{And so we get the holy mother of posts: two haikus from 
Zeds croaked about there -
shotgun shells cha-cunking in.
Brown Autumn, blood moon.
{This part of the post was for the haiku contest by
The blue summer sky.
Childhood glory in full form,
even after these years.
{This part of the post was for the Mizu No Oto contest by
Under the autumn dawn, the Witch, Ashley, and her Impish-aide, Red, tended the garden. Then the ground rumbled and rabbit-dæmons spawned. Red transformed to her scepter and Ashley started hexing waves of rabbit-dæmons into pumpkins; kicking them back at the horde. By dusk, the two slumped together on a pumpkin.
{This part of the post was for the 50-word tasker contest by
I had fallen, and now I sat facing a raging bovine stampede, all because of one misstep. Thanks to some damn heels, I now prayed for any miracle. Bent away from death, I gasped for oxygen. An answer to my predicament came. Gunshots rang out and the herd swerved away. Then, once the herd cleared, the farmer approached to help me up. Finally we signed off the farming equipment lease; I eased the price down as a token of appreciation. As I limped away, I slowly took off and cast my heels away; no way will I wear heels again.
. And yes, to the bots that are wondering and don't want to go checking for at least 10 minutes, this post is a revised version of an entry to the part one of the current 100-word story contest.}
Barnard Hall, in the heart of the west wing of the medical school, the Asclepius sancta sanctorum. The light of the sunset dripped from the dusty double-glazed windows and mixed with the cedar scent of the wooden stalls, arranged in steep theatre. A visitor who had passed the heavy double door would have undoubtedly caught the note of animal musk mixing with the wood essence. Smell of anxiety. Smell of hunted prey. Smell of university student exhausted during a long, endless session of exams.
"I strongly advise you to think carefully about your next words," Prof. Angelus said to the student.
Spread over several rows, set in the narrow space between the back and the table top, the remaining students were crossed by the icy scalpel blade of that voice.
"Here we are," Luke thought in a flash of conscious resignation.
It was the sixth time he had to repeat that exam: after five fails in a row his whole life have been interrupted and swallowed up in that black hole. By now he knew every detail of "At Heart of Cardiology", the three volumes treatise written by Prof. Angelus, a widely recognised eminence of cardiology.
For an eternal moment his thoughts dissociated from the scene and flew to that day three years earlier when, at the head of a handful of fifteen other students, Luke had decided to protest the decisions of the seventy-year-old professor.
"Do you mind if I ask you.. do you really intend to graduate in this university?" A stunned secretary had told him at some point, after the insistent protests of the student committee showed no sign of blurring.
And at what levels could the power of an old ordinary professor, close to retirement, ever come? The answer did not wait and, just two months later, Prof. Angelus was acclaimed by the unanimous council as dean of the faculty. Luke was instantly fire-branded and he would never graduate from that university.
"Well?" The assistant, the professor's guard dog, broke the silence.
"The... the... commissurotomy can only be performed if the flaps are not calcified and the subvalvular apparatus is preserved. With a left anterior thoracotomy, the chest is accessed through the resection space of rib 5. Once the pericardium is opened through the left auricle, a diverter is introduced into the mitral ostium which, opening, forces the valvular flaps to separate the merged commissures." Luke answered almost without breathing, tense like a Vietcong in his tunnel paved of sleepless study nights.
The professor's nose had disgusting bright red veins, Luke did not know if he was breathing - or alive at all. He looked down at the white, protruding knuckles of his left hand, clinging to the arm of his chair, and waited for his fate.
"Twenty-six, do you accept?". A note of irony in that electric scalpel voice.
"Yes. Sorry, I'll take the transcripts." Luke stumbled into his bag, looking through the notebooks for the grade transcripts. He had not even brought the booklet with him since there was so little hope of passing the exam.
The professor absent-mindedly drew a twenty-four and a signature in cuneiform spelling.
The cold light of the Pentaled surgical light-head outlined the instruments neatly aligned as efficient soldiers ready to execute his orders. It was almost pleasant to the watchful eyes of Dr. Luke Richards, a promising cardio-surgeon and head of the famous Royal Brompton Hospital in Chelsea, London.
"Doctor, we have verified that a serious heart attack is going on. The frequency is 207 bpm. We administered 50 mg of protamine sulfate, the patient did not react. Furthermore, his wife informed us of a complication deriving from senile cardiac amyloidosis."
"A very normal case that could be safely entrusted to the Mako-bot" Dr. Richards determined instantly by glancing quickly at the operating table, automated and managed by the hospital central I.A.
He snorted slightly. Evidently the patient had enough influence to overturn the Chief Cardiac Surgeon out of bed at 3 o'clock at night and demand a surgical operation by his skilled human hands.
"Who do we have here, doctor?"
"This is a certain Prof. Daniel Angelus".
The Doc cracked his knuckles and hands - surgery was going to be performed. Marching towards the room, he recounted and retold the tales of Dan... Prof. Daniel Angelus. He laughed at the thought of this whole procedure, having to cure the ragged ole... he put his hands on his face and equipped the gas-mask on. Though it had been a hassle, the hallowed times of autumn certainly were deadly for anybody.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he resumed after coughing. The Doc wondered what shit-storm the Prof brewed up to, certainly the Prof was crass, yet never to stir a hornet's nest just because they existed. Placing a firm hand on a cold knob, he looked up and found no doorway glass - sweat poured down. Twisting confidently, he walked to see the bugger - his head deathly on the pillow...
The Doc acquainted the gloves to his freezing hands and redirected the lights to the area of surgery. Yet the Doc didn't call in the rest of the staff, opting to close the doors which finally woke the Prof. The Doc chimed in as he sat next to the bed:
"Something finally caught your attention, don't worry. I won't be a fuck-up, not like I have the ability to retake this. So make yourself at home."
"Ah, now I see the true colours. Only if you presented them earlier, maybe I would've gone softer. Heh."
"Heh, you still pierce me cold even when it's best to not to."
"I'm surprised they even let you do it, I wanted to test their wits... Guess they haven't balls to make an attempt."
"The first ever heart-warming thing I felt in a while, would've been great if your heart's energy could've been there all those years ago."
"And here you are here."
"I got here thanks to a professor that didn't follow a shitty inspection standard."
"True, even if I was following regulations, there were certainly times I wanted to make you a Doc on the spot... That stupid standard. It's unrealistic with the environment, especially today's environment."
"Heh, and yet you followed it."
"That or I get forced into retirement earlier."
"Maybe you wouldn't need to be here right now."
"Heh, I made the right choice - maybe I should've been making the right choice earlier when you were a mere student! Heh, at least you had the balls to come back... even after facing multiple humiliations... I cannot be excused of those errors; yet can I live a bit more?”
"Heh, revenge may be best served cold. But I say I have to let my dish cool a bit."
"Bloody Heck. Maybe I did screw up. Ha ha ha."
The Doc chuckled as he radioed the staff to hustle. The Prof placed a firm grip on the Doc's sleeves, he spoke:
"Your final test with me begins, all or nothing."
With that the grip loosened and the Doc opened the door.
All or nothing, this time there's no retakes.
@Marcoriccardi - Fifth Mizu No Oto photo
