Magic, Miracle or Illusion.

Magic, Miracle or Illusion.

Deep in the bowels of a Scottish morgue in the year 2012 a surgical group of volunteer morticians prepare to make history.
It would be a history it was hoped, that would give the appearance of having none (History that is) a miraculous rebirth from a certified death.
Poor old Rangers lay prostrate on the icy slab of finality his weathered withered old bones concealed the working parts as yet to be truly tested for function. 
Dr. Magic ran his hands through the fine hair of recently deceased imagining that hair happily assisting in the vanity solution of baldness. 
Dr. Magic lifted his head adjusted his mask and addressed his surgically precise team. 
‘OK chaps, let’s begin the beginning !’.
The John Doe price tag was quickly removed and discarded into the bin of waste.
Dr. Magic made his first deliberate incision.
‘Scalpel,.. swab,… suction,… clamp,… ice bucket, bag’. 
One by one each were used to assist the removal and storage of necessary part.
Dr. Magic, cut, sliced, tugged and pushed to reach parts another donor he knew so well, would require, his skilled hands doing so with ease.
‘Heart ?
‘Lungs ?
‘Soul ?’
‘Soul ..???’  
‘SOUL’  ..?!?!?..!!!!  
‘Right we’ll get back to that’. 
‘OK for now let’s just move on’….
Tupe ? 
Wallet ?
‘Double check on the Tupe !’ Magic said.
Dr. Magic requested this knowing it to be a vital ingredient for today’s pre-ordered and swiftly balding customer base.
Dr. Magic after some 30 minutes stepped back from the slab, hands raised and opened facing upwards. He surveyed his handiwork as one of his assistants pulled upwards his surgical gloves in removal.
‘Nice job guys’. He nodded approval to the team.
‘Close’ please..
The team began closure, pressing staple gun against lifeless flesh.. ‘Click, click, click …
Dr. Magic after a cleansing scrub headed to his office for stiff drink and short relaxation before important call to client.
The theater crew went about their business bagging and tagging prized possessions, the keys to new life. 
(but not as we know it Jim).
The bag marked ‘Soul’ as yet remained unfilled. 
The soul could not be found anywhere during anatomical search having inspected every last cavity in great detail, so much so all that remained of old Rangers was but a contorted, distorted and pitiful shell.
Dr. Magic now satisfactorily rested after what he considered a successful post mort. 
He lean’t forward and picked up the phone, the only potential complication as he saw it, was the production of a soul, but he was convinced that omission would not affect a sale in any serious way. 
The call was answered…
‘Hello, is that the SFA ?’. ( Scottish Framework for Afterlife )
‘Yes it is’.
‘Dr. Magic here, I am pleased to inform you that we have been successful, albeit for one minor problem, you see we couldn’t find a soul, would that be an issue ?’.
‘Thankfully a soul isn’t really a vital part of the transference of life from death Dr. Magic, so many congratulations to you and your team. 
Well Done indeed, you all have made history this day’.
Dr. Magic smiled as he accepted these kind words, he punched the air as the conversation moments later was brought to a close.. 
Fast forward one year……
The Miracle of life…
Young Sevco is running around all fit & proper like, he is a picture of health apart from being completely bald, they couldn’t manage to tupe over the fine hair you see, rejection of course was always a possibility. 
He, young Sevco, still runs around though having been transplanted several life giving vitals. The necessary components to put the rosiest glow in the palest of cheek. 
The contribution of old rangers and his life giving parts acknowledged now, far and wide. 
This new life, soulless but safe, noted forever as a historic game changer.
Dr. Magic now a couple of years older has since hung up his surgical bag of tricks, preferring instead to concentrate on the art of illusion.

The Rebel.

6 thoughts on “Magic, Miracle or Illusion.

  1. Very cleverly done Wulie and so true. There is no soul just a hastily stuffed carcass plastered over hh x

  2. Classic, Rebel. if only the NHS had Dr. Magic, he could repair the thousands of broken hearts that resulted from his multiple transplants. Humour at its best and satire at its highest.

    H H

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