Polygraph

Seven thirty-four PM.
Up, down, up, down. Scratches on the itchy paper that rolls out of the
machine. Nervous needles that shudder and jitter across the page like
the palpitations of a rapid heart. Tendrils of rubber and wire that
snake across the gummy linoleum floor to my chest, head and arms.
Sucking at my skin drawing the facts from my veins. Clammy sweat
adheres the shirt to my back like flypaper. Two neon veins in the
ceiling throw a fake uncomfortable light onto my glistening temples,
their artificial nature reflecting my own. The squeaky metallic ring of
the doors hinges letting in my inquisitors.
Eight thirty-two PM.
Four shining discs enter the small squat room. They stare at me from
twin pairs of broad unyielding shoulders. One of them reaches up to
remove the discs leaving only one pair and an oily shadow towering over
me. The silence of the place begins to clog my throat as if the air
were charged with liquid static. The needles scratch furiously and I
feel their chittering on the back of my teeth.
Nine o-seven PM.
"Where is it Jack?" the discs are yelling at me while the shadow melts
into a corner behind me.
"Where's what?"
"Come on don't play dumb with us, just tell us where."
"I don't know" the needles betray me and dance across the page.
"You don't know Jack? Well I guess we're wasting our time with you
then. Maybe I'll just leave you alone for a while and see if you
remember."
"I'm telling you you've got the wrong guy" again the needles tattoo my
untruth across the page.
"Why don't you and my associate here discuss things while I get some
coffee" the discs leave and I hear the shadow step closer.
Nine fifteen PM.
Discs returns with his coffee, "So Jack is your memory
improving?"
"You'll never get away with this."
"We're not trying to get away with anything Jack. We simply want
what's ours."
"Well you can shove it because I don't know squat!" I spit the words
at him through my bloodied gums and gulp back the blood clogging my
throat as it trickles from my nostrils. The frenzied needles are moving
too fast to see now like the spasticated legs of a dying spider. The
scratching in my ears is deafening and I squirm in the chair desperate
to shut out the infernal niggling whispers.
The shadow places a firm hand on my shoulder and discs pipes up,
"Think very carefully now Jack, we wouldn't want anything to happen to
you would we?"
I'm not even listening anymore, I feel the needles all down my back,
in the palms of my hands, behind my eyelids and under my nails.
Scratch scratch scratch.
"Talk Jack dammit!"
Scratch judder scratch.
"We're running out of patience Jack!"
Needles scratching needles.
"This is your last chance Jack!"
"Fine I'll talk!" I scream at Discs! I had to otherwise I'd turn and
smash the damned machine, tear those needles out one by one and rip the
wires from my flesh cleansing my truth soaked system, "I'll talk."