The surgeon and the thief
It wasn't very nice of him to try to rob me. I'm a simple man and I have never, nor would ever, hurt even a fly. That was until that night. You see, I am nothing more or less than a surgeon, a surgeon for the local hospital. I don't hurt people, I help them! I open their bodies with all of my lovely, shiny tools, and remove the black abscesses from their pretty pink insides. Just a surgeon, that’s all I am. Nothing more, nothing less.
It was about two in the morning when I heard the footsteps in my living room downstairs. Two in the morning was when my life would change forever. I think that his shadow is what made him appear to be so large. Yes, that’s it, it was his shadow. When I shined my flashlight on him, he cowered like a dog caught making a mess on the floor. He was only about twenty years old. A boy, not much older than my own son. His story was lame, to say the least. "I thought this was my house," he said with a phony smile. For some reason, that fake, phony smile enraged me and I can't explain why. A white-hot rage filled every cell in my body.
It only took one good swing of my flashlight to his temple to render the twenty-year-old-would-be-thief unconscious. I must say, the way his body twitched on the floor was somewhat amusing. I dragged his body to the dining room and laid him gently on the table. A few bungee cords held his body down tight enough. What to do with him? He was a scourge on society. Hell, I may have been just another random victim on his list. Who's to say he wouldn't have killed me given the change? Who's to say he hasn’t already killed before in the past?
It took me no time to get my black leather bag from the closet and spread my shiny tools on the serving table next to his body. Surely, he would wake up during the procedure, but I know he deserved it. He deserved all the pain for the pain he has, most likely, caused others. I was looking at his chest. He...