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You stand before your sycophants, a scarecrow in a field of wheat. I sit in the back row and wait. Cross-sections of schizophrenic mice brains fill the projection screen.
I know this data — it is my work of which you talk.
My mouth dries. I close my eyes so I do not have to see your pale hairy face: Truth is virtue. You cannot steal my qi.
When my eyes open you are small again. I boot-up my laptop. Headlines flash past on the RSS feed.
NASDAC up 9 pts @ market’s open
Afghan prison bomb kills 9
Lockdown @ V-Tech – gunman still at large
The url takes me to Blacksburg, a place I do not know. But I do know this school, this Virginia Tech. Two cousins went there long ago. Now they are faculty in Cali.
“Compound JM23 induces glial cell regeneration,” you say. Your laser highlights the dendrite’s pink-stained branches. “In other words, my compound rebuilds the brain’s hardwiring.”
Our compound.
“The dual efficacy of JM23, so novel among antipsychotic agents, is why the National Science Foundation and National Institutes of Health have funded my work.”
Three students down
Professor dead in classroom
The silk bow-tie flaps around your fatty neck, gobble-gobble like a turkey. Your hypocrisy at the pillar of truth nauseates me. I imagine you cowering behind your desk, shitting your pants in fear.
“JM23 revolutionizes the treatment of refractory bipolar disorder,” you say. “For, as you can see in this table, it dramatically reduces symptoms of both mania and depression within four weeks.”
Yes, our drug is effective, but Chairman Professor you fail to mention the side effect. And I know you will not. Yes, I have my dissertation with me; I am proud of my work, it is a contribution to the field. In it I identify how JM23 fits like fist in glove with the nicotinic acetylcholinergic receptor. But you decline to sign off. You do not allow me to graduate.
At first I believe you refuse because I am stupid. You think all of us Chinese not so smart because we hesitate before we speak. We know because when you talk to us, your voice gets loud and you enunciate every syllable. We only wish to be precise – it is Chinese nature.
Now I think you refuse because of that night last year. I had worked late, past midnight. We had a grant proposal to submit. You came to the lab from a dinner, surprising me.
“We could be such a team,” you whispered, your liquor breath hot on my neck. I believed your words. You pressed me against the bench. When I resisted, you covered my mouth with your hand. I closed my eyes when you unzipped my pants. You did not forgive me when I cried afterwards.
“We do not air our laundry,” you said before leaving me on the cement floor.
The next day I switched advisors. You did not forgive me that transgression either.
3 professors 13 students dead in engineering hall
Multiple shooters feared
“Last year, the Food and Drug Administration approved JM23 for Phase III clinical trials,” you say. “To date, we have enrolled more than 2,000 patients with serious mental illness.”
I scroll to the blog, the one I made in case. It is linked to a sham account no one can trace. The single post holds three pages and many pictures: the log book with the protocol number, my documenting entry, your signature, the photographs of bloodied mice that clawed each other to death. The final safety trial in animals, the data you omitted from grant proposals. You failed to notify authorities. You threatened me if I did.
Cell phones make transferring data so easy.
Now I am finished my work. I should become a Doctor of Philosophy, just like you. But you will not sign the papers. Because of you, I do not graduate, cannot accept the post-doc. Tomorrow my visa expires and I will have to return to Guizhou Province to teach biology to children. All these years, a waste.
Hotness fills my head, behind my eyes. The room glows red. I close the blog and stare at the news.
Gunman shoots self
Shooter identified — sophomore student Cho
Cho. Korean. Stupid, he should know violence is not the path to justice. He gives us Asians a bad name.
You stop talking. The screen whirs as it retracts into the ceiling. Lecture over, your students pack away their computers. You bend over the podium, tap your scattered notes into a neat pile. When everyone leaves but you, I go down the steps to the front, my dissertation held before me. You look up from the podium. Your jaw hardens. Energy dances along the bone.
“Yes?” you say.
“Please Professor, sign off on my thesis,” I say.
You shake your head. “Fatal flaw.”
Hypocrite. You never read my work. You should, it is about our compound. But I will not beg — you fail to read at your peril.
“Data limitation,” I say. “It is good research.”
“We have a level of excellence to maintain,” you say.
You close your book and walk from the room. My breath heaves in my chest. I return to my seat. The heat returns. This time, I let the tears come. When my eyes dry, I click on the blog. It takes one instant to paste the url, a few more to address the link: @FDA, @NSF, @NIH, @reuters, @AP, @googlenews, @Fox.
I tap tweet.
Linda Simoni-Wastila crunches numbers by day and churns words at night. You can find her poetry, short fiction, and non-fiction in Tattoo Highway, Six Sentences, The Sun, and Boston Literary Magazine, as well as in several anthologies, including the forthcoming Neuropsychiatry in Poetry. Linda lives and loves in Baltimore, a town where her Northern birthright and Southern upbringing comfortably commingle.
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25 Responses to “POISON PILL • by Linda Simoni-Wastila”
Comments
« EAU DE PUBLIC TRANSIT • by Folly Blaine | Home | AMERICAN NEIGHBOR • by Ranica Arrowsmith »
August 24th, 2011 at 4:32 am
What a super twist on the student pushed to the edge. Excellent!
August 24th, 2011 at 6:32 am
A powerful story, masterfully written. Thank you!
August 24th, 2011 at 7:01 am
This was a tough nut to go through quickly because of the terminology and academic environment, Linda, but the story hangs together very well. Kudos on your research, too. The Asian bias also struck a chord with me and some things I’m writing. Four stars. Oh, wait. EDF is handing out stars anymore?!
August 24th, 2011 at 8:07 am
This is a great story. I wasn’t expecting the non-violent way the student got her revenge. Good twist.
August 24th, 2011 at 8:23 am
And to think that my Dr. advised me to take that stuff!!
Good story…although out of my genre…so it was a bit
confusing for me. Good hooks..fore and aft.
Body was wierd IMO.
3 stars
August 24th, 2011 at 8:29 am
@ giersbach – star rating system is still there, at least on my computer
August 24th, 2011 at 9:54 am
I attempted to read this several times, but my eyes fiercely objected and threatened to pop out of my skull if I continued.
August 24th, 2011 at 10:32 am
Cool story — as someone in the research field, I can attest that this is closer to truth than fiction, including the way western scientists abuse young asian scientists in various professional and personal ways. But I suppose though this story could happen in any environment where one person weilds so much power, which is why I think we can all relate to the desire to expose the secrets of the powerful.
My only crticism is I don’t think the Virginia Tech headlines added anything to the story. The conflict seems to be within the mind of the narrator, who normally would be submissive to authority and would go back home without seeking revenge on the bad guy, but who decides to do something uncharacteristic instead. I don’t think the reader needs to wonder if she will do it violently, just whether she will do it at all.
August 24th, 2011 at 11:02 am
an interesting magical thinking day dream where you get your own back, but it could be more complete if you ended with: “next day the headlines showed professor commits suicide over truth of project.” for example.
I just thought it needed a bit more than a rant to end it all; this professor is so tyrannical I would have liked to have seen how he got his come-uppance.
I like the style it was written in: terse, as though you were taking notes during a lecture. This was good: the writing and the location blended into one.
August 24th, 2011 at 1:07 pm
Really good, and didn’t take the cop-out route of becoming graphically violent or sexual. That’s a big relief after reading things like The Girl Who With the Dragon Tattoo, etc.
Five stars from me.
August 24th, 2011 at 2:46 pm
Not too sure about this one. Well enough written, but something just didn’t ring true or gel. Perhaps the MC was too much of a passive victim to garner much sympathy, while the professor was just too gratuitously evil.
August 24th, 2011 at 6:13 pm
If the protaganist was so interested in having the truth told, why didn’t she report to the authorities at once – “the blog, the one …made in case. …the data..omitted from grant proposals.” Was it a case of succeed at any price, a mirror image of her professor? Among the many failures who are mostly innocent, are these two failures through guilt?
August 24th, 2011 at 7:10 pm
Dear all, thank you for taking time to read and comment on POISON PILL. I enjoy your reactions and the questions you raise. The Virginia Tech shootings served as the catalyst for this story, although the theme was based on the constant complaints by my Chinese and Taiwanese students about feeling perpetually marginalized by our academic ‘society’. A different sort of story for me, and I thank the editors for posting it. Peace…
August 24th, 2011 at 7:25 pm
I recognize the conflict here. I appreciate the contrast given by the reference to Virginia Tech unfolding in the backdrop. Masterful story.
August 25th, 2011 at 6:48 am
I rated this story 5 stars because I think it’s incredible. But the system only recognized my vote as 3.75 stars??? Imaginative and different way of telling an important story!
August 25th, 2011 at 8:35 am
@Susan: The rating number you see is an average of all the star ratings given to a story. So if a story had ten ratings of five stars, it would be a “5.0″.
Try as we might to bring you the very best flash fiction, not every story is to every readers taste, so ratings vary accordingly. If you give it a “5″ and another reader gives it a “3″ that averages out to a “4.0,” which is the number you see reported in the “rating.”
Thanks for reading, voting, and commenting.
John
August 25th, 2011 at 4:25 pm
Great story! Loved the ending. Hope the tweets did something. I give it 4 stars.
August 25th, 2011 at 8:01 pm
Stark and true depiction of the abuse some students can experience at the hands of arrogant mentors. I was glad she did what she did at the end. The theme of deception is always relevant in these days of half-truths and easy lies.
August 26th, 2011 at 4:39 am
Loved reading this one again, Linda. Great story.
August 26th, 2011 at 5:30 am
I was struck almost as much by the critical comments as by the story, I have to admit. I don’t see that kind of feedback elsewhere — would some of you like to come by my blog and help me make my stories better?
First impression about the VA Tech shooting references was that it didn’t add anything, but on further thought it does. It contrasts the violence against just letting the truth out. I like how she gave the SOB professor one last chance to do the right thing, without threats or blackmail, knowing what the answer will be. Good pacing, contrasting headlines with personal despair.
August 26th, 2011 at 9:17 am
Super story Linda. I really felt that girl’s pain throughout and the sense of justice at the end. Bravo on a job well done.
August 26th, 2011 at 3:45 pm
Linda,
Congratulations on getting your story published here!
The characterizations felt real, and your way with words pulls me in and doesn’t let go.
August 26th, 2011 at 7:57 pm
Frenetic and kinetic work, Linda. It manages to touch on a lot without feeling exploitative or traditionally pat.
August 28th, 2011 at 9:33 am
Linda –
I love the narration in this story. The MC feels detached yet, angrily frustrated and displays a delightfully curious undercurrent of passive retribution. I enjoyed how this unfolded. Poison Pill is one of those stories that you think about for awhile after reading. Thank you for sharing.
September 1st, 2011 at 3:29 am
[...] Bruno’s “Immobile Car Immobile Phone” and Linda Simoni Wastila’s “Poison Pill” are at Every Day Fiction. Myra King has a story forthcoming in Boston Literary Magazine. [...]