Monday, February 07, 2011

Dressing for one

This is an excerpt from something I'm working on. Please excuse typos, punctuation, bad writing...

He would make a cut up the backs of both legs joining them at the anus, and then continue up to the base of the neck. There, he would join up the single cuts from each arm. Finally he would make a Y shaped cut on the back of the scalp taking care not to go to far forward as he would then have to hide the stitch marks later.
After skinning, he had easy access to the internal organs. Although he didn’t need to work as deftly as with the filleting, he still had to take care not to nick any of the organs. It was bad form to have to clean up bile, blood, and any of the other many fluids that could be counted on spilling out. Also, it smelled bad enough already. He had a reasonable amount of time after death, about six hours at room temperature. After that the viscera started to build up gases and toxic fumes. He had a cynical laugh at this. How ironic it would be if he were overcome by those fumes and died. That would also be bad form.
Once the organs had been carefully removed he placed them into a bio-degradable bag, then place that bag into another in case the first one somehow had a leak, and then finally into a third. Two was probably fine and safe enough but it was better to be sure. He then walked over to the lift-top freezer at the far end of the room. It had ample space for twenty such bags but that would never be utilized as he only dressed on subject at a time. Inside was a piece of plywood that was bisecting the space. He placed the organ bag on the left side of the freezer and then took two frozen pizza from the right. A double pepperoni and a deluxe.
Returning to the table he pulled the detachable sprayer from it’s cradle and turned the cold water spigot to medium pressure. Just enough to get a good volume of water into the chest cavity but not enough to create excessive splashing. There would always be some of course, that couldn't be helped.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

11

I’m skinny and weak. I can’t do anything but watch. I want to do something but I can’t. What can I do? I can’t do anything because I am so weak. He turns to me and yells.

What the fuck are you looking at?

He turns away and then back.

You’re next.

I can’t cry. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. My feet are fence posts stuck into concrete. I’m so scared.