Free Moribund Tales by Erik Hofstatter Page A

valuables at gun-or knifepoint. I was shocked to discover that none of my possessions had been stolen. My mobile and wallet were still in my pocket. What was the point? What were they after?
    Terror seized my limbs. The trauma of the ordeal clawed at my senses. Going to the lab in this condition was inadvisable. The logical destination was the police station, but what viable fruit would my revelation bear? I was attacked, but there were no signs of physical damage.
    I felt an unfamiliar sensation deep within. Something
was
missing. Something
did
assault me. The motive remained a puzzle. Who were these fiends?
    The city's mechanical fumes contaminated the atmosphere while I limped along the foul sidewalk. The night chilled me to the core as a gang of dubious adolescents conspired on the corner. The nausea increased as a metallic flavour invaded my mouth. Was this the aftermath of the toxic chemical I was compelled to inhale?
    Perspiration rose to the surface of my features as I vomited over the side of a bridge into the river below. The drivers that passed me made rude gestures or honked in amusement, miscalculating my mysterious symptoms for those of an ordinary drunkard. My determination faded, and oblivion snatched me as I collapsed to the ground.
    I was woken by an intense light being shined in my eyes, forcing me to open them. And there was an overwhelming scent of bleach. Had the monsters returned to dispose of me?
    A man in a white coat positioned himself on the edge of the bed. The protruding bags under his eyes betrayed his antiqued age.
    “I'm Dr. Mahapatra. How are you feeling?”
    “Where am I?”
    “St. Margaret's hospital,” he replied. “You were found on Rochester Bridge.”
    The memory of my unexpected collapse gradually resurfaced. I wondered if these thoughts would help me recall further details about the attack. This might be a blessing in disguise, considering whoever assaulted me still lurked within the city. What if they ambushed someone else?
    “You know,” the doctor began, in a concerned tone, “a man in your condition should really take better care of himself.”
    This declaration puzzled me. What did he mean? I was in sensational shape. I'm in the peak of health. Illness never plagues me for any length of time.
    “What exactly are you referring to, doctor?”
    He levelled his eyes to mine and countered with a question. “You mean you're unaware of your condition?”
    This doctor was absurd. “Yes, I'm completely oblivious to my condition!”
    “Well, according to our medical report, it seems your sudden collapse was caused by exhaustion and a lack of rest. The procedure you underwent is serious. It takes time before your body can heal and adjust.”
    I observed the pale ceiling above me and shook my head in disbelief. What on earth was he talking about?
    “I don't understand,” I said. “I haven't had any surgery!”
    The doctor appeared equally mystified. “You do realize that one of your kidneys has been removed? And judging by the softness of the scar it happened very recently, perhaps only hours ago. You should have been in hospital for at least a week.”
    I felt the blood drain from my face.
    “What's the name of the hospital that performed the operation?” the Doctor asked. “I'm rather concerned about your situation. How did you end up on that bridge?”
    My overloaded brain was striving to process all the information that it had just obtained. The doctor's features turned from concern to horror as he noticed the shock on my face.
    Instinctively, I lifted my hospital gown and beheld an elongated scar spreading from my right to my dorsum. It looked raw and sloppy. An operation performed impetuously. At last, I was able to comprehend the full purpose of the assault. They were not hunting for money. They were searching for internal organs. My god! What have they done to me?

Last Straw of Humanity
    T he cries always increased at night. Always. I knew what lay beyond the door.