Key

That night, while I was pondering on the philosophical question of the value of my existence, a glaring creature on the table drew my attention.

He was the key living in the next pocket - my master somehow left him on the table.

"Hei, man," I yelled to the smelly piece of metal, "What's funny here ?"

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to take a good breathe after all day's work. But you look gloomy. I suppose you should be happy with the recent happenings of that woman ?" My neighbour said.

I told him what's in my mind.

He considered for a while and said, "I don't think we are here to detect romantic abnormalities and make exotic diagnosis - not for me at least. It's grass root kind of work. But I am handy and immediately available, and our master won't do away with me - he cannot carry a CT scan with him in the ward. I suppose you are more sophisticated and could be of a even better use ?"

"You mean deciding whether someone has lung crackles or rhonchi or bowel sound ?" I tried to make a joke - probably onto myself.

"Don't you think they are important ? How many times did our master rely on you to decide whether someone has heart failure or bronchospasm, and bowel obstruction or ileus ? Oh, I should the one feeling jealous !" He smiled.

I said nothing, but began to see the truth in his words. Yes, I should be happy with my grass root but material achievement, rather than wasting my time to crave for some glamorous moments.

"Maybe you're right," I said, "Oh, the pocket that you lived has a hole in it. Do you want to share mine with me tomorrow ?"

He nodded eagerly, and I was sure it would be the beginning of a great friendship.

- THE END -