Don't tell me you're playing sudoku

I never knew that he could make that kind of expression too. Sitting in his worn down, flaking leather chair, with his balding grey head slightly bowed, his bushy brows furrowed in a complex knot, and his eyes focused in complete concentration, he looked like he did not belong in this world. He completely abandoned his shivering chihuahua persona, and instead had the aura of a wise sage, or a great wizard. What was so interesting to him that he forgot his previous fearful self? Every so often, his pen, which whirled and twirled in a mad frenzy back and forth on the coffee stained pages, would stop, and his aged face would brighten like a small child discovering the taste of chocolate for the first time. When that happened, sometimes you swore you could see stars in his eyes as if he had come to some earth-shattering revelation, leaving onlookers with a sense of curiosity, wondering what that secret might be. The only interruption to his work would be his own strange mutterings, in low hush whispers, unconsciously blurting things like, "how is this possible?", "this is outrageous!", "there can only be one possibility," "Aha! I got it!", "no that can't be right." During this time, his face changed more than twenty seven times, as I watched deep black lines form on his brow due to frustration, or his eyes crinkle out of amusement. It's interesting how a human can experience so much different emotions in a short period of time. I wonder if I could ever experience emotion like that. Watching him at peace with his own work, forgetting his surroundings, and immersing himself like that- I felt that it would be a sin to disturb him. Perhaps there was even a hint of admiration in me. Only one thought came to mind, 'every dog has his day.'

After an indistinguishable amount of time had passed, the old fart finally lifted his eyes from his papers, settling his gaze onto me. His eyes had a sharp glint in them, dissecting me like I was an unsolvable puzzle. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling, like somehow our roles were reversed. Shouldn't he be the one cowering in front of me? So, how do I explain these shivers I'm getting? It turns out that the chihuahua has some teeth, and I should've been wary of him all along.

"So," I said, "did you discover anything that could improve my condition?" My face is expressionless, hiding the fact that just a second ago I had imagined him harvesting my organs to conduct secret experiments.

"No, sorry, I didn't discover anything," he chuckles.

Is he serious? The veins in my forehead are bulging due to all this anger I'm trying to suppress, and this idiot in front of me is laughing? Was the only reason why I was sitting in his office for 2+ hours because he forgot about my existence? Don't tell this whole time he was actually playing sudoku or crossword puzzles? Ha! To think that I stayed quiet this whole time for fear of disturbing his work. There was even a moment where I thought he looked cool!

"Hah, so what were you working on these past couple of hours?" despite the volcano that is ready to explode inside of me, my voice comes out evenly without any emotion. However, if you had paid attention, you could've heard the ice dripping in every word. Too bad the idiot in front of me doesn't have enough brain cells to notice. Whether it's my dark expression, darker than the devil himself, or the deadly aura that's been slowly drifting around in this room, this imbecile, with a goofy smile on his face, is too preoccupied to notice.

"Oh, I was just working on my research," says the doctor nonchalantly, not knowing he was digging his own grave. If he had said he was playing sudoku, maybe he would've dropped dead then and there. But seriously, research? So his own personal research is more important than the patient sitting in front of him? Doesn't he know the position he's in right now? Should I just kill him? Wait! What am I saying? Killing people is illegal! Calm down! Alarmed by my own thoughts running in my head, my body froze like a deer in headlights. I had the same feeling that a pianist would have when he all of sudden becomes conscious of the song that he is playing by muscle memory, and is suddenly unable to continue playing the piece. Feeling perturbed, I abruptly stood up. I shouldn't stay in this room anymore. I need to leave.

"Wait! Where are you going?" the doctor calls out to me as I approach the door. I seriously think that there is something wrong with this man's brain. Doesn't he know better than to stop me when I am in this state? I ignore him, turning the door knob and opening the door. Again he stops me, "Don't you want to know about my research?" Dr. Marden asks, his crooked smile reminds me of a shady drug dealer trying to convince his customers that he's selling the real deal.

I let out a big sigh. Here I am trying to save a man's life, while the other party has a death wish. This man has left me speechless in so many ways. Fine. For his bravery (or should I say stupidity), I will grant him the privilege of hearing his last words. I plop myself down on the large sunken sofa. Surprisingly, all this ridiculousness has elevated my mood. The murderous feeling inside me has subsided, and I feel less irritable.

Dr. Marden eyes me like I'm some sort of prized calf, or his greatest invention. I hope he's not really thinking of harvesting my organs right now. His crooked teeth are arranged into a silly grin, and his eyes shine in anticipation. In fact, if you looked closer, there's also a trace of pride on his face. Is he some grade schooler showing off his science project at the school fair? I can't help but let out another sigh. Alright, let's see it. I wave my hand to gesture for him to continue.

"My research is about memory manipulation, or specifically technology induced memory loss."