The Athlete

The hospital room's florescent lights flickered ominously before Karl Ogden's unblinking stare. His withered skin sagged over sharp cheekbones and a prominent chin. If he had flesh between the skull and skin, he might have been handsome, but time and illness had stripped that away. The muscles he had once prized had also wasted away until he could barely walk without a cane, and had nowhere to go anyway. For entertainment, he depended upon a stop watch and the dancing lights above him.

After an eternity of staring, he finally blinked tears away from his burning eyes. The stop watch stopped, and he looked proudly at the five minutes and thirty-five seconds displayed. He had broken his old record by twenty seconds. As he turned to grab a glass of water from the bedside table, he noticed It. It lay behind his glasses, magnified into conspicuousness by the lenses. What was It? Karl picked It up, ran his pruned fingertips across Its surface, looked for an explanation. However, he could not understand what It was or how It entered his room. Confused, he buzzed for a nurse, but in doing so, took his eyes off of It for a moment. When he looked back, he was puzzled to find It in his hand. What was It? He scanned it with a curious eye until the nurse arrived.

"Mr. Ogden? What did you need?" the nurse asked crisply. 

"Oh yes, I was wondering where this came from," he said absently, eyes trained continually on It.

"I've never seen it before. What is it?" As she came closer, Karl turned his gaze to her.

"I have no idea. In fact, I cannot really recall what it looks like. That is, well," his eyes flitted back down to It, "I can see it and remember that I looked at something in my hand just a moment before, but, I don't seem capable of keeping the image in my mind."

The nurse peered queerly at him. Alzheimer's, she thought to herself. However, as she thought this, she found herself incapable of remembering what he had forgotten. A slight furrow appeared between her brows, and she backed towards the door.

"Would you like anything else?"

"Could you ask if anyone else knows where it came from?"

"Where what came from?"

"What? Uh, don't worry about whatever it is." Karl resumed staring at It as the nurse hurried out of the strange encounter.

After an hour of studying It, Karl felt the urge to pitch. He had not pitched for decades, not since the arthritis kicked in. However, the burning need to pitch It pulsed through him. In fact, he not only needed to, he knew somewhere that he could. The pain evaporated. His limbs felt phantom muscles flexing. Every misty thought condensed and fell out of his mind, making his focus clear and sharp. Involuntarily, he stood, he coiled into position, and let loose with every shred of his 130 pound frame. It shot through the air, across the room, down the hallway, and impacted the opposite wall hard enough to crack drywall.

Karl fell back onto the bed and laughed as he went into cardiac arrest. Nurses and doctors rushed in, a crash cart wheeled towards him, but he did not care. It felt so good to pitch again. When it came time, the nurse pulled the sheets over a helplessly happy face.