Zing Went The Strings In My Head (FICTOID)

She knew it would be bad news when the MRI technician said, “Wot da…?” and called the neurosurgeon down stat.

They didn’t even take her out of the machine but left her in the ominously humming tube while they consulted with one another in hushed tones.

“Please,” she said, “what’s wrong?  Why won’t you tell me?”

They ignored her and left her in the machine even longer while summoning dozens of other doctors (plus one janitor who had more experience at the hospital than the rest of them combined) to look at her scan.

At last they slid her out of the machine and sat her up.

“You have a little violinist playing in your head,” they told her.

“I knew it!” she said.  “You told me it was tinnitus but I could tell all the time it was Bach string concertos and I don’t even like classical music!”

“How did he get in there?” the doctors asked her.

“How should I know?” she said.  “That’s just one of many questions I want to ask.  How does he eat?  Breathe?  Poop?”

“We thought you kept tabs on all those things,” the doctors said.

“Why me?”

“Well, after all, it is your head.”

© Buzz Dixon