Flash (sci)fiction. Gino's Hard Ale

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--------cleaned up and revised. Now with more direction!----


"Is the Doc in yet?" said the nurse in a clinical robotic tone.

"He's currently selling to a client. Give me Mr. Banks' chart, I'll sign for some more sedation while he waits."

Mr. Banks was uneasy, laying rigid on his hovering bed. The sterile plastic sheets crinkled. He thought of dying here. That horrible sound. He wondered how many left their minds with that sound orchestrated under their twitching bodies.

He got this nervous for superficial reasons at home. But delusions always faded. Forgotten. But this was real. And it was almost time. He knew because he heard a relay click. He saw stirring in his machine fed drip, and he felt his mouth get dry.

The Doc calmly walked through the small double doors, just wide enough for a stretcher. Things are efficient these days and small clinics need to use all the space they can get.

"River..." he paused.
"or should I call you Mr. Banks?"

"Either is fine. And you don't have to ask. My parents were hippies." He tried to sound friendly through the filter of sedation.

"O.k. Mr. Banks. This should be simple enough. We have plotted your images into the system. These miraculous machines will do the rest. You should be feeling relaxed. Once I start the secondary drip you will drift into peaceful sleep. This process will be entirely chemical and will completely cleanse your body of Geneva radiation. I see your a first timer due to our new insurance ......." the Doc didn't need to continue.

Mr. Banks was well into the dreamworld before he could consume the rest of his speech. And better for it, at least for the time being.


--
2 hours passed with the machine computing, measuring, testing, and administering. The Doc was chatting with the receptionist when she pointed to the surveillance screen.

"Our dreamer has emerged" she said with a smirk.

The Doc walked to room #3 and pushed the double doors open slowly. He walked softly on white tile with his eyes on a clipboard.

"That's it?" Banks managed to whisper with most of his vocal cords.

"Your done. You can rest as long as you would like. When your ready please sign out at the desk. If you have any complications give us a call." He walked out at double speed.

Banks expected second rate service. He was using his newly acquired free insurance after all. But the overall experience was cold and unsettling. But he got what he needed. It would take years for the radiation to build up to this level again. And with the promised yearly cleansing it didn't have to. He knew they had some intrusive advertising scheme to pay for this service, but he could stomach the standard 10 minute commercial. How bad could it get?

--

That night at the beach.

Mr. Banks was driving his monster truck. He hit a small dune at full speed and flew through the air, passing over some kids building a sand castle. A beautiful women was sitting next to him, smiling with a face straight from the movies. Observers cheered him on, all holding cans of Gino's Hard Ale.

--

It gave me the creeps...

"And then she realized nobody cares."

I was hoping for more views but oh well. I'm teaching myself to write and each attempt my writing style changes. I appreciate any feedback if your into this nature of writing.


What its about ....

How do companies give away services, yet still manage costs? Ask around, advertising. What happens when medical costs exceed your income? The government? On the verge of collapse. But how far will advertisers go? We have mapped the brain and chemical intrusion is not far away.

(not a tag line, just thought that would be a quick summary)

ps. I love sci-fi, yet hate 95% of it. I like stories with hard science and/or philosophy. Sci-Fi to me is freedom to study people in impossible situations, as well as predict and point out our current problems. So any scifi haters who think I'm writing about monster movies and generic aliens can .. do whatever they want. Not saying I don't like aliens

Sci-Fi has always been the outcast. My favorite author Phil K. Dick bought horse meat at the pet supply store to feed himself. Some say it was an act of self pity, but he was genuinely poor.

Every year a new movie based on his stories gets made. He died before Bladerunner was released, there were no sheep.