“Don’t forget to label the test tube when you’re done”, said the head of practitioners scornfully. Then he left the lab –showing off his jauntiness–. Everyone else followed suit; they were all convinced my theory was sheer eyewash and were expecting my fiasco.
I stood and waited as the old doctor breathed out for the last time. A few seconds later, an array of conspicuous green screens signalled the right moment –like an X in a map marks the spot–. I made a horizontal incision –short and precise– making sure that the bleeding would not spoil the whole experiment. Just then I extracted it: it was minuscule, transparent and round.
As I deposited it over the precision balance, I carefully closed his eyelids. He’d been the only one who believed in me from the start. Gratefully, I smiled upon witnessing the display reflect the twenty-one grams of his immortality.