Thanatophobia (the artist)

The doctors swarmed around the registry, rabidly flipping over charts, murmuring as if a baffling discovery has come to their attention. Behind the glass window on a closer look, the whites of their coats varied in shade. The older doctors wore their tarred uniforms, while the incoming residents were clad in immaculate white.  From the center, the seniors were the nucleus of the group, while the younger ones broken off into smaller clusters sharing leftovers of the discussion. One would think it was odd seeing a group of brilliant minds baffled by the simplicity of the news.  It was a sudden, terrible loss of an innocent life. A body lay on its side on a cold steel table. Limbs lay on the same parallel direction, while the blackness of the eyes was full and open, and the lips were closed tight like a perfectly drawn straight line. An expression of peace was painted on the windows of its soul but there was no life remained at all. The woman’s face was burrowed into the chest of her husband; desperately in search for something that would console her. As he held her tight with one arm resigned, the husband watched the emptiness of the vessel which was the remainder of what was once considered to be their unending source of joy.  The other patients wailed and mourned around them.

Through the swinging doors entered the medical assistants tasked to take the body to the observation deck.  One of the new doctors walked up and explained to the couple all of the medical efforts that had been exerted, plus the basis of each conclusive result.  This went on item by item as if it was from a recipe book read out loud. It was a small town they found themselves in, in a much smaller clinic. It was humid and cramped. Between these, with uneasiness, the resident doctor would turn to the registry where his peers were, drawing confidence and approval.  But there was an utter omission of the official prognosis and the cause of death for it was apparent. Then he continued as he segues to declare that while their responsibilities as medical practitioners for the case of the deceased have officially ended, the devotion of their friends in the other room as artists has not. The time of death has been determined, and the team – should they prefer to meet- was preparing for the next phase.

Still in trance, the couple had grasped nothing of what the resident has attempted to explain.  He repeated himself until confirming that the couple was able to digest at least the necessary information.   After some time they were led into a room where they met with the officiating attendant and his supervisor for the post mortem matters that needed to be discussed.  Papers were signed, in the couple’s own time of course, and servicing fees were also covered.

“It’s going to be a difficult task reconstructing the features to its original state, some photos will help. But nothing time and persistence wouldn’t fix.

We usually deal with subjects who were either shot clean or those we have found on the road so we could say we’re pretty good at what we do.“

The taxidermist shared arrogantly.

“Sorry we wasted your time,” responded by the woman.  “Can we please use your phone?”

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