Purpose.

[e11even]

"If a man has not discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live"

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

ACT I: "Amy? Darling, you home?"
The doctor placed his keys by his phone, uneasy and it showed.
He checked the den, her room where her easel sat alone,
And the backyard in the tree house where his dreams became her own.
"Daddy, I wanna be a doctor like you one day!" She would say.
He'd tear up, "Be better than Daddy, baby. Be truly great..."

The cell ringing jolted him present... his heart doubled pace.
"Hello?" No words on the other end. Faint breathing in its place.
"Did you hear that, Doctor? She's sleeping..." It said.
The doctor's heart dropped. The shock weakened his legs.
"Who are you?! Where is she?! I swear you'll be dead..."
"...if what, Doctor? I doubt you'd want me mailing her head."
The Doctor stumbled back, too weak to stand.
His heart hurt unbearably; a violent shake in his hands.
This was the worst feeling he'd ever felt as a man.
The only person he cared for was kidnapped for a ransom.

ACT II: Jeremy was the accomplished slacker
since high school when he gave up his life as linebacker.
These days he was a weed connoisseur and Minecrafter,
Making palaces and slaying guard knights each time after.
He recently ditched his girl for more deviant past times
Like baking hash edibles; call girl threesomes at half price.
Party life, slob bachelor- Dad paid for his fab slice
of envied Americana. He never worked in his damn life.
After smoking a bowl, and his reality losing hold,
He heard a faint knock at the door and answered, naked, exposed.
"Put some clothes on!" The guest said, and entered his home.
"Why the fuck are you here?! I hope not to lecture me, bro!"
"No. They took...they have... I have to..."
"You have to what?! spit it out!" Jeremy sat at his bong statue.
The tension was thick as the man stood in his path, loosed.
Seemingly wrestling with psychosis, he lunged forward, "Goddamn, you!"

ACT III: The furniture moves as the two men tussle.
Jeremy was the younger combatant, thwarting the struggle.
"You will kill this man, or she will never again hug you."
"Stop fighting, Jeremy! I'll make it quick..." -- "Man, fuck you!"
"But they're just kids? Why?"
"You should get it, Doc. You abort babies all the time..."
The ordeal flashes in his mind as stamina turns tables his side.
"But, Dad?! I'm your son! What's wrong with your sick mind?!"
The doctor grounded his stance and shoved the boy over the couch.
"That's it, Dad. I'm calling the cops. Now, get the fuck out!"
"I need the low-life's organs, intact. Each one sealed in a pouch..."

"Fuck!" the doctor wails as he pulls a knife from the mount.
"Okay, Dad... its either me or..." the blade sinks into flesh.
"I failed you, Son. Shhhh... " he repeatedly plunges his chest.
The blood spurts and pools as Doc's tears drip like his sweat.
"This is your Karma, Jeffrey. Retribution at its best..."

ACT IV: "I have the product. Now where is my Amy?!"
The abandoned park glittered in the high moon's gray beams.
"She's on the bench, Jeffrey. Put the cooler in my lane, please."
The weeping doctor placed the Igloo left of his shaking knees.
"I know this has been hard, but..."
"You, you cornered me. You forced me to kill my own son!"

"Did I?" The shady figure chuckled, "I think you liked clipping off one..."

The doctor lunged at the shadow, but he wasn't there. "He's gone. Fuck!"

ACT V: "Will these suffice?" the donated specimen were perfect.

"This is prime cut! Who the hell were you paying, a crooked surgeon?!"
Alex grimaced and scared the shady doctor off to put the word in.
Then his darkest demons emerged to put their work in...
The deadbeat dad never knew the woman in the O.R.
She was dying of a disease his own organs could easily ward off.

His revolver shimmered, tempting the balling fool off his mortal cord,

Reminding him the years of addiction his baby's growth wasn't accounted for.

Here she lay, recovering from stolen organs left by a mad sadist.

He could never admit who he is or to whom she'd be truly thankful.

As she lay recovering, he imagines the betrayal sensations

as she finds out her dead war hero dad is an incarnation of Satan.

Too much a coward to die for his earnest best, he couldn't get an honest rep.

He'd rather tear another's life apart for credit he couldn't earn in death.

He pulled the trigger in a powerful grief, mourning his worthlessness.

In the end, at least the tools that ruin lives never run out of purposes.