[ WP ] Write your favorite part to a story you 've always wanted to write , but never got around to .

The aging scientist had waited a long time for his actions to catch up to him. He thought that it would have been how he treated his partner, or his subordinates, or his family all those years ago, but he was, in a turn of events that was at this point expected, wrong. The thing is, he was n't necessarily wrong about the whole `` actions catching up with him'' thing, he had just totally forgotten which action it was supposed to be that would catch up with him. It no longer haunted him, really, as so many other things had already taken an important place in his mind. So he had moved on. 
 
 But, naturally, it's hard to really move on from your mistakes when you're crouching behind a counter, waiting for them to strangle you. 
 
 David Morgan, father of two, had volunteered to help `` further science'' sometime in the year 1923. Erwin had not really bothered with the whole `` furthering science'' much in what, in his mind, was quite a while, but in the timeline that he had inhabited, had only been a month or two. Everybody had known what had happened, but still allowed him to work as the institute, as always ( it seems that some things would never change ), was careless. 
 
 David Morgan had been pulled and stretched and burned and smashed and torn and torn again, and did not come out as something that even appeared vaguely humanoid, barring his limbs. And he had had a grudge. Now, years later, David Morgan, nameless and rotten and slowly falling apart as he had been for so long, had finally found his way back home, ready to tear apart the one man responsible. He had n't spoken in so long. The calloused layer of yellow skin encasing his mouth had finally torn. His lips were no more. His tongue, writhing about and looking like a bloated tapeworm in its rotten hole, was finally free to speak clearly. 
 
 He held Erwin up by the neck, the scientist's old and now-flimsy legs dangling a few inches above the linoleum. Beneath the old skin Erwin could see David's bloodshot eyes, still strikingly blue as they once were, staring him in the face through a rough permanent veil. 
 
 David had one question for the scientist -- again, not anything that he expected, but not really anything that surprised him. His voice was soft but broken. The voice of a prisoner who had already given up on screaming at the guards to let him out because he was *fine* he was *okay* he was *innocent* and had just committed himself to his silence. Really, in a way, that was what he *had* done. The soft voice of the quiet prisoner, not fitting the creature who was speaking, said one thing: `` Where's my pay?''
