A Box of Pictures
You yawn. It's been a long day at work. It's always a long day at work when you're a neurologist. You open the door to your empty apartment. You don't remember the last time it's been filled. You don't have time for a boyfriend or a friend. You don't have time for anything. You don't even have time to save your youngest patient. You didn't have time to save that little girl. The little girl who you've known your whole career is now dead and it's your fault.
You could have worked harder on the surgery. You could have worked harder on her whole case actually. This morning when she came in, she didn't seem ill. She seemed annoying actually. She was all happy and you completely ignored her. You put her in a room with a mediocre doctor to perform the surgery. When you were told of the complications of the surgery it was to late. By seven o'clock she was dead. You remember telling her mother. She cried on her husband's shoulder, and their faces blank. It broke your heart.
This would most certainly be the end of your career. They would most certainly sue. You would lose everything and be put in jail. No you wouldn't be sued. You had been with another patient at the time. The mediocre doctor would go to jail not you. You know that you tried your best to save her, but your best wasn't enough. You are a failure. The girl is dead, and you're not sure you can live with yourself.
You run to the bathroom. You walk closer to your death. In five seconds you will have started the suicide process, and you trip on a box. You cuss and open it. It's a box of pictures. And for some reason you decide to take one last look at the pictures. Maybe they will explain how Paris Geller is now a failure and about to kill herself.
AN: Okay that's the beginning if you think it has potential and that you would read it please tell me, and I will write more. If not than I will delete it. Thank you and please review.