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“Nurse, you’re needed on the second floor.”

The second floor. The blood floor. My favorite. Walls bathed in harsh light, scalpels swimming in excess blood. I love my job. Walk through halls of screams, the smile on my pretty face plastered on like some malicious doll with a heartbeat. Click my heels go. Rhythmic, just like the Doctor. Oh, Doctor, cast that cold gaze on me, ask me for the anesthetic, ask me for my body, ask me anything, and these bloody hands will obey, so delicate under the fluorescents, your servants Doctor.

Other dolls, dressed up in crisp white, smiles as glaringly fake as my own. One of my sisters assures the wriggling patient that disembowelment isn’t as painful as it sounds. My smile turns real. Through the creaking door, surgery coat sweeping the floor with a delicious whisper, my Doctor, so cold. Your patient is ready. Your canvas is prepared. The scissors cut skin, let me wipe away the work area. I know just how much blood I need to remove. Pain, so contrary, the patient screams, and screams. My Doctor just works, and works.

He is finished.

Anathema. World screeches to a stop, smile falls and crashes and shatters to the bloodied tile. It is my entrails outside my body. Mouth gaping in primal agony. No Doctor. No medicine. Cold metal in my heart, straps of leather restrain me. No escape. Oh Doctor. Mercy has no comfort here, my Doctor takes everything.

Anathema is my title, Nurse is my profession. Sew my smile on again, Doctor, I am needed in the basement.


This bit was inspired by the bloody Silent Hill Nurses, kind of before they went all twisty and deformed in the face.