It fell into the sink with a clatter and he backed slowly out of the washroom, blinking the way he did whenever he was stressed. He peered around the edge of the bathroom door jamb, looking into the sink at the angle at which the brush had fallen. He bit his lip briefly and then mustered up the courage to reach in and grasp the brush like it was a coiled viper that would bite him if he made any sudden movements. Carefully he placed it on the same table he had placed the plant on. He slunk into the chair before it and stared.
What appeared to be a second head was growing out of the plastic of the brush.
The second head looked the same as the original, minus the bristles of course, but was little more than a nub sprouting off the side.
The brush looked like it was budding a second head.
Jonah chewed on his tongue for a moment.
What does this mean?
His mind ran at a speed that belied the slow thoughtful action of his mouth. Eyelashes flittered suddenly in a series of random blinks as he ran his eyes over the tiny bulge in the side of the brush, surely an optical illusion. Surely...
Jonah took a long breath and allowed the mutter to escape once more.
There were two toothbrushes on the table.
His hands trembled and clenched the arms of the old chair in a death grip. He imagined his eyes were the size of dinner plates and his skin was whiter than even his should have been. His heart was pounding furiously, his nerves flinched and flicked, told him to get the hell away from the things that were lying there before him, but his fingers refused to release the arms of the chair.
He imagined for a moment that he was dreaming, that at any time he would wake up and find himself asleep in that same chair, with his head on that same table at which he sat. He would even accept waking up with a snort in the lecture theatre. But the moment passed when he licked the taste of toothpaste off the roof of his mouth and winced as he chewed on his tongue. Then there was a moment that he thought of insanity, which faded away for the same reasons.
His mind calmed and his powerful rational brain came to bear on the problem. He reached out and picked up the second toothbrush. It was nearly identical to the first, minus the bristles, and the colouring of the rubberized bits. It felt real. It felt the same as the other one had before he had dropped it, if a little bit lighter. He reached out his other hand and grasped the first. That too felt real. Slowly he brought his hands together until they were only a few centimeters apart and he turned both over. The same, minus the bristles of course.
He staggered. His mind tried to wrap itself around what was going on but it was far too bizarre. Even the possibility that what he was seeing was what he was seeing was too much. All of the laws. Conservation of mass. You don't get something from nothing. You just don't. Impossible.
But...
You don't argue with the data either.
He panicked. Pens and pencils scattered over the floor as he pulled out a thin cheap pen. He slammed it into the table between the toothbrushes and licked his lips. The world seemed to tremble as he inhaled and...
There were two pens on the table.
Well, one pen and one plastic mass that looked something like a pen. The inkwell was missing. Why exactly he could not say, but that was the smallest why on his mind at the moment. He ran his fingers through his hair as he paced in front of the table, biting his tongue to keep from shouting, or worse.
He picked up the empty shell and put it down again. He picked up the toothbrush and put it down again.
“Don't argue with the data,” he said to the empty room.
His lips curled up and he sat down in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on the abomination of nature on the table. There was a sneer on his face and defiance in his voice as he took another deep breath and...
He stumbled wearily out of the apartment building, shielding his eyes from the sun.
His first class was long since over and he saw little point in going anywhere, but there was no way he could stay in that apartment any longer. Not with all the pens cluttering it up.
His mind was shot, partly from lack of sleep and partly from astonishment. His mouth was dry and his throat was raw, and yet he felt strangely good. In this state his body operated on autopilot, making his way down the black ice covered sidewalk towards the familiar bus stop with almost gleefully, uncoordinated mosey. The air didn't seem quite as cold as it usually did and the sun didn't seem as bright anymore. There was electricity in the air as he staggered into the bus stop. He smiled at the people who crowded into the shelter and looked around at the sparkle of light off the snow. The bus arrived on time and there was no one at the head of the line counting out change. He managed a seat and stared out the window with a strange satisfaction.
He sat in the stairway at the back of organic chemistry and stared straight ahead, absently taking notes without much attention, his hand moving through force of habit more than any interest.
When his pen ran out of ink he was asked to leave the classroom; his laughter was interrupting the rest of the class.
He ate lunch alone in the corner
