Dismember


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1. Dismember

The hand was bleeding and it wouldn’t stop. It was not connected to the arm and the arm wasn’t connected to the torso. The whole thing was apart. Every limb was torn from its original spot and moved to a different spot on the concrete floor. I smiled with satisfaction. The deed was done and never had to be done again.

It wasn’t I who killed the male that laid sprawled out in front of me. It was a woman in a dark green dress, splotches covering several spots on the emerald cloth. I had asked no questions because asking questions was not in my job description. It was only to cut whatever was brought into my department. Nor was I to refuse to do the job, so the woman in the emerald left and I got to work, sawing back and forth on the bones of the dead male.

He was tall at on point. Before I cut, I measure and found he was almost 6’3”. His hair was gone and the bald scalp I was left with had places where someone had forcefully pulled it out. His pupils were dilated and a slight brown peeked out beside the black. His body had been in poor shape before I had disassembled the limbs. His stomach was rotund, his mouth was very dry, and his arms had scars recently etched into the skin. It was a very ugly sight. At first, I puked but I realized that this man was here and dead for a reason. This body could have landed in someone else’s place but I was the one to watch skin give way to vessels and bones and tissues. Blood was still running through his veins as the blade of my saw cut.

I looked at the pieces on the gray ground. I didn’t know what to do. The pieces were there and I had been accessory to murder. Carefully, I dragged a blue metal trash can to where I had been sitting and picked up the hand. The bleeding had finally stopped and clotted the arteries. I threw it into the can. I picked up a foot, another hand, a shoulder, a leg, an arm, etc. But I stopped at the head that lay there staring at me in mockery. The eyes gave me a message- I was going to jail. I had Hell to pay. I could’ve just called the cops but I had made precise incisions, ones that would certainly land me in the smallest and grossest cell in the county.

The head, I picked it up and put it in the can. I could feel my insides clawing me, trying to get out, not wanting to be victim of my atrocious actions. I puked again, letting the vomit singe my throat, leave me thirsty. I had to think quick but the smell of the vomit had given me a headache.

The gasoline was in the corner. The matches on the table. I found my plan.

I grabbed the gasoline and doused the dismembered man and the area directly around the can. The matches were struck against the box and flames erupted in my hand. I dropped the flame and watched the gasoline ignite. But I was stupid. I had accidently poured some of the liquid on my pants leg.

The heat engulfed me and seering pain entered my body, traveling up like caterpillars on a tree. I felt the pain for a while and screamed until the fire went into my mouth. I don’t know at what point I died but all at once the pain stopped and I was greeted by darkness.

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