Modern Medicine
Short Fiction
Emergency.
In large letters. As red as the blood that flowed behind closed doors. An intimidating word, but this was an intimidating place.
The nurse, a soft lipped woman with droopy eyes, surveyed the empty waiting room. Old enough to remember the days when the hospital was always full, she sighed. It was a boring job now. Sometimes, she missed the griping bellies and broken arms.
A door whooshed open. An old man tottered in, glanced warily at the nurse behind her window.
“Is the doctor ready? I’m ready.” He croaked.
She sighed again and waved him through the doors. He hobbled through, a wince wrinkling his brow. Checking her tools, the nurse rose to follow. All these years, and she still hated this part of the job.
The man waited in a small room, eyes trained on the wall, back to the door. If he was scared, he didn’t tremble. The nurse almost wished he would. She longed for the comfort she used to give in the old days of medicine.
There were no sighs here. Her breath trapped by her focus, and her aim well practiced. “The Doctor” trembled, but her shot was swift and sure. The cleanup crew would be scrambling. She never had to call them. The bang was enough.
