Quick and Cold

I sat on the edge of the hard couch, the paper towel sticking to my bare bottom. The flimsy gown barely covered my nakedness. I bit my lip and fidgeted. The doctor's voice droned on. I caught words like "outpatient", "very quick", "routine", "after care". She pointed to her clipboard, going through the list of side effects and risks.

"Is that clear?" her voice came to me through the miserable fog. Her face looked flat and colourless. I wondered if she'd undergone the same procedure, whether that was the reason her mouth looked so pinched and her eyes so dull. I shrugged internally. I didn't care anymore, and I felt like I never would.

"Mhm."

"Then you sign here," she pointed again at the bottom.

I reached for the pen and signed my name. "And you initial here, here aaand... here. To show that I've explained these to you." Listless, I obeyed her, wondering what she'd even said, hardly able to think through the pain. "And here," she tapped once more, "to confirm you don't want to store it, and you are happy for us to dispose of it as needed."

The moment I completed the squiggle, as if on a signal, an amorphous cloud of scrubs and masks entered the room. The formality of introductions was almost meaningless.

I felt like a racing car in a pit stop. Every person had their own role, and they performed it, quick and cold. I was just a thing in front of them, dehumanised to mere parts, which they rearranged, first with brisk words into a horizontal position, and then literally, with blade and needle.

I sat up a scant 15 minutes later, the pain gone. I tested your name inside my head, like prodding a hole in my gum with my tongue. Nothing. I sighed with relief and left, the stitches in my chest tugging a little with each step. Soon, that too, would go away.

I felt empty, but I preferred that to the pain. I was innoculated against forever now. How nice.

I heard the harvested hearts are sold as a delicacy to the wealthy. I wonder if it's true, but I can't care anymore.

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Word count (excluding note): 366

Submitted on 24th February at 14:07

Quick Author's Note

Thank you for reading!

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Pay no attention to the writer behind the curtain: You might have already read my other story about removing a heart that is too heavy. I wanted to do a similar one, but with a different angle. I wanted to reflect on a society where this was possible and normal.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 55 day streak. You can find all of them in my Index post, which I do my best to update once or twice a week at least. It's also pinned to the top of my profile.

Thank you

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