Julie Mark Cohen helps Seyfert, with the help of an unsuspecting ophthalmologist, see beneath the surface in our contest.
Seyfert, New to MoxAT-TAxoM, Visits an Ophthalmologist
by Julie Mark Cohen
“So, Seyfert. Your eyes are perfectly symmetric in their geometry down to the molecular composition of your yellow-tinged purple irises,” said Dr. Quid D. Tee.
“Yes, Doctor, I know,” Seyfert said, staring at the doctor’s skin pattern of oblong tiles. “Symmetry is undesirable on SeyTTT, my home planet.”
“Your retina thicknesses are uniform; your lenses are clear and flexible; and your corneas are unblemished and uniform,” the doctor said, thumping his tail.
“Good news, correct?”
“Yes. However, your refraction results indicate symmetric moderate myopia.”
“As I expected.”
“Why have you lived with this deficiency?”
“On SeyTTT, I’m a mutant.” Seyfert sighed, exacerbating his non-plumb torso. “I’m not only one in 7,159, but I’m one of the very few who are also nearsighted. A SeyTTT-ian ophthalmologist would have less than ten patients.”
“But, you could have visited another planet for eye care?”
“I suppose,” Seyfert said, adjusting the exam chair’s cushion to keep his tush from sliding off the side. “I don’t want the ocular headgear I’ve seen on other SeyTTT-ians.”
“You must have chronic visual perception problems?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve had to learn to laugh at myself… often.” Seyfert hung his head, unfurling his eyebrows into his lap. “I squint… over and over again.”
“Would you consider invasive surgery?”
“What about our new noninvasive procedure of restructuring the composition of your lenses to achieve an appropriate index of refraction?”
Seyfert straightened his back, perked his ears, and wrapped his eyebrows around his three cranial protuberances. “From your collaborative research?”
“Yes, with a 99.427% success rate,” Dr. Tee said. “Are you interested?”
“I need one more measurement that I would like to take myself. May I do this?”
Dr. Tee stomped into position, sprayed breath freshener into his toothy mouth, and held the measuring device with his two short arms. He focused deep into Seyfert’s eyes, whimpered, suddenly back-stepped, and curled into a ball, bawling.
“Doctor, what’s wrong? You’re crying like a Terran crocodile.”
“I see nothing – not even blackness. It’s difficult to describe. It’s ethereal, spiritual… celestial.”
“That’s my SeyTTT-ian soul.”
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Copyright 2015 by Julie Mark Cohen