Arynne
Salmon of Doubt
Name: Melanie Donnell
Divine Parent: Anubis
Parent's Pantheon: The Pesedjet
Calling: Forensic Pathologist
Nature: Judge
Background:
They were so proud of me, while I was in medical school. I can still remember what that felt like. They were all proud. Melanie Donnell, MD. Upstanding citizen. On a recognizable track to socially acceptable success. The fact that my switch to forensic pathology came as such a shock should probably have been a clue. All that crap about how I could be saving lives or discovering the cure for cancer…I just thought they misunderstood the nature of my job. That they simply didn't understood that forensics isn't about the macabre, it’s about justice.
They were embarrassed.
Gods, that hurt. I remember being such a, a mess of pain and confusion back then…and stuffing it deep inside and covering it up, never letting it show. They never understood. They never even tried to understand. Dad just avoided telling anyone that I was majoring in forensic science. Even Dave and Beth and Evan waffled about it when I asked them how they felt about their little sister's field of study. As though taking care of pregnant women and old men with gallstones was acceptable, but cutting up dead bodies was somehow tainted. Unpleasant.
Obscene.
I tried to explain, so many times. I told them that forensic pathology was about saving lives. The shattered lives of the survivors. But they didn't want to understand. It wasn't "appropriate."
And now I'm left with no choice but to turn my back on their unbelief.
Get one thing straight: I’m not a caregiver. Never have been, never will be. What I am is a voice for the violated souls of the dead. Medical doctors see Death as the enemy, but my foe is the criminal who preys upon the living with a twisted desire to bring pain and fear and suffering. Death doesn't frighten or disgust me. Death is just the other face of life.
But those who seek to pervert Death, they disgust me. With every knife slash and bullet wound they disgust me. With every rape, every bruise, every brutalized and broken body, they disgust me. And now, joined to that disgust, there is a new rage. Bone deep, ice cold, with a mind and will all its own. It sits in judgment on the monsters who wear the faces of men, and it breathes one word deep in the depths of my soul.
No.
No. I will not let this continue. No. I will not close my eyes and walk away. No. I will not let them win. Not now. Not ever. Not even if it costs me my blood, my life, my immortal soul. No.
They should be able to understand that. But that's not what they want to hear. It's not what they want to know.
So now, I have only three words to say in return, finally.
Too fucking bad.
Last edited by a moderator:
