You stare at the woman in the mirror, although girl might be a more accurate description, she is certainly no older twenty. Red hair falls past her shoulder framing her pale freckled face.
The shapeless hospital gown doesn't do her any favours but you can tell she's got a good figure under there. A bit on the skinny side for your taste but still, pretty nice.
It occurs to you that you are staring at this sweet young girl and you feel yourself blush. You watch the girl in the mirror as her cheeks flush red.
“God damn she's just a kid” you mutter to yourself.
The doctor hears your comment and gives a sad nod of agreement.
“It's always hard to see someone's life cut short. Especially someone so young.” his tone suggesting this is a speech he gives often “It's not uncommon for transplant patients to feel guilty about benefiting from such a tragedy. My advice is to try and remember that she chose to be a donor. She wanted her death, when it came, to count for something and it has. Remember that this project isn't just going to benefit you but thousands of people all over the world.”
That's a nice thought but you hadn't actually been worrying about that. You had been so busy admiring her young body it hadn't yet occurred to you to feel bad for surviving when she hadn't. You feel a pang of guilt for being so self centered and look away from the mirror.
“How old is she?” you ask looking up at the doctor “Or should I say how old am I now?”
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