(Wrote this to try and get some motivation to play Urssenbeck. Decided to post it here just for some fun)
The small chamber that the young man entered was not unlike a prison cell; It was a large rectangular space, not unlike that of a small apartment.
A few simple furnishings were strewn about haphazardly — like pieces of broken glass left on the floor from a shattered window.
The young man turned, and examined the corners of the room. The walls were made of wooden paneling. The windows were covered by stained curtains, ensuring complete privacy for anyone who wished it. He continued to glance around, seeing how each wall seemed to have something hanging from it. Shelves filled every available space; Papers, documents, sketches, artifacts, clippings, texts, parchment, paintings, and maddened scrawls choked the walls of any emotion resembling comfort.
The young man decided to open the door further, letting the light shine upon the sketches of man and creation which stood on display, forming a haphazard pile on the floor.
The candles that hung from a stand had long burned and melted, the open door was the only source of light the room had.
The young man stayed silent, before speaking up. "Brother? Brother, are you there?"
"Yes," came the voice from behind the desk, which had been facing away from the door. It was dull and hoarse.
"I am here." There was no attempt at movement.
The doctor was slumped over his chair, facing away from the door, turning his head at the voice of his half-brother. He pointed a stumbling hand toward the ceiling. His voice was hoarse and he coughed repeatedly into his fist as if to clear it of some phlegm. He looked weary beyond words—tired, old, weathered, beaten down by his profession.
"Close the door," he said at last, in a tired, hopeless voice that was almost a whisper.
The young man reached out a hand, but his brother pulled away. The doctor stared, with tired eyes and trembling hands, reaching out to ignore his half-brother, and to attempt to close the door.
"Leave me alone. Jurgen. You are too young to know what this means," he said at last, "but you will understand when you grow older."
"Willhelm-" The younger brother started, stopping his brother from closing the door. "Please try to listen." The younger man pleaded.
The doctor turned away, once more, past his half-brother, and towards the light, ignoring any words his half-brother might want to say in protest. His face grew more unreadable, as he stared at the bright light. Diagram upon diagram he clutched to his chest. He coughed his sickly tone, choking on words as he started to mutter to himself, slowly staring at the various vials and glasses that lay next to him.
"It will be a life's work," he said softly, "Everything I have and will learn about the human body—to be placed in a single room."
His eyes suddenly darkened, his voice wrought with spite, he stared, his mouth open wide. "Why am I the first to attempt such a task? Why should humanity die in ignorance because every man for some reason has chosen to hold back what they could accomplish?"
He shook his head sadly, his eyes hardening once more into cold, dark weariness, and his lips moved soundlessly as if forming an answer. His eyes seemed to stare out, gazing at something invisible out past his concerned half-brother.
The doctor stood silent, staring at the gleaming light that blinded his vision as sudden rage filled his fevered words.
"My weary eyes see what you have made. You know all. I gaze upon your shining eye which exists. Why are all our purposes to burn out so quickly? You have given us joy and promise! You have created with your warmth and power. Could you not have made wood that lasts when burnt? Is dry tinder not more useful when it burns for longer? Why is ash our purpose?"
The doctor paused, inhaling raspy breaths, his sickness taking his thoughts away once again. The light continued to shine, still blinding the doctor's vision.
His strength draining, he reached out a trembling hand towards the light of the door once more.
"All have done their best to become one with these bodies, with these minds, with their very lives. But you know what? I cannot. I cannot become them. I will not let the hunter's arrow win, just because it is the only choice obtainable. I will not."
The doctor looked at his half-brother. His body still trembled.
The young man who stood at the door, moved closer, helping his brother to stand.
The weary doctor stood, finally staring into his half-brother's eyes. They were focused.
"Take me to mother. I wish to try to say goodbye."
The small chamber that the young man entered was not unlike a prison cell; It was a large rectangular space, not unlike that of a small apartment.
A few simple furnishings were strewn about haphazardly — like pieces of broken glass left on the floor from a shattered window.
The young man turned, and examined the corners of the room. The walls were made of wooden paneling. The windows were covered by stained curtains, ensuring complete privacy for anyone who wished it. He continued to glance around, seeing how each wall seemed to have something hanging from it. Shelves filled every available space; Papers, documents, sketches, artifacts, clippings, texts, parchment, paintings, and maddened scrawls choked the walls of any emotion resembling comfort.
The young man decided to open the door further, letting the light shine upon the sketches of man and creation which stood on display, forming a haphazard pile on the floor.
The candles that hung from a stand had long burned and melted, the open door was the only source of light the room had.
The young man stayed silent, before speaking up. "Brother? Brother, are you there?"
"Yes," came the voice from behind the desk, which had been facing away from the door. It was dull and hoarse.
"I am here." There was no attempt at movement.
The doctor was slumped over his chair, facing away from the door, turning his head at the voice of his half-brother. He pointed a stumbling hand toward the ceiling. His voice was hoarse and he coughed repeatedly into his fist as if to clear it of some phlegm. He looked weary beyond words—tired, old, weathered, beaten down by his profession.
"Close the door," he said at last, in a tired, hopeless voice that was almost a whisper.
The young man reached out a hand, but his brother pulled away. The doctor stared, with tired eyes and trembling hands, reaching out to ignore his half-brother, and to attempt to close the door.
"Leave me alone. Jurgen. You are too young to know what this means," he said at last, "but you will understand when you grow older."
"Willhelm-" The younger brother started, stopping his brother from closing the door. "Please try to listen." The younger man pleaded.
The doctor turned away, once more, past his half-brother, and towards the light, ignoring any words his half-brother might want to say in protest. His face grew more unreadable, as he stared at the bright light. Diagram upon diagram he clutched to his chest. He coughed his sickly tone, choking on words as he started to mutter to himself, slowly staring at the various vials and glasses that lay next to him.
"It will be a life's work," he said softly, "Everything I have and will learn about the human body—to be placed in a single room."
His eyes suddenly darkened, his voice wrought with spite, he stared, his mouth open wide. "Why am I the first to attempt such a task? Why should humanity die in ignorance because every man for some reason has chosen to hold back what they could accomplish?"
He shook his head sadly, his eyes hardening once more into cold, dark weariness, and his lips moved soundlessly as if forming an answer. His eyes seemed to stare out, gazing at something invisible out past his concerned half-brother.
The doctor stood silent, staring at the gleaming light that blinded his vision as sudden rage filled his fevered words.
"My weary eyes see what you have made. You know all. I gaze upon your shining eye which exists. Why are all our purposes to burn out so quickly? You have given us joy and promise! You have created with your warmth and power. Could you not have made wood that lasts when burnt? Is dry tinder not more useful when it burns for longer? Why is ash our purpose?"
The doctor paused, inhaling raspy breaths, his sickness taking his thoughts away once again. The light continued to shine, still blinding the doctor's vision.
His strength draining, he reached out a trembling hand towards the light of the door once more.
"All have done their best to become one with these bodies, with these minds, with their very lives. But you know what? I cannot. I cannot become them. I will not let the hunter's arrow win, just because it is the only choice obtainable. I will not."
The doctor looked at his half-brother. His body still trembled.
The young man who stood at the door, moved closer, helping his brother to stand.
The weary doctor stood, finally staring into his half-brother's eyes. They were focused.
"Take me to mother. I wish to try to say goodbye."
