Thursday, July 21, 2005

Operation

“Hand me the scalpel.” He spits it through the facemask, which is torn at the side, and into his hand a stained blade is placed. Its edge is ragged with use and decay, and the handle is bent. But without consideration for the patient, he slices into his side, the skin splitting unevenly and blood pouring freely onto the back alleys filthy cement.
“Suction” he orders and his companion sticks a greasy, piss stained tube into the patients side and begin the suck the other end as if he was siphoning petrol from a car. He spits a slimy mixture of saliva and blood onto the ground and the patients’ blood drains through the tube.
“Ice” and his partner lifts a champagne bucket filled with ice, the bottom of which is green from the scummy alley. The patients’ liver, which is savagely cut from the body, is ducked into the ice and cover with a cloth. The surgeon complains about the cold. “Next time, I should wear some fucking gloves.”
And in the morning the corpse is found by a hobo, who screamed “Holy Jesus!” and ran into the middle of a busy street to stop a passing car, his hands holding a bloody wallet.

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