The Last Scale - Chapter III

Tereza Končelová

Today it was different. Everything was different.

It started as usual: the Whites came in, accompanied by the familiar clicking sound, dazzled me, threshed me with their bars, connected various tubes to me and made notes. They even trimmed the upper layer of my scales with a sharp blade of the scalpel and placed them in translucent bags. They explored their small loot in a variety of infusions, in a variety of ways. They enjoyed their iridescent glitter and how their plastic gloves soaked with my blood. It dripped to the ground, forming dirty patterns.

No, there was nothing special about it. But then the others came. Those in colorful clothes. They moved around the territory of the scientists with much more certainty than ever. The bravest of them, with the clearly visible aura of the leader, waved a document in front of their sucked faces, dozens of muscles on his face forming a triumphant smile. They argued for a while. They shouted. One of the Whites threw something on the others, and it shattered against the opposite wall with a deafening bang. I stuck myself against the glass, and although I watched the whole incident through my fingers, I couldn't take my eyes off the action. Magically, it attracted me, keeping me tense and rigid. I wished to know the outcome of the battle as soon as possible, even though I couldn't imagine when it would mean a real victory for me.

The colorful ones won the fierce battle for the territory and the Whites had to withdraw. Some did so humbly, with their heads down. Others gathered their things with an obvious displeasure and tried to make the loudest sounds as they were leaving. Perhaps it is some kind of a communication of their kind, to show off their anger as much as possible and try to intimidate the enemy. However, the colorful ones stayed ice-cold until they remained alone with me. Then, as the door closed behind the last scientist, they began to scavenge the place in more detail, searching for answers in the corners where they had been denied access to until then. Occasionally, one of them spoke out loud, the others rushed to him, studying the documents, photographs or records together. With every second they looked more grim and angry. A few of them gave me a peek that, at the bottom of my heart, deeply connected with the feeling that had been long since forgotten under layers of windblown sand: compassion.

A woman with a sting in her hand approached me. The scientists called it injections. When they used it, it caused cramps and pain. That is why I curled as deep as I could, keeping my terrified gaze right on her. My whole body trembled, as always, when someone opened the lid of my prison. At that moment, even more light came in, they were even closer to me... But the woman didn't hurt me. Her sting stung me briefly, almost gently. I couldn't feel anything running through my veins under my skin like a poison, trying to paralyze me on the spot no matter what. However, my eyes began to close. My vision was getting fuzzier, their voices more distant. The consciousness enveloped me in a quiet darkness, and finally gave me some painless, merciful peace.

Edited by DV