The Doctor: A Bedtime Story

It's been a while. Something came up. A lot of somethings. Time for an inane bedtime story!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who wanted to be a doctor. He had heard it involved cutting people up and wanted in on the fun.

He started with flies and bugs. (They all do.)

He got bored soon enough, seeing the innards scattered all over the place. After all, they weren't the slightest bit like human ones. Or so his 7th grade Biology class informed him. Insects and Mammals. Different Divisions, Phyla, whatever.

Cats went missing. Strays and not-so-strays. After all, when Ginger took it into her head to disappear for a while, she'd come back in her own time. No point hurrying her.

But soon he had seen all he could see there, too. There must be something else.

There was the one dog. But dogs aren't like cats: they come when they're called, and when they don't, there are search parties and finding the remains, and there are sobby kids and blame. Always the blame.

But it was when little Risa went missing that people finally thought there was something wrong. By then, of course, he was well on his way out of this little town and to the big city; with hundreds of bodies just waiting to be opened up for his satisfaction.

The police investigated and held press conferences: there were demonstrations and pamphlets telling everyone to be careful. They reached him, too, of course. And he really was careful, just like they said.

It ended when he cut himself up, just to see if he was the same as them inside. Just to see.

The End. Now go to sleep, you.