Soul by Jorge Aldegunde

“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.


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