Collection of Short Stories.

HURT

Colonel Peter Mikhailovich Pushkin squinted at the purple light, he hated it. They did as well, which is why the room was filled with the lurid light. The room smelled sharply of citrus. Behind him his superior stalked the cold steel chair Peter sat on.

    "Colonel, must I remind you of your loyalties." The voice was low and hard. "Or have you forgotten the reason we are here." There was no question in his superiors' voice. "If you do not complete the task you have been assigned Colonel, you and your family will face some measure of discomfort."

Peter looked down as the man rounded the chair. The floor was stained, the blotches indistinct in the purple haze. The man's shoes were a direct contrast to the mottled floor.   

    "Sir, why does it have to be me?

    "All men must go through adversity. If I am to know your worth Colonel, you must face that adversity, And I will know your worth."

   "Sir"

    His Superior continued round the chair, his steps sounding hard on the steel floor "Why did you kill it, Colonel?"

    "Sir, it was no longer responding."

    "Were you told to end the procedure?"    

    "Sir, no. Bu-"

    The door at the far end of the room opened, cutting Peter off. The light beyond the room was a pale yellow, the two colours melding together into a sickening soup. A tall woman strode in, clipboard in hand, hair pinned tightly back. "Sir, the next subject is ready. Shall we bring it in?" Reacting to a signal unseen by Peter the woman spun on her heels and strode out, the door closing behind her.

    "The work we do here is important Colonel, do not forget that", Peter heard a door behind him slide open as his superior left the room, leaving him alone in the hot, purple-lit steel room.

    Peter had been given this assignment after being awarded the Gold Star for gallantry during the battle for Zullen. A chance to serve the Federation he had been told, how this served the Federation Peter did not know. Peters fists clenched at his sides, knuckles bleached white he trembled, he fought back the moisture that threatened his eyes. I mustn't show weakness, I have to be strong, think of Anna, do it for her.

    The door in front of him swung open, the prim woman reappearing. Taking a deep breath Peter stood, relaxing his hands at his side. Behind the woman was a long steel tray, holding the new specimen. Its single compound eye a deep purple-grey as it tried to siphon out the light, flickered towards him, the edges of its eye puckered, a fear response. It was short for its species, perhaps 4ft. Peter looked away from the creature to a second table that was being wheeled in, filled with wicked tools and machinery. Soon Peter was left alone in the room with the creature, from its mouthpiece a mournful low lilting emanated, filling the room. 

    Lord forgive me.