The Plattner Story, and OthersWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Science
The Plattner Story, and Others
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories, English
And then occurred a thing so trivial and yet so terrible to me that I
shiver now to think of that moment. I spoke aloud. I said, "How the
devil did I get here?" ... _And the voice was not my own._
It was not my own, it was thin, the articulation was slurred, the
resonance of my facial bones was different. Then, to reassure myself
I ran one hand over the other, and felt loose folds of skin, the
bony laxity of age. "Surely," I said, in that horrible voice that
had somehow established itself in my throat, "surely this thing is a
dream!" Almost as quickly as if I did it involuntarily, I thrust my
fingers into my mouth. My teeth had gone. My finger-tips ran on the
flaccid surface of an even row of shrivelled gums. I was sick with
dismay and disgust.
I felt then a passionate desire to see myself, to realise at once in
its full horror the ghastly change that had come upon me. I tottered to
the mantel, and felt along it for matches. As I did so, a barking cough
sprang up in my throat, and I clutched the thick flannel nightdress I
found about me. There were no matches there, and I suddenly realised
that my extremities were cold. Sniffing and coughing, whimpering a
little, perhaps, I fumbled back to bed. "It is surely a dream," I
whimpered to myself as I clambered back, "surely a dream." It was a
senile repetition. I pulled the bedclothes over my shoulders, over my
ears, I thrust my withered hand under the pillow, and determined to
compose myself to sleep. Of course it was a dream. In the morning the
dream would be over, and I should wake up strong and vigorous again to
my youth and studies. I shut my eyes, breathed regularly, and, finding
myself wakeful, began to count slowly through the powers of three.
But the thing I desired would not come. I could not get to sleep.
And the persuasion of the inexorable reality of the change that had
happened to me grew steadily. Presently I found myself with my eyes
wide open, the powers of three forgotten, and my skinny fingers upon
my shrivelled gums. I was, indeed, suddenly and abruptly, an old man.
I had in some unaccountable manner fallen through my life and come to
old age, in some way I had been cheated of all the best of my life, of
love, of struggle, of strength, and hope. I grovelled into the pillow
and tried to persuade myself that such hallucination was possible.
Imperceptibly, steadily, the dawn grew clearer.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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