The Organ Fairy
By Michele Freeman
YOU KNOW ABOUT the tooth fairy, right? Well, I’m the organ fairy. And your bill is due.
Don’t look so shocked. You signed the paperwork. I got it right here. Says you offered up your...liver. Seriously? You traded your liver to attend a Kanye West concert? I could understand maybe giving up a kidney or even a testicle. You got two of those. Oh. You wanted front row. Well, to each their own, I guess.
For Pete’s sake! No, I can’t take your soul instead. That’s a different department and we don’t work with those arrogant pricks. The soul fairies are the worst. They think the noncorporeal part of a human is the most important. Hah. Try walking around without a heart. Or, in your case, a liver.
You gotta stick with the terms of the original deal. It’s right there in the contract. Nobody ever reads the contracts. You have to write your name in blood, you think you could take five minutes to review the document.
This? It’s a scalpel. It’s very sharp and it’ll cut through your muscles like they’re melted butter. Yes, it’s gonna hurt. I’m taking your liver. Why do you think I have you tied to the bed? Of course, you can’t move. Humans are wigglers, especially when you’re carving into their flesh and removing organs. Anesthesia? You’re kidding, right? I’m not a doctor. I’m an organ fairy. Okay, look. Most people don’t know this, but you can include a painkiller clause in your deal. You have to ask for it, though. Not that you’ll be making any more deals. Offering up your liver is a one-way ticket to the Beyond.
Dude. I hear this all the time. People always want to make another deal. I can’t get you a replacement liver. And I can’t let you trade out another organ for the one you originally offered. What am I gonna do with money? No, you can’t give me your girlfriend. I don’t want your dog, either. Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you signed the contract you didn’t read.
No offense, but I’ll have to gag you now. Because you’ll scream and it’s distracting. Here, let me stuff this gauze into your mouth. That’s better. I gotta get this show on the road. I have a four o’clock appointment with a dentist who traded his heart to cure his daughter of cancer. That’s noble. I’ll probably give him morphine on the house because he made his deal to save someone else. You, however, are an idiot who gave away his liver to go to a freaking concert.
Now, hold still. The first cut is the most important.