Sustain Yourself

As soon as I’d sat down at my desk that morning, Dr. Frang appeared beside me, holding a cup of coffee.

“Do drink this down, won’t you, Mr. Horn?” he said, his mouth forming an eerie grin as he stood over me. “You must be very tired this morning.” He remained there a moment, ensuring I had gulped down at least half, before retreating wordlessly to the lab.

But despite this odd behavior, I thought nothing of it.

Or, rather: I thought much of it. I thought, at first, about how kind it was that he, my employer, would make coffee for me. Given that he’d hired me to assist with administrative tasks so that he might spend more time “among the bubbling beakers,” as he put it, it would, after all, be more appropriate if I were waiting for him with a steaming mug each day. This thought brought about another: could there be a reprimand hidden in this gesture? Was his intention to imply I did not possess the energy required for the job, and he would soon be seeking my replacement?

I did arrive most mornings somewhat groggy, but Dr. Frang could hardly be surprised. He himself had been the one to prescribe the elixir that put me into such a deep sleep that I inevitably awoke disoriented and slightly achy.

Despite this, I was glad to have it. I had been sleeping poorly before I took it, and without it, I might be sleeping even worse now, what with the reports in the news each morning. A menacing green-skinned figure had apparently been ravaging strangers late at night, and in my own neighborhood! Many of the victims had been scientists, it turned out (rivals of Dr. Frang, mostly), but working for a scientist, I sometimes feared I would be mistaken for one myself. (Dr. Frang assured me I need not worry, which I appreciated, though I sensed some insult buried here as well; was it so far-fetched that this monster mistake me for someone in the profession?)

Which is all to say: I thought much about the coffee, but I did not think what might be in the coffee until later that morning.

The feeling hit me at about 10:30. I was in the middle of sorting letters–those from admirers in one pile, those attempting to dress down Dr. Frang for “playing god” in another (he read both varieties with delight)–when I became overcome with a sense of hollowness in the stomach. Exhaustion came next, followed by irritation. I was transforming, I felt, into something terrible.

“Help!” I cried. “Dr. Frang! Help!”

He rushed from the lab. “What is it, Mr. Horn? Tell me?” He seemed almost excited, but when I described what I was feeling, and my suspicion that it had something to do with the coffee from earlier, he merely chuckled. “The coffee? There was nothing sinister in that. You’re only hungry, my boy! I’ve told you, you must eat more than expected when taking my sleep elixir, because you burn more calories in the night. Here, come with me to the kitchen. I’ve got KIND bars. Chocolate chunk or pineapple mango. They’re the perfect mid-morning snack to keep your energy up without ruining lunch.”

I followed him down the hall, but stopped a moment passing a mirror. The skin under my eyes appeared to be a strange shade of green. But then I remembered: Dr. Frang had assured me many times it was a known side effect of the sleep elixir. The off-putting hue might linger throughout the morning, but always faded eventually. Noting to worry about!