FOREVER YOUNG.

One morning, as Hans Schmidt was leaving his squalid lodgings in the poor section of Dresden, he chanced to see a poster, on the cracked wall of the building opposite. It was a very small poster. Closer to a notice, if the truth be told. It was freshly printed, in bold black and red. It read in bold Roman type:

Persons needed as subjects for
Medical Experiments.
Food, lodgings and money
Supplied.
Apply to
Schrodinger, Von Haas, and
Hintlegutt Laboratories.

Hans read it carefully and slowly, before going on his way, to the drab office in which he worked, payed a pitance in almost impossible conditions, as a clerk. All that day, the posted notice troubled him. He was unable to forget it. It promised food and money. True, he had both, but in small amounts, and of poor quality. He grew so slack in his work, that he was called to the managers office.
“Schmidt, you have been with this firm for a long time,” the manager informed him, as he sat uncomfortably, in the shabby office. “But you have grown so slack in your work, that I have no option, but to fire you.”
He spoke on, but Hans was no longer listening, he was far to preoccupied with his own troubles. Now that he had no work, he would starve, and be thrown upon the streets to perish. The beast which was the great depresion would chew his flesh.
Hans left the shabby office, and the lsave conditions. He wandered the shabby, lower class streets of Dresden, where he dwelt in squalor. In his despair, he walked with out knwoing where. At dusk, as the tired sun set over the shabby buildings, and their filthy tennents, Hans found himself again staring at the poster.

Persons needed as subjects for
Medical Experiments.
Food, lodgings and money
Supplied.
Apply to
Schrodinger, Von Haas, and
Hintlegutt Laboratories.

It promised food and shelter, and money. This morning, hans had passed it over as nothing. But now things where different. Hans was now unemployed. Soon he knew with sickness in his heart, he would die. There was no work to be found for him. Perhaps he should apply? What could possibyl go wrong. If the test were sucessful, he would atleast be fed. If they failed, he might die, but then his sufferings on this mortal coil would be ended. In his depressed state, it seemed to hans like the proverbial win-win situation.

And so, Hans Schmidt went to the Laboratories of Schrodinger, Von Haas, and Hintlegutt. It was a large and prosperous looking building. The interior was filled with complicated equipment, that Schmidt could not name, let alone understand. There where many others like him there, streets people, the poor. Those with nothing to loose. He sat amongst them, wretched and pathetic. Around him sat the others, dull, grey and diseased. Slowly, the line of applicants moved, as they shuffled forwards, their dull grey feet scuffing the dull grey floor boards. Eventually it came to his turn. The office was large and bright, filled with beautiful furniture. It was in direct contrast to the world Hans had known. Nervously, Hans sat before the firms representative, a man named, if the plaque adorning his desk was to be believed, Bernt Von Krosjhammer. Herr Von Krosjhammer spent several minutes interviewing Hans. Carefully, he drew out the details. Then, he was ejected back, into the waiting room, and told to wait. And so, Hans Schmidt waited. It was a long wait, and at it’s end, Herr Von Krosjhammer emerged, holding a list of yellowed paper in his clean, manicured hand. He called for silence, and, when it fell, called out the names on then list. It was a list remarkable for it’s shortness.
‘Herr Hans Schmidt,’ and that was all.

And so, it came to pass, that Hans Schmidt became the guinea pig of Schrodinger, Von Haas, and Hintelgutt. It seemed to him, that their aim was to cure all diseases, by the use of a wondrous elixir, known as Formula X. He did not think it an imaginative name.
He was given a dose of the elixir. It tasted very much like tar, mixed with milk. He had trouble in preventing himself from expurgating it back into the face of Von Haas, who administered it. Many weeks of testing passed. Hans grew extremely angered by the doctors. Eventually he was called to the penthouse office of Schrodinger.
To Hans, the office seemed huge. At least twice the size of his old home.
Schrodinger was an enormous man, of prodigious girth. He was dressed well, but had no idea of style. He appeared to be wearing a highly fashionable suit form several seasons past.
Schrodinger cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Herr Schmidt, our tests are complete. It seems however, that we have made a mistake. The problem lies in the matter of side effects.’
Schmidt leapt up, and cried ‘This has been a Legerdemain!’ for although poor, his parents had insisted on proper education for their boy. ‘Nothing but a Legerdemain! In was not informed of side effects! If I die because of you, you shall never here the end of it!’
‘You shall not die…’ Schrodinger began, but Schmidt broke in ‘Good!’
‘Let me finish. You shall not die at all. We have accidentally made you immortal. Unfortunately, thew formula is lost. It was known only to Von Haas, who was killed yesterday, in a terrible automobile accident.’
But Schmidt was lo longer listening.
Immortal! Never die! A feeling of great joy flooded him. Now he could become a great man, with his money fro the laboratories. As he left, he broke into a maddened Jig.

And so, the Immortal Hans Schmidt went out into the world. He became a famous man. He was interviewed many times, for the newspapers, or that new Radio thing which had just been invented. It began to drive him to insanity, and so he fled taking books with him, to a small town in Switzerland. And there he stayed. He studied, in an attempt to better himself. He toiled long, reading Law, Physics, Psychology. His money began to dwindle, and so he went to secure employment. With his qualifications it was not hard, and he became a lawyer, in the firm of Von Hayden, Von Kreibstein and Haasburger. He was a lonely man, having out grown, and indeed, out lived all his friends, all his acquaintances. Fashions changed. Technology advanced. Man landed on the moon, and still he laboured on, at Von Hayden, Von Kriebstien and Haasburger.

Eventually came the day, when mankind invented weapons of mass destruction, and unleashed them upon itself. For what reason, Schmidt did not know, having long since ceased to pay attention to the world in which he dwelt, surounded by starangers, and dreaming of a lost itme. The world became a dead, bleak and haunted place, And Schmidt still walked the land. The land burned, creatures changed, and evolved. Schmidt still walked the land. He was in constant pain. Although he could not die. He could be diseased. He was in eternal torment, but could find no reprise.

Millions of years passed. New civilisations evolved on the tortured face of the ravaged globe, and came to power. Schmidt went into hiding, the last survivor of a race dead for millenia. He was tormented by loneliness, and by this stage, completely insane. Then, it came to pass, that his dwelling was discovered. His captors, mysterious energy beings, took him to their city, and placed him in their zoo. He spent many long, fruitless hours, smiting his head upon the wall, and screaming unintelligible obscenities. He was a great attraction, altough his captors could not understand his suicidal tendencies. They could not understadn his rages, nor comprehend his weeping. They could not feel his lonliness, or understand the reasons for his actions, being unemotional beings themselves.

But then, his captors too crumbled away into the dusts of time. And their cities and works fell to dust, and no one was left ot morn or remember them. Once more he was free. He had lain in his pit for many hundreds of thousands of years. It took him many more years to work up the courage to leave it. Millions of years now passed. Civilisations rose and fell, and he walked amongst them. He spent much of his time cursing those whom he called Schrodinhaaselgutt, for the human mind is not made to cope with immortality, and is not sufficiently large for memories of many hundreds of thousands of years. Hans’ memory had become a twisted mass, with emories half formed, and others hiden in the depths. His mind was over flowing like an over filled bowl.

And then, the death of the world came about. The sun grew to great size, engulfing the innermost worlds, and baking all life, save for Hans Schmidt, from the earth. He spent years walking the burning, doomed earth. All around him was desolate, and wasted. His days endless torment, his nights agonies. The suns intolerabley hot flames consumed the earth and played over he who could not die. Then, the sun too died, and the earth exploded.

Schmidt spun through endless void, undying, in agony, and incapable of death. No air filled his lungs, and they screamed in unending torment. His blood had frozen in the unbearable cold of the void. His body tried to explode under the preassure, to destroy itself. His body locked in a n endless war, and attempt to rend itself ussunder. But to no avail. Formula X held his body in check, and prevented death. Endlessly he cursed Schrodinhaaselgutt, for truly, it is a great curse to be Forever Young.