martinlivings | Tuesday's Ten Minute Tale

Okay, here we go. Thanks to

ashamel for "Java",

chrisbarnes for "insomnia", and

mynxii for "bubbles".

"carbon8"
(c) Martin Livings 19-8-2008

Insomnia. A programmer's best friend, and worst enemy.

<script type='text/javascript'>
document.write("<form name='formular'>");
document.write("<input type='button' name='time' value='Time'>");

It's four in the morning. Normal human beings are fast asleep. Bakers are waking up. But Max, Max hasn't slept in three days. He's too caught up in his script. His desk is a clutter of empty cans of Red Bull, and one half-full one. He takes another sip of it.

document.write("</form>");
var y=86400 //this is 24 h
function Timer()

His eyes are heavy and hot. His face feels numb. His fingers seem to be the size of salamis, for all their dexterity. He's typing fast, but the key he's hitting most often is the Backspace.

{
if (y!=-1)
{
s='Time: ';

Then the first bubble floats past his eyes.

Max watches it bob and weave gently in the air, the colours of his monitor refracting in its surface. It's the size of an egg, with a rainbow sheen. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes. No pop, nothing, just gone.

He blinks a few times, rubs his sore eyes. He must have fallen asleep for a moment. He continues working.

if (Math.floor(y/3600)!=0) {
s=s+Math.floor(y/3600)+'h';
}

Another bubble appears. This one is bigger, the size of Max's fist. It undulates and shimmers as it passes his face, heading up towards the ceiling, its shape unstable, elongated and uneven, like an inflated ribbed condom.

It reaches the roof, and vanishes, like the first one.

Max shakes his head. Three days awake, and this is what you get. As hallucinations go, though, it's not exactly terrifying. Still, he decides to get some sleep.

As soon as he finishes his script.

if (Math.floor((y%3600)/60)!=0) {
s=s+Math.floor((y%3600)/60)+'m';
}

He closes his eyes for a moment, pleased with his scripting. All things considered, it's pretty damn coherent. Then he opens his eyes again.

The room is filled with bubbles.

He doesn't react, doesn't yell. It's too surreal for that. Everywhere he looks, bubbles float upwards, ever upwards. Bubbles of every shape and size, from tiny ones that look as solid as ball bearings to huge bloated wobblers. They all reach the ceiling and disappear, but new ones seem to be streaming from the floor.

One lands on Max's nose and pops. Some of it goes up his nose, and he sneezes.

A stream of bubbles comes out.

Max laughs. This is actually pretty cool. He turns back to his computer screen, and, through a curtain of bubbles, continues to code.

document.formular.time.value=s+Math.floor(y%60)+'s';
var x=setTimeout("Timer()",1000);
y--;
} else{
y=86400;
Timer();
}

It's hard to concentrate. The bubbles are coming faster and faster, more and more of them. It's becoming difficult to even see the screen clearly.

Then he tries to press the Enter key, and nothing happens. He looks down at his right hand.

His pinky is gone.

He frowns, confused, and holds his hand up to his face. There are only three fingers and a thumb on his right hand. The pinky is gone. No blood, no wound, just a rounded nub of flesh where it once was.

Then, as he watched, his ring finger begins to fizz, effervesces, tiny bubbles rising from the skin. Covering the skin. The bubbles get bigger, and float away.

His finger is gone.

This hallucination isn't fun anymore. He growls, but no noise comes out. He can feel bubbles in his throat. He hunkers down and tries to finish the script, but he can feel himself vanishing, one bubble at a time. He tries to scream, but his mouth is filled with a thousand lightweight spheres.

With his elbows, he continues to type.

}
Timer();

His sight begins to fade, dissolve into a million pieces, each one distended, distorted. His screen breaks into bits, and is swallowed by bubbles.

He manages a few more keystrokes, and then is gone forever.