open.

He looked at the reporter.  He looked at the coeds.  He looked at her.  And he drew his arm back.