The good doctor finds his own way through the halls passing the large harshly lit cafeteria. He rushes past, he has no need of that room, and his time is short. He picks up the pace further, the ill and injured respectively stand aside. Not a second to lose. Fiercely he slams open the large double doors and yet the corridors go on and on, seemingly endless in their stark white inevitably.
Nearing his destination he is fully running now, his long-distant youth as a track star echoes in his muscles. The urgency increases as he enters the vehicle. Recklessly it weaves swiftly through the thronging traffic, ignoring lights; all must wait the doctor.
His door is open even as the brakes begin to scream. He leaps out. The house is already open, the anxious faces eagerly welcome him; he is here, the doctor is here; where he is needed.
Panic has not yet set in as he bursts into the kitchen. He is in time, the doctor has arrived. He picks up his tools and immediately sets to work.
With a final twist of the wooden spoon this good doctor serves his family with a meal of his own making; the flavour of the feast so intense it almost comes to life.
This is my first attempt at following the daily prompts for a ten minute write from Putting My Feet In The Dirt. The idea is to use the prompt and write for ten minutes only. Which is what I did, prompted by the words The Frankenstein Feast. This originally appeared on the Dead Deer Blog.