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The Rantings of a Surgeon

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Hey there. My name is Meemo and I’m a surgeon. Well, I guess the definition of ‘surgeon’ has changed over the last few centuries though, so for you, I would probably be more like a plastic surgeon. Nowadays, people can get their DNA treated and all before birth, so there really isn’t such a thing as illnesses or diseases people of your time are troubled with. We surgeons, we’re just in charge of stuff like mending broken arms and legs, making someone’s face look better, elongating people’s fingers if they want to strike a big chord in piano, and such. Most of the time though, we just get patients who want their faces to look better. I loved my job. But recently I’m super bummed, because, you see, not only did I get fired, I also got dumped.

The whole incident was a misunderstanding. One day, a strangely dressed, but oddly familiar young man walked into our famous clinic and demanded we make him look ‘good’. The boss made a pretty huge deal about him, and entrusted the task to me. I didn’t really get the ado, so I just did exactly what the professors, textbooks, and current fashion trends said best to do. First, I elongated his fingers for five centimeters, cut all his eye brows and eye lashes, took out his nose bone so the skin there could have a floppy effect, and puffed up his lips and cheeks, this was to artistically contrast his large forehead so his eyes would look small. I even used our most recent technology, which was a special type of ultraviolet radiation to make his ears enlarge to twice their size. When I was done, I stood back to admire my work, just as any artist would do. His face was perfect… the most beautiful thing one can set eyes on. I handed him a mirror so he could get a look at his wonderful features.

The young man’s reactions, however, were totally unexpected. He took one look into the mirror, shouted in horror, and ran out the door. The mirror fell onto the hard floor and smashed into pieces. I did what all normal people these days would have done under such circumstances-I started picking up the pieces and putting them into a garbage can.

If I had known what was to follow me afterwards though, I would have chased that young man and asked him what was wrong, because the poor guy was so depressed with his looks that he climbed up to the top of this sky scraper and jumped. He died, of course. It was not until later that I learned that this guy was a super famous singer from a couple of centuries ago. He’d heard about our famous clinic and taken a time machine especially to get treated. Of course, the word ‘attractive’ had an entire different definition from back then too.

The next morning, this whole thing was all over the Timez Newspapers. ‘Famous Singer Commits Suicide From Failed Surgery’. I got fired, of course. I tried to explain to my boss that it was all a misunderstanding, and that the surgery really was a success, but he wouldn’t listen. I think he just wanted to save face.

Over the next few months, I received thousands of hate letters from girls all over time. Those from the past blamed me for ruining the face of their idol singer, while those from the present accused me of causing the death of such a beautiful figure (they’d seen his picture in the newspaper). I even got a few from the future! I tried to seek comfort from the only girl whom I thought would take my side, so I brought the newspaper article to my girlfriend to tell her that this whole thing had been a misunderstanding. She took the newspaper from my hands, read to the end of the article, sent a death glare at my face, and said through gritted teeth, “Sayonara, you worthless idiot.” Then, without another word, she shoved the crumpled paper into my hands and stormed off. I suddenly remembered that this person had always been her favorite singer. She worshipped the guy. Suits me right for never listening to ancient music.

So now that brings me here, writing this thing in this dark room of mine, all lonely and alone. But, at least you understand that this was all a misunderstanding, right? I mean, what we consider as a ‘perfect face’ changes from day to day, doesn’t it? Beauty is so fleeting, there really is no standard for it, is there? After all, our models today would be considered monstrous in your time… Who knows what ‘attractive’ is? I don’t really think it matters all that much. We all have different eyes and heads.

I tried to get this published in a magazine here, but all the editors called it rubbish, so I had no choice but to send it to a magazine in this time dimension. Well, all I wanted to say in the first place is, I want my job back, but now I realize that there really is no point in the whole thing. Maybe it’s time for me to search for something new.





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