Author: Amei666 PM
TwoShot Revenge is a dish best served frozen... Trust me, I was a doctor. Rated for blood and gore.Rated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Mystery - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,300 - Reviews: 6 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 06-06-08 - Published: 09-16-07 - id: 2415628
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I had always dreamed of becoming a pirate. As unrealistic as that sounds, it beat the guy who wanted to be a turtle. He's now a corporation CEO. But truly, I imagined adventures across the seven seas, raping and pillaging, pirate stuff. Well, not so much the raping as I'm a girl, and that doesn't sound very appealing to me. Just my ship and crew being kings of the sea. That was my dream.
To put it short, I live in Wisconsin in the 21st century. That had been a real bummer when it hit me. People called me weird. That's changed, but back in high school, it really hurt. Rene Fuller, I remember her well. She was the pretty blonde girl, like in the movies, who made attention for herself. She wasn't pretty at her funeral, that's for sure, closed casket and everything, but that's how everyone remembers her.
The winters are cold here. I don't mind, mile after mile of flat, white prairie. It has a calming effect. I used to take a sled and slide across the iced ground, sailing the frozen ocean of Wisconsin.
I was working on my medical degree. I already was a doctor, but the more degrees you've got, the more they pay you. I find the human anatomy amazing. It's so complex, so interlocked. Everything works together in perfect harmony, nothing's wasted. It made me think of the human race in a whole. If our bodies work well by themselves, why were we so miserable together? Did we really need 6 billion people?
I figured that we only needed 1 billion, at most, so the human race could just not reproduce for 10 years. Or all of Asia and Africa could go. The first's not as much fun though, but I guess it's more effective. Once again, another thing that I've never got accomplished.
Art is a field I've always wanted to go into. Like, drawing, visual artwork. I can't sing or write for my life, but I'd like to think I'm creative. Maybe that's why I was going to be a doctor, to help construct and maintain the art of the human body. I was watching this show about Egypt a while back, and how they pulled out the brain before mummifying the body. I agree. The human mind taints whatever beauty the physical form holds. I'd know.
A problem I've always had was my memory. I hold grudges. Like when Fuller plagued me in high school. Because of that, when I see road kill, I drive over it just because. The noise it makes was pleasant, but the undercarriage hated me for it. Now that I look back on it, Fuller's anatomy was hideous on the inside; she smoked. Black lungs and everything. Her liver was sickly too; alcohol abuse.
I don't live with people anymore. They hate my creativity. I wish I wasn't so smart. Thinking about it, I resent my memory. I don't forget a thing. I remember Rene Fuller well, not like the others though.
I remember seeing her carcass. The gashes running down her arms, every vessel bled dry. Blood dripped from her lips, iced flesh contorted into a face of fear. The cavern her torso made, the emptiness, was so fitting. Ribs jutting out, piercing flesh, like bony hands begging to be freed. The intestinal garland, the freezer-burned skin, it was all too good. The decayed icy lung, breaking at my touch. Weak. Yes… the probe jabbed at the frozen heart, the one I always knew she had. It was so fulfilling.
My conscious is clear. I did nothing but my job. I've got the documents, I have witnesses. I showed no emotion, no connection, just like any other case. I didn't have the guts, but whoever did, let's just say… your fingerprints never were on the body. I made sure of it.