“Why, this boy has love Sickness!”
“What did you just say, Doctor?”
“You heard me, Nurse. Third one this week. Get me my spine inserter and pseudo-skeleton from the fourth shelf in the supply room. And … get me my soul catcher.”
“Sir, did you just say that you wanted me to get you your soul catcher?” She gasped in horror. It was a bad case.
“Yes, damnit woman! This man is weakening by the second. Stop wasting his time and mine. I will not lose this one. You got that? Do you?”
The patient sat up in bed and clutched the doctor’s crisp, white lab coat in his bony hands.
“It’s too late for me, doctor. She took my spine; she crushed my soul. Something is … something horrible is happening to me.”
And without another word, the patient’s skin sagged beneath his expression. He was nothing more than a pile of his former self.
“Nurse,” shouted the doctor. “It’s not over yet. Go to the room and get the supplies. Only with your speed, my brilliance, and this man’s desire to love again will we succeed.”
And perhaps they would have if it were not for a poorly tied shoelace. The doctor shook his head in resignation.
“When it comes to love-” he started.
“-timing is everything,” finished the nurse from her sprawled out position on the floor.
“It sure the hell is.” He snapped off his latex gloves, threw them in the garbage, and left the room abruptly.
And yet still, after all that, the nurse believed in love. When her shift was through, she picked up a tub of ice cream from the corner store and headed home to watch re-runs of Who’s the Boss with her cat.
Story by P.Barker