Blood in the Toilet

Short Fiction

edited by Megan Haab

“The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease.”

— Voltaire

There it is. Blood in the toilet.

He stares at the mixture. There’s blood in his piss. Or, is it piss in the blood? It’s a lot of blood. Either way, pink bubbles gathered in the bowl, not white bubbles, and that’s a bad sign. He stands and stares down at the mess, he begs God to wake him up. It’s the first time he’s prayed in 25 years. He doesn’t wake up, though. He can only smile at the irony.

Twenty years ago, Dad pissed blood. He had no pain, no lethargy, no signs of sickness. Just a message from Death I’m heading your way, rising up with a stink of ammonia. Ten years later, Death showed up. And now Death has returned for the son. “Ain’t that a bitch,” he says.

He pulls the smart phone from his pocket and stares down into it. His face detected, the home screen opens. He doesn’t move. It goes black again after 90 seconds, and he’s left looking at his face reflected on the …