Chapter
3 – A Usual Sunday
Today is Sunday, which is perfect
because I have to take it easy. At first, I think the events of yesterday were
a dream until I see the gifts on the table. The temptation to think of myself
as a murderer and not worthy of being a doctor anymore, but I remind myself
that I was justified and ask for God’s help in staying strong against these
temptations. I do my best to ignore them as I make my way to church, through
mass, and after leaving it. Mass was good and I liked the priest who sounded
caring, understanding, and optimistic during his preaching. He welcomed the new
parishioners and talked about how we shouldn’t let these faithless times bring
us down. Previous times of low church attendance and godlessness were brought
up and we’re reminded that the church has risen up after every time. After mass,
the church offered everyone coffee, donuts, and bagels downstairs as a way to
get all of the new and old parishioners to meet and get to know one another,
which was nice.
Everything from the mass to the
breakfast has reinvigorated me. Even the temptations are gone. This day seems
to be a relaxing one until a flying car crashes near my house. A rich young man
with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cybernetic left arm. He must be extremely rich
and important not only evident because of the aforementioned cybernetic arm,
but there’s not a scratch on his tuxedo, dress pants, and shoes, which means he
either has a really good tailor or the clothes were made with intention of
being a form of light armor against possible assassins. I’m probably
overthinking it a bit too much though it isn’t uncommon for the rich to wear
some kind of protective armor under their clothes because of how hated by the
poor they are and the possible enemies they have in their business.
Going up to the young man, I say, “Come
with me. I can take care of your wounds. I’m a doctor.”
“Thank you. I’ll call someone to
take care of my car. Sorry for troubling you,” the young man says as he struggles
to get up.
I help him up and walk and then
say, “Don’t worry about it. Helping people is what I do.”
Getting the young man inside and
downstairs, I check his wounds, clean them, and bandage him up while talking to
him about his clothes. He confirms that his clothes were made by a tailor hired
by his parents to protect him just in case he was attacked, but doesn’t elaborate
any further on why, which I can understand why.
“Sorry I can’t do anything for your
cybernetics,” I say.
“That’s fine. I have an uncle who
helps me with that,” he says. Reaching into his pockets, he pulls out six hundred
dollars in cash. “Here. For your help.”
“That’s too much for me just bandaging
you up.”
“It’s the least I can do to thank
you. This is just pocket change for me. Besides, what person helps another without
expecting something in return?”
“I do. I didn’t help you because I wanted
to get paid. I did it because I’m a doctor and it was the right thing to do.”
“Hmm. Then how about you take this
from me for the help and for advice in addition to it.”
“I-”
“I insist.”
The young man seems honest and
doesn’t seem like he’ll take no for an answer no matter how much I insist. He's as stubborn as Silas.
“Okay, fine.”
“Tell me why you became a doctor
and what it means to do the right thing. I find it hard to find what I want to
do despite my riches and hardly any of it feels like I’m doing the right thing.”
That’s a loaded topic to give advice
about. It takes me a second to think about how to respond.
“Well, I prayed to God for what
role He had for me in life, and after watching so many people sick and
suffering, my heart was set on being a doctor.”
“Okay…but what does it mean to do
the right thing?”
“It means to serve God in
everything you do, say, and think.”
“Hmm. I’m not religious or even the
least bit spiritual so I don’t know what you mean at all.”
“I’m sorry for such bad, confusing
advice. I am a doctor and not a career consultant after all.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you for your
help again and here’s your payment.”
After he hands me my payment, the
young man heads outside where a truck has loaded the remains of his car and
another flying car is waiting for him. He waves and smiles at me as he takes
off and is flown back to the city. I never expected a rich boy to seem so nice
and honest from what I know and have heard from him. For some reason, I feel
assured that he’ll find his God-given place in life. As for me, I go back
inside and make myself lunch. For the next few hours, I relax by having the TV
play in the background while I paint figures for the orphaned and poor children
I help. One of the people at the charity I work at says that it’s a relaxing
activity and it is for the most part.
My relaxing day is again interrupted
by the sound of a car parking outside of my house and someone banging at the
door. I go to answer it and am surprised to see that it’s the chief of the police
who is injured.
He points his pistol at my face and
says, “I know what kind of doctor you are. Don’t ask how I know or what I’ve
been doing. Just put me back together and we both forget that we saw each
other. Understood?”
“I understand,” I say before taking
the chief downstairs and tending to his injuries.
The chief has bullet and burn wounds
on him. He’s pretty beat up and passes out soon after laying down on my
operating table. From what Josh told me, this man is one of the reasons why the
city is so corrupt. He’s why so many crimes go unpunished or rewarded in some
cases. This infamous man has been put in my hands by God. I can kill him now
and make a major change in the city by doing so. My hand stops and I have to
stop it from shaking as it nears his skin with a scalpel in it. His evil deeds could
finally be justly rewarded and so many innocent people can be saved if I only
slit his throat and have the people at the charity center dispose of his body.
No. I won’t do it. I’m a doctor and
this man came to me looking for help, and, as a doctor, I am obligated to save
his life no matter how stained with sin his soul may be. After taking care of
his wounds and waking him up, he jolts up and immediately begins to feel the
pain of his injuries.
“You should take it easy,” I say.
“I need to get out of here. Like I said
before, forget that you saw me,” he says while making his way up the stairs.
As he leaves my house, he looks
both ways. While he does, a revolver is put into his face and the shooter pulls
the trigger killing him in an instant. I run over to see who did it and I’m surprised
and not surprised at the same time to see Silas is the shooter.
“Are you okay, Natasha? Did he
force you to do anything?” Silas asks.
“He got me to take care of his wounds
that I’m assuming you gave him. That’s it,” I say.
“That’s good. I still have to do
something to pay you back for helping me. How does dinner sound?”
“Pfft. You just shot the chief of
police in front of me and you’re asking me out to dinner? Sure, why not?”
We both notice the sound of police
sirens that seem to be growing louder with each passing second.
“Hold that thought. I’ll be back
before you know it.”
Silas runs off presumably because
of the cops that are chasing after him. Later in the night, I’m surprised to
see him alive and well on TV where he is declared sheriff of the city and
promises to get rid of the rest of the corruption from the city. He doesn’t come
back to me until ten, which is when we go out to a fancy restaurant in one of
the fancier places in the city. This place is one of those places that are
mainly open during the night and into the early hours of the morning for the
rich, and since Silas is the new sheriff, we have access to it with a deep
discount on our bill. During our dinner, Silas talks to me about how he going
to change the city and America through his actions and how he’s confident that
God will make this country better than ever was before. I’m honestly
confident now of what Silas says and trust that some big change is going to
happen. This may just be the beginning of it, but it’s a promising one filled
with the hopes of a better tomorrow that can be achieved one day at a time.
The End
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