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Return to Sender |
| Written by Robert Quintin Penn | |
| Friday, 07 March 2008 | |
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“What happened?” “Head on collision.” “He's bleeding severely.” “Any identification?” “He is an organ donor, if that is what you mean.” “Take him to room 136.”
The man had been drunk. No seatbelt, no brains. Bottle of Bud in one hand, steering wheel in the other. Zepplin booming out of the radio. He was essentially asking for it. He went off the road and over-corrected, slamming into another vehicle. Now he was barely alive.
“Is he still breathing?” “Won't be for long.” “Doesn't matter, just make sure he doesn't bleed everywhere.” “...right.”
Organ donors are hard to find in the area. Hell, car crashes are rare in this area. Last time they had someone come in, she barely survived, since it was mandatory that they do all within their power to keep her alive. And the fact that she was not an Organ Donor.
“Hook him up. Check vitals.” “He's not breathing.” “Never mind.”
After they find a donor, they let him die. But they must work quickly. Put the goods on ice and get them to those who need it. Sometimes a dead man's organs can save five lives. Intestines, lungs, heart, and most importantly, kidneys. Kidneys from the black market are one thing, but the one's from the hospital are always fresher, better taken care of.
“Hand me that saw. I'm cutting open the sternum.” “Are we taking everything?” “You bet.”
And there is nothing we can do about it. Copyright 2008 Robert Quintin Penn |
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 07 March 2008 ) |
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