101 Word Fiction - 003
Cancer. They cured fucking cancer. And AIDS too. They conquered those two behemoths of the disease world, and yet they still haven’t touched diabetes. A fist slams onto a rickety table. For all the technological advancements, for all the body-dysmorphic augmentation that was possible these days, they still can’t make me a new panchreas. His lymphatic system swells with the thought. Neurons come alight, muscle fiber twitches, and chemicals race through his veins, both the organic ones, and the ones that had been retrofitted. Like the one that feeds from his insulin machine, which still weighs down on him like a millstone.
© Bernard Klinke 2009
