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The Medic

The Army Medic looked at the blood soaking his khakis. Red, bright, pulsing blood coming from the dying Sargent's head wounds. Eyes wide opened, the Sargent stared at the medic, head resting on his lap.

This was the medic's second tour of duty in Iraq. Seeing death excited him, aroused him, especially the questioning pleading eyes; like the stare the Sargent fixed on him as he jabbed the morphine syringe into the dying man's thigh. He wondered what the dying saw in those seconds before death.

The medic's obsession with death started early in life. He smiled, remembering the insect cemetery he created as a boy. He buried the insects alive in matchbox coffins marking their graves with wooden crosses fashioned from the broken matches. Hundreds of wooden crosses, lined up in orderly rows, wrapped their way around the side of his house.

He knew he wasn't cruel or perverted. After all, he dug up some of the match boxes, after two or three days, fed the still moving insects, and looked into what he knew were their eyes, before re-burying them.

He wiped the blood from the Sargent's mouth...

The Sargent heard the shot and watched the medic's head explode into a red mist. His eyes smiled right before death took him.

Story by:

Patrick Gant

submitted at 2:18pm

15 May 2009