Writer’s Prompt: The Morgue Dilemma: A Medical Thriller Flash Fiction

He thought the mob boss on his autopsy table was dead—until the corpse asked for help.

Writer’s Prompt

The hum of the morgue’s exhaust fans was usually the only company Alex Strawberry needed. But tonight, the rhythmic, post-mortem silence was fractured. The clatter of the police gurney had been an annoyance. The faint, rasping voice from beneath the white sheet was a shock.

“Help me.”

Alex lowered the scalpel, freezing next to the hollowed cavity of Jane Doe. He turned toward the gurney positioned in the back shadows. A pale, vein-streaked arm was raised, trembling against gravity.

Alex didn’t go for a pulse. His eyes traveled to the face of the man who was officially dead. The features were distinct, notorious: Nick Mossevic. This was the spider at the center of the web that had trapped half the city in addiction and violence. A paralytic agent, maybe a rare street drug, had fooled the police, but now Mossevic was fighting his way back to consciousness. His eyes were shut, but underneath, the eyeballs were darting frantically—a frantic mind locked in a silent scream.

Vengeance stirred, dark and quick. In three steps, Alex reached the shelf, his hand bypassing the sedatives and seizing a dark, unmarked vial of concentrated potassium chloride. Untraceable, if injected into the spinal column post-mortem. Justice, clean and cold. Alex returned to the table, the hypodermic glinting under the fluorescent light. Mossevic’s fingers twitched, begging.

But as the needle hovered over skin, a phrase floated up: First, do no harm. The Hippocratic oath Alex had taken wasn’t conditional. Mossevic was no longer a warlord; he was a patient. Alex’s thumb rested on the plunger.