>Engage conversation.
YOU:
We got off to a bad start, mister, uh....what do I call you?
We got off to a bad start, mister, uh....what do I call you?
SAD PURPLE THING:
You don't know a spleen when you see one? Of course not. Nobody does. Not like they recognize a brain or a heart or one of those other smarmy "vitals." Did you even know what your spleen does? For that matter, did you even know where it was? Unlikely. Even if you did, it isn't information you would ever actually need in your short, ultimately trivial biostate. The most anyone ever thinks about spleens is how remarkably unremarkable they are among the major organs.
You don't know a spleen when you see one? Of course not. Nobody does. Not like they recognize a brain or a heart or one of those other smarmy "vitals." Did you even know what your spleen does? For that matter, did you even know where it was? Unlikely. Even if you did, it isn't information you would ever actually need in your short, ultimately trivial biostate. The most anyone ever thinks about spleens is how remarkably unremarkable they are among the major organs.
YOU:
Okay...spleen. So where am I? And please be more specific than 'the hospital'
Okay...spleen. So where am I? And please be more specific than 'the hospital'
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
Oh, so you talked to the nose. Dreadful thing. I suppose I have to envy its blissful ignorance, though I'm afraid I must admit, what it told you is probably at least accidentally correct. The hospital is the hospital. That's just the way things work. I realize you think things work an entirely different way, that there's such a thing as "different places," and I understand why you would think that, I mean, that's exactly how things would appear to be set up to a simple grey-zoner. Again, I must admire such a peacefully naive outlook. I'm afraid it's all well beyond your capacity to understand, or at least explain through communicative mechanisms you would actually perceive. I have enough of a spleenache as it is, thank you.
Oh, so you talked to the nose. Dreadful thing. I suppose I have to envy its blissful ignorance, though I'm afraid I must admit, what it told you is probably at least accidentally correct. The hospital is the hospital. That's just the way things work. I realize you think things work an entirely different way, that there's such a thing as "different places," and I understand why you would think that, I mean, that's exactly how things would appear to be set up to a simple grey-zoner. Again, I must admire such a peacefully naive outlook. I'm afraid it's all well beyond your capacity to understand, or at least explain through communicative mechanisms you would actually perceive. I have enough of a spleenache as it is, thank you.
YOU:
Fine. Whatever. Listen, I woke up here and have no idea what's going on, and I just want to find my son. A human being, like me, just small. Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?
Fine. Whatever. Listen, I woke up here and have no idea what's going on, and I just want to find my son. A human being, like me, just small. Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
Oh, sure, you don't lie on your back and silently resent the color of the ceiling as much as I have without picking up on all the latest news. All those visitors I don't have are always not filling me in on juicy gossip, just let me open up my little book where I write down all the most important things I didn't see, hear or care about while I stared at the walls contemplating the futility of being.
Oh, sure, you don't lie on your back and silently resent the color of the ceiling as much as I have without picking up on all the latest news. All those visitors I don't have are always not filling me in on juicy gossip, just let me open up my little book where I write down all the most important things I didn't see, hear or care about while I stared at the walls contemplating the futility of being.
YOU:
Look...just...gimme a guess? A ballpark idea?
Look...just...gimme a guess? A ballpark idea?
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
Oh. You were serious. How...quaint. I'm afraid you'll have to ask Phage, if you can get anything out of him that isn't bloated twaddle. It all depends on why they actually brought you both here. I'll confess I did at least hear some babble about a lockdown or quarantine, obviously nothing I'm important enough to be a part of, but His Majesty, Professor Bow Ties, was acting even less coherent than usual, never a good sign, not that anything is ever actually a good sign. I'm pretty sure they stopped making good signs back around the time they invented "existing." At least, that's my professional opinion as an involuntary exister for almost the entire period that I've been conscious.
Oh. You were serious. How...quaint. I'm afraid you'll have to ask Phage, if you can get anything out of him that isn't bloated twaddle. It all depends on why they actually brought you both here. I'll confess I did at least hear some babble about a lockdown or quarantine, obviously nothing I'm important enough to be a part of, but His Majesty, Professor Bow Ties, was acting even less coherent than usual, never a good sign, not that anything is ever actually a good sign. I'm pretty sure they stopped making good signs back around the time they invented "existing." At least, that's my professional opinion as an involuntary exister for almost the entire period that I've been conscious.
YOU:
Sigh. ...Okay. So uh, I got attacked by what I think is a.... nurse? Do you know what that was?
Sigh. ...Okay. So uh, I got attacked by what I think is a.... nurse? Do you know what that was?
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
Oh, don't get me started on the nurse. Whoops, I started. No helping it now. Dreadful thing. No conversational skills. No pants. Never actually there when you need her, unless you've got something really critical to treat, something nice and juicy like creeping fever or screamwarts or malaria, one of the few good ones a spleen gets to worry about.
Where was I? Ah, yes, the nurse. I do believe she's on orders to keep anyone from leaving the exam ward while the hospital is on alert. Don't bother trying to outrun her; she may look almost as awkward, slovenly, absent minded and devoid of taste as yourself, and she is all of those things, but she can also move exactly as fast as she wants. If you're thinking of having a go at her with that toothpick of yours, I'm loathe to admit that the results would be far worse for you than for her, as fleetingly amused as I'd be by the spectacle. You'd be lucky if they cared enough to put your skin back on.
Oh, don't get me started on the nurse. Whoops, I started. No helping it now. Dreadful thing. No conversational skills. No pants. Never actually there when you need her, unless you've got something really critical to treat, something nice and juicy like creeping fever or screamwarts or malaria, one of the few good ones a spleen gets to worry about.
Where was I? Ah, yes, the nurse. I do believe she's on orders to keep anyone from leaving the exam ward while the hospital is on alert. Don't bother trying to outrun her; she may look almost as awkward, slovenly, absent minded and devoid of taste as yourself, and she is all of those things, but she can also move exactly as fast as she wants. If you're thinking of having a go at her with that toothpick of yours, I'm loathe to admit that the results would be far worse for you than for her, as fleetingly amused as I'd be by the spectacle. You'd be lucky if they cared enough to put your skin back on.
YOU:
I get the idea. So can I ask.... what you're here for? Is there something I can....do? For you?
I get the idea. So can I ask.... what you're here for? Is there something I can....do? For you?
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
They tell me nothing's "technically" wrong with me, and they're right. Nothing's ever wrong enough for anyone to care. If I had something terminal, of course, the nurse would be waiting on me hand and sploogab. Attention like that might even offer some brief distraction from the crushing tedium of being me.
They tell me nothing's "technically" wrong with me, and they're right. Nothing's ever wrong enough for anyone to care. If I had something terminal, of course, the nurse would be waiting on me hand and sploogab. Attention like that might even offer some brief distraction from the crushing tedium of being me.
YOU:
Well, I did have this idea earlier that we could switch rooms, and use the call button to-
Well, I did have this idea earlier that we could switch rooms, and use the call button to-
DEPRESSED SPLEEN:
Wouldn't work. The nurse would know I wasn't the one who pressed it, and if I was the one who pressed it, she would know I was no sicker than the last 65,000 times I tried to get her attention. Here I am, spleen the size of a....well, the size of myself, in any sense, and they've got me on "bed rest" and "fluids" for my "depressed functionality." Call that patient satisfaction, 'cause I don't.
Wouldn't work. The nurse would know I wasn't the one who pressed it, and if I was the one who pressed it, she would know I was no sicker than the last 65,000 times I tried to get her attention. Here I am, spleen the size of a....well, the size of myself, in any sense, and they've got me on "bed rest" and "fluids" for my "depressed functionality." Call that patient satisfaction, 'cause I don't.
