Dr Bertram Everbridge was mad.
Not really mad at anything particular but flagrantly, windmill storming, mad within his own mind. This particular strain of derangement occurs within small sections of the scientific world who, sick of day to day statical analysis, lash out far beyond what crazy sock fridays can allow them.
‘Nuclear stuff! We’ll put nuclear stuff on air balloons!’ Dr Bert was stuck by a breakthrough, one that momentarily cleared the fog of his insanity. ‘No, what am I doing-?… BUT WHAT IF YES!’ these regressions back onto the rational train were getting fewer and farther between.
‘We get the nuclear waste, clogging our drains, polluting our schools, and turn it into… I don’t know a marble or something. Then, we put it on a balloon, a weather balloon! This increases the altitude, yes, gaining height and such, “egitto nominitum sum” less waste on the ground. It’s frankly brilliant!’
Although not particularly evil, Dr Bert’s unfocused methods of trying to beat scientific advancement into shape with a lead pipe were often concerning.
From converting the eldery into electrical power, to ardently refusing to wash any of his beakers, Dr Bert had made a practice of upsetting multiple governing bodies. The nutri-bullet incident of 2017, a fantastic example good intentions performed with scientific malice, had not yet been forgotten by NATO and was the reasoning behind the twenty four-hour soft-monitoring of the Bert’s underground lair/one bedroom flat.
‘Reginald! Write this down would you?’ Dr Bert yelled to the vacant lab while digging through a tub filled with precisely tangled bits of string. ‘I hate twine! Next experiment idea, find a way to harness the innate knotting ability of unattended string.’
Knocks at the door can surprise if they are unexpected, especially so when delivered through the medium of a battering ram and accompanying Police officer.
A tension cut the air.
Police issue revolver met hypothetical death ray. Both weapons pointing directly into the heart of the other and both holding as equally devastating stopping power when thrown from a height -In this moment the lab radio continued quietly singing ‘Shake it off’ and underscored the stand-off poorly.
‘Stockpiling nuclear weapons is a crime Dr Everbridge!’ said Officer Herbert Daniels, his steely gaze wavered slightly ‘so is stealing them in the first place honestly’.
‘Well, yes that is scientifically accurate.’ the doctor agreed, abruptly dropping the death ray to the ground and dusting off his hands on his lab-coat. ‘To jail then! I’ve got some thinking to do. How many ply is the toilet paper in prison these days?’ Placing his hands behind his back Bertram began strolling off toward the police van waiting outside.
Surprised at how easy that all was Officer Herb put his gun away and turned to leave but in the absent sweep of his gaze a small glint caught the curious part of his eye.
Focusing his vision and taking in the mess of the mad doctor’s lab, Herb now fully noticed what had caught his attention.
On the desk was a big red button.
And so, hundreds of beautifully designed weather balloons took to the sky from the yawn of an opening hatchway. Each of the green orbs, loosey fastened to the balloon with knotted twine, radiated with a silent patience.
Nearby a passing pigeon fell from the sky, landing in a pond with a wet thump & startling a small raft of ducks.
What is the half life of a weather balloon anyway?
Sunday Short Stories 