PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“What the hell is this?” Matthew’s new eyes flickered across the macabre collection of “get well” gifts by his hospital bed.
“I would think it’s obvious, Sir.”
He called her “Big Nurse” but the woman’s nametag said “Louise.”
“I’m back from the dead and my friends send me crap?” He tried to sit up in bed, but morphine-blunted pain restrained him.
“Sir, you have no friends,” said Louise bluntly. “You’ve outlived them all. These are from your doctor.”
“What’s his problem? I pay him well enough.”
“It’s just that he doesn’t like harvesting your clones merely to keep you alive.”
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