r/Writingprompts

Written September 10, 2019

[WP] You live in a utopia where no one dies because you can replace any aging or damaged body part. One day you find where they keep people with the "gift" to painfully regenerate they're whole bodies. They're harvested against their will. Somehow you find out that you too, have the "gift" ..

Day 1

I don't have any experience with Journal writing but I saw the app on the Neurostore and figured, 'why the hell not'. John told me that the experience would be therapeutic, not sure how, but I'll see after a week or so. Lately, I've been starting to feel a bit annoyed by all the patients coming in for cosmetic transplants. Just yesterday John had a patient ask for black eyes. She wasn't visually impaired in any way, she just wanted to have black eyes. If we lived in a world with no accidents or injuries then it would be fine I suppose, but there are people in serious need of an eyeball transplant. Good thing I never had to deal with something like that. Well, if I had to, I'd rather give them a black eye (Hahaha, see what I did there? Man I think that guide to comedy Sarah gave me is starting to help! Can't wait to see the absolute peak of my comedic genius)

I'll see if I should continue with the journalling or not after a week or so, this is Dr. Titor, logging off.

Day 7

You know, sometimes I wonder why the body parts aren't getting printed any faster. One of our patients who was on dialysis died. Well, we were expecting it to happen because he asked us to end the dialysis. Wrote his will, spoke with his family and went the whole nine yards. Heard he passed away at home, in his sleep. He was on the waiting list, he didn't have to die. Maybe if the transplant list wasn't so long, maybe if there was a spare kidney, maybe he didn't have to die... Never mind... The past is the past, there's no changing it. I'll miss that old bugger and our little chats. God Bless him. I don't believe in life after death, but I hope he has a good life waiting for him. Goodbye Jeffrey, you will be missed, by friends, family and doctors alike.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Day 13

Something weird happened today, and I can't get it out of my head. The strange thing is, it's not even that weird in retrospect. Maybe I'm just overreacting? But I can't ignore the uneasiness in my gut. Anyway, we were in the OR today doing tunnel surgery, pretty standard overall. The mood seemed serious so I made a lighthearted joke, something along the lines of, "Man if they printed the organs faster we could just replace the damn kidney instead of removing the kidney stones". I thought it was pretty funny but no one else laughed. Ok, I must have been the only one to find it funny. That's what I thought, but everyone was so... uneasy. You could read the discomfort in their faces, in the creases lining their mouths and in their darting eyes. Sarah pulled me over and told me that I shouldn't make jokes like that. I asked her why but she didn't respond. No, she didn't want to.

We went forward with the operation and its been hours since then but it's still fresh in my mind. I asked John about it and he told me that he'd show me what he meant tomorrow.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Day 14

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God It was a nightmare. I thought this only happened in horror stories. But what I saw was bloody reality. Everywhere I looked, bodies, countless bodies. People strapped to tables. Unable to move. Surgical lights were on, they sawed open live people. Through their gags I heard them scream. Writhing in pain. Limbs getting sawed off. Abdomens ripped open. Organs squelching as they came out of those still alive. Eyeballs plucked clean from skulls. Endless waterfalls of blood pooled on the floors. They. They were all alive. All of them writhing in pain, gagged, alive. I vomited the moment I saw it. John took me upstairs but I couldn't stop that image from burning itself into my memory. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck. What the hell was the hospital doing. What the hell was the hospital doing. They weren't being printed. They were being harvested. What the hell was the hospital doing. What the hell was the government doing. I asked John but he said nothing. No. This was not real. There was no way that was real. John told me that everyone else knew about it, that I was kept in the dark for so long because I wouldn't be able to stomach it. I tried to run away but tripped and cut my finger. John helped me up. I looked at my finger. There was blood

But no wound.

I won't be going to the hospital tomorrow.

Day 17

I've been at home for the past 2 days, sitting in the corner with a shotgun pointed at the door. I've never touched a gun but my finger rested on the trigger like it was only natural. They've been waiting for me. Sometimes when I open the windows I can see them standing there. Standing there in their pitch black uniforms, heavily armed. Calling the cops was useless, they never came. It's all up to me now. I can't leave. They're going to get me. I can't leave. They're watching me from outside. If I move an inch they'll catch me. I can't leave. They're watching...

Day 18

My stomach is rumbling. I can hear its desperate cries screaming in my head. My mouth is parched. I have difficulty swallowing. My throat rubs against itself like sandpaper and itches. I have difficulty thinking straight but I know what I must do. I can't leave. They're watching. But one glass of water wouldn't hurt right? I peek outside the window, they're not there. I make a dash for the kitchen and fumble around with the glass. I fill it to the brim with water and greedily empty it down my throat. The water spills all over my sweat-stained clothes but I don't care. I stop. A sound. Sounds. Boots on the ground, thumping and climbing. They're coming. They're coming FUCK they're coming. So many boots. So many guns. I can hear so many boots on the stairway. I can't. I can't face them all. They're going to catch me. They're going to catch me. I'm going to be gagged. My eyeballs are going to be plucked. My arms are going to be sawed. No. No no no no no I don't want that. I can't face them all. I can't face them all. They're going to maim me. They're going to take me. The only choice left: I ready the shotgun and point it at my head. I'm never going there. I'm never going to that room in the basement. I'm never going to live like that. Never. I don't believe in life after death. But I hope there's a good one waiting for me. I can hear them coming close. I grip the shotgun tight. The door is kicked down. I pull the trigger.

Day 19

I open my eyes. I can't move.