Security cameras, in opposing corners, whirred and scanned. Carson ignored them. He remained unmoving with his arms crossed in his lap. He knew an observer, in another room, monitored him and noted his demeanor. Part of the game before the big journey that has to make history. It will.
He sat in front of the doctor’s desk, waiting for the important final report. As he crossed his legs, he placed his hands on the arms of his chair and didn’t tap his fingers.
Why not stare at the wall? They’re checking my state of mind. I can feel it. I’ve got to convince them. He scooted closer to the desk, scraping the tile floor. Music on the intercom: from the forties. He hoped the cameras couldn’t pick up his shaking leg. He tried to keep it from jerking as he surveyed the room. He wanted no expression on his face and appeared bored as he read the company’s logo on the wallpaper of the room’s walls. FutureFolk: We Send You To The Future. He agreed, That’s for me. He wanted to nail his foot to the floor.
Look like you’re in deep thought, he said to himself. He dabbed perspiration from his upper lip, hiding the action with a fake yawn and became aware of a ring of perspiration forming around his hairline. He squinted at a flash of light caused by the clear reflection of his face in the doctor’s highly polished metal bookends. Blue eyes, curly red hair, full lips and a young face. Handsome guy. I’ll be a smash thousands of years from now. Yep. That’s me. I’m too much for this world.
One of the swinging doors banged against the wall as his doctor, white lab coat trailing behind, hurried into the room and approached his desk reading a file. My file, I hope. He coughed into his fist, cleared his throat and followed Dr. Morgan with his eyes. The older physician pushed his high back swivel chair away from his desk. Carson hoped he had passed all requirements for the journey. He felt the pulsing starting in his neck and ears.
“Oh please, Mr. Cord,” the doctor said, “don’t get up. Remain seated!”
The seat cushion shrieked leaked air as he plumped down and faced Carson without looking at him. He sat and swiveled.
“How do you feel?” he asked. His voice was not encouraging. His tone indicated hesitation as he fingered the forms and test sheets as if still making a decision. He didn’t glance up once, didn’t look at Carson and didn’t wait for an answer.
“It seems you have answered all the questions, more or less satisfactorily,” he said lowering his voice and arching an eyebrow, “so that leaves only one final question, and we’ll get to it later, but, really, Mr. Cord, are you very, very certain you have no negative thoughts about traveling into the future? You must be quite a brave person, you know! Are you a brave man, sir?”

End of the Excerpt from FutureFolk

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