Submitted to a Flash Fiction friendly. 100 words, taking the phrase “secret invention” and the image above as inspiration.

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I awake to a clamour of glass smashing against stone. Hurried footsteps recede to silence, as rusty hinges squeal goodbyes. My head pounds as I open my eyes. Outside, an unseen torrent rumbles, amplifying the pain in my brain.

Sitting up, slowly, the smell of decay raises visions of illness – a blood-spattered bedpan haunts my periphery.

I survived?

I raise a grubby, skeletal hand to my temple, and notice my clothes thick with mud. My skin is cold, like a corpse. The pain in my head squirms – I pluck a soft, wriggling creature from my ear.

It’s alive.