The subject appears to be a 38 year old female.

“The date today is August 28th, 2007. The time is 9:35 p.m., Medical Examiner Johnson speaking. The subject appears to be a 38 year old female. Cause of death is believed to be a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Preliminary examination will focus on the abdominal area,” she takes a deep breath before continuing on, adjusting the overhead microphone so she doesn’t hit it when she leans in.

“There appears to be an entrance wound right below the victim’s right-hand side of the ribcage, a good deal of dried blood and charred flesh and powder surround the hole. I am now making a lateral incision an inch above the navel, in an attempt to find the bullet.”

This poor unassuming corpse surgeon cuts and digs, looking for a bullet that is not like other bullets she has pulled out of other, countless bodies. She moves the scalpel across the skin with grace, seperating the flesh into a small canyon, sticking her gloved hands into the muscle and fat, finally shoving a small pair of tweezers into the cavity when she feels the tiny hard lump that she thinks is lead.

“I have extracted the bullet, it is in a rather damaged condition, I, uh, cannot account for the amount of damage the bullet his sustained given that it did not exit the body. There were no bone shards to indicate that it came through the ribs or other areas. The bullet also does not appear to have any powder on it. It’s in a very polished and shiny condition.”

She looks at the bullet very closely, pondering what sort of material it could be made of. Come on honey, piece it together.

“It is my belief that this bullet is almost certainly not lead, it uh… well, it would appear to be some sort of precious metal. I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe if it is what I think it is.”

Don’t laugh, it’s not funny. It is what you think it is. Keep going, you’re almost there.

“I believe the bullet is silver.”

There you go. Now run.

“It’s uh” she let’s out a deep sigh, ” well…”

She reaches over and turns off the tape recorder, sighing heavily and wiping her forearm across her face, leaving a small streak of blood across her cheek. She’s being careless now. She can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She’s seen a lot in her time, things far more gruesome than this. But it was always serious. Now someone is making a joke of it. She flicks the tape recorder back on.

“Sorry for that, continuing the examination…”

Please dear god, RUN! GO NOW!

“Looking for signs of struggle on the hands, The fingernails on the right hand are very cracked and the fingernail on the right middle finger in particular has been completely removed. There is blood and hair underneath the nails of the other fingers. There are also scratchmarks all along the forearms on both the left and right arms. A few of which have scabbed oohvAHHHH!”

Damnit. He’s here now. The door to the examination room has slammed open and a man is looming in the doorway. He holds a shotgun across his chest, bandoliers of shells draped over his shoulders. His sunken, sickly looking face burns with sweat, his eyes pierce through her.

“The blood on your cheek,” he says, “where did that come from?”

She quickly wipes the back of hand across her cheek, looking at the blood, then looking at the body on the table. The realization of what’s about to happen flashes into her brain. She raises her hand up. “No. No. No. Just put the gun down and let’s talk.” Too late. He raises the shotgun and points it even with her face. He pulls the trigger. Her head disintegrates, the wall behind her coated with bone fragments, blood, brain and teeth. Her headless body slumps down, knocking over the tray full of bloodied surgical tools. She almost made it. She should have listened to me, to her gut instincts.

The skinny man with the gun slumps down against the doorframe. He begs god for forgiveness for the people he killed to get here. He begs for forgiveness for the one life he has left to take. Tonight is a full moon and he doesn’t have it in him. He pulls out a thirty eight caliber handgun and points it at his heart, saying a small prayer before pulling the trigger. No one else will be forced to bear his curse anymore. He squeezes the trigger with his thumb. His torso jerks and smacks against the doorframe. His eyes roll back in his head and his breathing stops.

—————————————-

Outside in the cool autumn air, the cloudy sky dissipates and the bright full moonlight bathes the city. A woman walking home from work on 32nd street clutches her coat around her neck as a cool wind whips around her; orange, red, and yellow leaves swirling around feet. She stops in her tracks as a piercing howl screams out of the alleyway in front of her to the left. She steps backward as a figure stumbles around the corner, clutching his face and screaming in pain. Her initial panic turns to concern and she rushes forward to see what’s happened.

“Sir. Sir are you alright?” she says placing her hand on his back. He continues to writhe around on the ground, clutching his face and screaming. “Just, just hang on sir alright? I’m… I’m calling 911 right now okay? Just hang on we’re gonna get you some help.” She pulls out her cellphone and calls for help.

——————————————

“911, what’s your emergency?”

The 911 dispatcher has to quickly snatch her headset off, the long whining howl coming out of the headphones is almost loud enough to break her eardrums.

~ by thethingswethink on August 16, 2007.