Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Harold put his clothes back on, using the folding screen for privacy. “What’s the prognosis, Doc?”
The demon flickered back into human form and pulled on a white lab coat. “It’s terminal, I’m afraid,” he said.
“Terminal?” Harold appeared from behind the hospital green cloth, his face ashen with fear. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes.” The demon referred to his notes. “You’re definitely mortal, and that’s always terminal.”
“But what about the… you know?”
“Problem with your water hose?” He put his clipboard on the desk. “It’s a little on the small side but I have some pills for that.”