Thursday, July 28, 2005

Stream of consciousness story whilst waiting for the baseball to come on TV

The teenager calmly looked into the ever-widening eyes of the old man, twisting the blade slightly. Bloodshot, flittering, wet at the corners. He was mouthing words through an open mouth, but the teenager wasn't listening. He thought about his own mortality for a moment, and then set to work. He removed the blade slowly and began to slice slivers of flesh from the left hand, from the wrist to the fingers. Strangely there was no blood. The old man never made a sound, although his eyes were screaming. The winding flesh peelings kept dropping to the floor, and the teenager thought absently about the last time he was at a hairdresser. The slivers became gradually bigger until the teenager was soon carving off small fillets of forearm. The old man could only watch. The bones of his fingers were exposed, peeking through the sinews and muscle like stew-bones. The tendons in the wrist were unconsciously twitching. Strangely there was no blood. When all the flesh was off, the teenager stood up and walked away, admiring his disfigured arm, leaving the old man to to his thoughts.


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