The Key to Life is Death

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Four of them walk in dressed in their crisp, white gowns and matching caps. An older male opens a drawer and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. The three observers stand back and the gloved man looms over me, face shadowed in the bright light shining down on my naked body. He gestures to a younger man from the observation group. The youthful man approaches me, already putting on gloves, ready to face the challenge. From the steel tray beside me, he picks up a scalpel, hands shaking with anxiety. Inside my head, I’m screaming. I want away from this man. No sound escapes me, however, because I cannot speak. He glimpses my body for a moment and then decides to place the scalpel back on the tray. If it was ever possible to pick up something softly, this man quietly and carefully picks up a syringe and takes a step back towards me, his footsteps clicking on the tile floor, reverberating off the drab, white walls enclosing five very important people in a room vaporous with the grisly smells of dead flesh. He looks deep into my glassy eyes as he sinks the needle deep into my eye tissue, drawing vitreous fluid as he slowly lifts the plug back on the syringe. The man withdraws the needle and places it in an icebox next to the tray of surgical instruments, practically dropping the needle. He wants this particular procedure over with. The older man presses a button on the intercom. “Send this to the lab to be analyzed.” He then sweeps his hand in front of his stomach, as if giving directions to the young man. The young man leans towards me, closes his fingers around the knife and presses the blade to my chilled, pale skin. Trying not to quiver, he makes a quick but accurate Y-incision, straight along the middle of my abdomen... ... middle of paper ... ...ng me onto my side, and then finally onto the steel platform. Cold fog envelopes my broken body. He gives me one last gaze full of emotion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sputters over me, as a bead of moisture escapes the inner corner of his eye. It falls into the poor sewing job, the supposedly sealed opening of my chest cavity. Even if I still possessed my heart, I would have felt nothing. “Goodbye, my love,” he whispers as he kisses me one final time on the forehead. He then pushes my lolling remnants back into the tomb of eternal winter. Works Cited "Autopsy Pathology." LuMriX XML Solutions for Enterprises. Web. 05 Oct. 2009. . Gerritsen, Tess. Body Double (Jane Rizzoli, Book 4). New York: Ballantine Books, 2005. Print. AutopsyTV - Autopsies, Autopsy. Web. 05 Oct. 2009. .

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