I did it. After lying in bed for an hour, puzzling, I just got up, throwing back the fuzzy covers and activated the decanting code. Almost instantly the chamber emptied and the glass chamber slid back with mechanical smoothness. His knees crunched, as they folded with is ankles, into the floor, hitting it with a sound like a sack of wet cement, and then the only sound was the steady drip from the tube. We paused there, his pink wetness, like a damp spot on a child's bed, offsetting my statuesque granite skin. Then his body lurched forward and he sprawled in the fetal position in the puddle on the concrete.
I could feel a hot rush pass over my body and I wondered, briefly, if I had blown a fuse.
This was Ridiculous!
This was a MISTAKE?!
He lay there with a stupid, wide-eyed stare as I became hotter and hotter. Normally time passed like fleeting sparrows, but as I stood there the minutes dragged by. Never had I experienced time before!
That I would be able to learn anything from this inanimate blob!
What a waste.
I turned on my heel and marched, disgusted, out of the lab.
For the next few months I avoided the lab, throwing myself into meaningless pursuits that I had long ago tired of. I did everything I could to keep him out of mind.
His frailness taunted me.
His inaction annoyed me.
Had I erred? Was I mistaken? If I was perfect, how could this be so?
When I finally mustered the courage to enter the lab, he was gone.
Where could he go?
The thrill of mystery, so long denied, was like a sip of perfect wine to a choked tongue.