Sunday, February 27, 2005

Scrapbook snippet

While reading the newspapers this morning, I came across a story about plans to recover artificial joints from the ashes of cremated bodies to sell them. Macabre indeed. The article continued as to whether such an act would be legal, posing the question: If hip joints or orthopaedic implants are placed in there, who owns them?

This is the sort of thing I look out for, as I'm sure there's a story here. All it needs is a bit of imagination to see where it leads.


HP said...

It's probably different in Britain where you have National Health, but here in the U.S., when Grandpa dies, I've not just inherited his legacy, I've inherited his massive medical debt as well. Believe me, that hip joint is mine, baby, 'cause ultimately I'm the one paying for it.

Okay, so "greedy heirs" is one of the oldest plot devices in the book, but maybe you can do something with it...

Extremely glad I found your site -- via Google ad on my own page, so those things work. I've got a bit of a horror fan blog going. I can't imagine you'll mind if I blogroll you as well.

Shaun said...

Hi hp,

Glad to see those Google ads work:)

So why wait till Grandpa dies? ;)I think the title 'Inheritance' has a nice ring to it, and when I get time, I may actually write it.

I love finding those strange little snippets of news. Usually, they're slotted in between bigger, more important items, but there's usually one or two, especially in the weekend newspapers here in the UK.

HP said...

"The old man's debt's paid off, and a nice bit of profit for myself," thought Evan Chartier as he poured himself a brandy. "That storm's shaping up to be nasty, but it's warm and dry inside, eh Rex? Rex? Now where has that dog gone off to?"

Evan listened closely for the old collie's rasping breath. Hip dysplasia, too, and he'd no doubt need to be put down soon. Funny, when the old man bit it, Evan hardly felt a thing, but poor dear Rex. It nearly broke his heart. Just then, Evan heard a sound -- not Rex, but something outside the house, just audible over the howling winds.

Thump. Slide. Thump! Slide.Something about the sound filled Evan with a dread that not even the Chartier family reserve brandy could dispell. He moved tremulously into the foyer, and was about to peek out the sidelight when there was a single, sharp loud rap! at the door, just at the level of the mail slot.

"Rex?" asked Evan, tentatively. From the other side of the mail slot came a sound like sharply drawn breath, or a door, long since sealed shut, opened.

"My . . . hip. My ti-tan-i-um hip. I've come for my hip, boy!"

[I'm sorry, Shaun. Too many EC comics as a youth.]

Shaun said...

Your short piece reminded me of a similar story I once read (can't remember for the life of me what it was though). I'm glad I inspired your creative juices. When I get around to penning a piece about artificial joints, I'll be sure to let you read it.