The Famous Pathologist

His letterhead showed five degrees post nominals like swarming bees. A summary of past achievement this morning's subject was bereavement. A man of twenty-seven had (blue eyes and quite a handsome lad) first emptied what was left inside a bottle, then shot up a ride. You see, in modern times they will experiment with drugs that kill. The autopsy, which is required was scheduled for the much admired Pathologist, the region's best. They said the addict had been blessed to have these learned fingers roam his sad remains. An epitome of what the scum of humankind believes, it boggled his great mind. He did perform each step as planned ran tests for substances, all banned. Cut slices off the body's heart and placed them like a work of art inside big jars of formalin. At last, he finished with a grin. He sat and started the dictation it followed every operation. And in his mind he had succeeded his patients, though, no longer needed were all allowed to truly die. And no one asked the question 'Why' As you can gather, some respect is common sense when you dissect a human being -sheer routine, but this great man was a machine. He saw his job to make much dough and had become a techno-pro. Yet for his subjects did not care he had no thoughts to ever share. This day, another dull routine he washed and shaved, already keen to take the wife to lobster dinner forgot this young pathetic sinner. A man like this, he swims in pride and when he got to the outside he passed the addict's family but did not see their misery. The autopsy report, now ready and on the cover it read EDDY. There was no mention, other than that he had been a stupid man. The family relived the terror, when reading, they observed the error. All facts would always be the same, but EDDIE was his real name.