VEX by Timothy Gager

Robert’s friends
were surprised when he
started passing out
and doctors diagnosed him
with Syncope.              

“You on anything?” his latest
doctor asked.

“You mean currently?”

“No. Immediately.”

“Oh, if this is some sort of hi-fi
exam to see if I’m taking drugs, I
don’t want any part of it.”  Robert loudly scratched
under his rough flannel shirt.

“Just want to know why you are passing out.”

“I do, too.”

“Anything out of the ordinary happen, which lead to
this…stress? Not sleeping? Hmmmm, it says here that
you work in construction. That’s a strenuous job.”

“Well…”

“Well, what?” the doctor asked.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“It is extremely important that you be forthcoming
with this information. If there is something you are
trying to tell me…”


Dr. Snickens was not young; he was old school, the kind of
doctor that carried a black bag. Crusty chicken skinned,
round-glassed, mean Doc Snickens. Robert felt weak.

“There is something you need to say,” Snickens asked.

“Well there is one thing.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t…”

“Spit it out!” Snickens snapped and shoved Robert back
on the examining table directing the office light off his
head mirror into Robert’s eyes.

“Spill!” he shrieked.

“Spill what!”

“Something!” Snickens yelled. “I smell something.”

“It has to do with Vex. VEX!” Robert wiped the rolling
sweat off his forehead.

“Vex?” Dr. Snickens’ eyes were points of a pin.

“Yes, Vex… It’s latex clothing. I ordered some stuff
from them, a latex bustier, some undergarments and
that was the start of it.”

“The start of what?” Snickens squealed.

“The dizziness, the clothing, whatever…” Robert
admitted.

“What? Are you still wearing them?”

“I don’t know.”


Snickens moved in for the kill, towering over Robert who
was slowly curling into a smaller and smaller ball. He
currently was a tennis ball. “What were you wearing last
night when you first lost consciousness?”

“NOTHING, NOTHING!”

“You wore nothing?”

“No something. I wore something.” Robert squirmed
under the glare of Dr. Snickens interrogation.

“Yes, tell me what it was.”

“I was only thinking about it and that made me dizzy…”

“BULLSHIT!” When Snickens shouted the mirrored
apparatus fell off his head.

“I was just thinking…”

“You are slighting me. I cannot treat you if you won’t
be honest! Is there something in your shirt pocket? Show
it!” Snickens held out his hand.

“Okokokokok…it's THIS!” Robert’s shaking hand
unbuttoned his shirt revealing a small latex patch that
was adhered to his heart.

“Oh, I see. I knew I smelled something.” Snickens
replied. “You have a case of bad juju. You'll be better
when you get rid of it.”

“That’s all I have to do?”

“Burn it if you must, but get rid of it and anything
similar.” Snickens yanked the patch off Robert pulling off
some of his chest hair.

“Ouch!”

Snickens spun hard on his heels to leave. “See the
receptionist on the way out. She’ll have some after-care
instructions for you.”


Timothy Gager is widely published on line and in print for
both fiction and poetry. His "Punchless Jimmy Collins" was
a notable story in the 2007 StorySouth Million Writer Award
and "reply to someone who said all my poems are sad" was a
finalist in the 2007 Binnacle Ultra Short Award. He runs
the Dire Literary Series in Cambridge, Ma. and lives at
www.timothygager.com