Sunday, January 9, 2011

You Can Call Me Francis

 A Suicide

A suicide woke on the coroner's table under the sterile light of the florescent lights.

" I'm dead, aren't I. " the suicide said and a man in green scrub looked up at him from the desk.

" Oh, you're talking. " He looked back down and started to write.

" What's going on? "

" You said it. " said green scrubs. " You're dead. Coroner ruled it a suicide."

" Yeah " The suicide laid morose. Death was less fulfilling than life. The suicide said " What happens now? "

" How am I suppose to know? " Green scrubs shuffled paper around. A few more reports, he thought, and he continue to write.

After a while. " It wasn't really worth it. " The suicide said.

" What was? "

" Death. Or dying. It wasn't really worht it. I should have just waited it out like everyone else. "

Green scrubs smacked his lips, momentarily flustered be the spelling of the word "marzipan" and said "Yeah. Things tend to work out most times. Never as bad as you think it is, in retrospect."

" Yeah " The suicide said. Then silence, the scratching of the pen against the paper.

" Thanks for talking to me. "

Green scrubs looked up at the suicide laying there on the table, saying nothing.

" You're welcome. " He said and finished his work.

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