The Pomegranate

  Her heart was ideal for medical study. It was identical to pomegranate. It had thick cover, was it protective? It was painful. It used to contract against itself, squeezing its own poor insides. It gave itself pain. They said that phenomenon was for its own good. It was working as a blender to give you the pure juice. Yes, they were right. Additional to the pain the patient gave to herself, life wasn't merciful. It added such misery by one thing: splitting her heart, her pomegranate, into two halves. Its juice poured out. It colored each physician's face. It tasted deliciously tempting. It was so red and its flavor could be smelled. They wished all people's heart would have been like that. When they had a look inside, they found red pearls. They were many & sparkling. Some of these pearls were a bit yellow. It seemed their patient was a loving person. She loved everybody and gave each his/her full supply of blood from her own. Some were yellowish, as she doubted their intentions, their nature, their pale masks.

  The peeps of the heart monitor weren't heard anymore. The doctors addicted the sweet taste of this heart's juice, they were hypnotized by its flavor, mesmerized by the scene of her numerous pearls, that they became deaf. They neglected the screams of her existence, announcing its last sufferings. They didn't notice the tears rolling on her expressionless face. They were so into cutting her insides that they weren't alarmed by her aggressive vibes. She was dead. They looked at each other and gave a serious look. Not terrified, not uncomfortable look, but serious one. This look they give when they are scanning their syllabus through their heads to find explanation for the case before them, but this time they were scanning for scientific excuses. These excuses were: 1- "It's certified. She gave us permission to operate this."
2- "This is for science. Her death would add some honor to her name in the medical research."
3- "It's her fate. We're no murderers."

  After finding excuses, the time to find out their experiment's conclusions had come. One of the physicians gladly started concluding that people hurt themselves. Not physically, but emotionally like: I am ugly/fat/not accepted/stupid/a loser... etc. That's why the heart was harshly beating against itself. Though, each beat was for survival. It wasn't pathogenic. He said it meant any human makes up his own failures just to create an aim and follow the road to success. He always breaks the mirror to rip that image in it out and replace it with a perfect portrait which only takes a while till time waters its beautiful colors to be a mixture of dark and light colors.
The other physician laughed at such assumption that it would be true if the patient was a teenager. The patient was a beautiful model of 25 years old. Anyway, that doctor said it was trivial to focus on such a thing and she moved on explaining her notice. She thought that people love hurting each other. Not intentionally, though. That's why they -as a group of physicians- loved the taste and the scent of the heart's juice, they hadn't notice that it was a "hello, I am running out of blood" alarm, they just enjoyed the injury without noticing the lethal danger. She can't deny how selfish they were, as physicians, to let their curiosity slave them. They didn't mean to hurt her, they were simply exploring her beauty and her uniqueness. That's when the doctor stopped talking, starred at her friend across the room and remembered the last time when she doubted her honesty, and hurt her position as a lifelong friend. The stares which flew in the room got the point well-taught and understood.
One of them just interrupted the silence and talked about the pearls. The pearls which magically drove their whole attention. He stared at it and went on "We all have those pearls, don't we? They are reddish healthy sweet ones or solid yellowish ones. They are not ripen and rotten. We don't completely hate. We are like selecting some people, we press cut, we don't move them to any other folder, we keep them as it is. The whole difference that their figures are discolored. We are all good-hearted. None of ours is blackened and collapsed. This must be documented."
Another member of these researchers whose guilty eyes confirmed the accusation, was on the ground. He laughed out loud, "you're making out of the victim, a model of your miserable lives? You're shaping a philosophy from a body covered in blood like ancient Greeks? You're all now psychiatrists and none of you is a surgeon? In a blink, you changed your routes in life? And for just few hours. What an irony! You know, the only conclusion of what's happening in here, that humanity exists where this body's soul has just arrived. Whether it's hell or heaven, it would be better for here anyway."

  That was how the girl's pomegranate heart turned to a grenade which everybody bounced to the other, till one of them poured out the whole truth and let himself be bombed alone. To be in heaven. Or hell. Well, any place other than here.