I'm sorry I have to cut you.
You've been cut enough.
I know it seems backwards, but it will help me.
Right now your flesh is only a rind keeping the rest inside.
He saw to that.
It used to be much more.
I'll tell you what I find.
You deserve to know.
Maybe I can make it a little easier for you.
Not much, I know.
It's not your fault, and look what we're doing to you.
I am so sorry.
And how about this lovely retreat we've provided.
Not the holiday spa you expected?
A faucet at your head, a drain at your feet, and a metal tub to lie in.
I don’t think comfort was first on the list.
Almost everything in here is made of stainless steel.
That’s to prevent whatever filth you may have picked up from the alley where I found you, half-adhered to the ground, transferring to the next customer here at the meat shop.
Do you know what the faucet is for?
When I deprive you of what little blood is left, due to all the holes, I will rinse it down the drain like unwanted sewer run-off.
Put this under your head.
I use it to hide and to be seen, to attack and to escape.
Again, not much.
There is no colder place.
Frozen lockers and butcher's tables.
Look what I have to use:
And a saw.
Mengele’s toy chest in the search for good.
Maybe I should be on the cart, too, next to the razor blade pie.
What’s it like in there?
Not much space.
You must be matted and caked and crusted.
How nice to be sealed up in your own stew.
I can just barely see you.
Your cracked, scaly, stained skin is just out of focus, like a fog that refuses to lift, like the fog around my house.
It sometimes stays for days.
I can’t quite know you.
Can you see me?
I can imagine what you must be thinking.
Who, or what, is this, some kind of giant mouse?
What does it want, a big piece of cheese?
Christ. Where have they sent me, to some kind of backwards veterinarian?
I think I’ll stay in the bag.
I don’t blame you.
I know this light must be annoying.
I’m sorry it’s not the sun.
I hope the last time you felt the sun gently hold your face was good.
I hate to tell you, but that was your last.
I don’t see the sun much, either.
Please try to remember it.
You should let your mind wander, now.
Go somewhere else.
So many small holes, no one bigger than the next.
He was thorough.
Didn’t miss a spot…maybe your feet.
Got you, bottom left.
You were a sieve.
Didn’t have a chance.
You have some bruising on your neck.
That must be where he first grabbed you in order to gain physical control.
He probably split your windpipe, too.
Your nails aren’t broken, and I don’t see much shallow scratching.
You didn’t have much time to defend yourself, did you?
I’m sure he surprised you.
He had one thing on his mind.
You would’ve. I know you would’ve.
I can see strength in your eyes, even through the ruptured blood vessels.
Nothing you could’ve done.
Some are different.
It’s difficult to tell, I have to look close.
The ones in your face seem to have little flaps, or corners, but these over your heart are cleaner, straight punctures.
I hope you got those first.
Maybe the angle of his strikes?
Your blood may have caused his hands to slip, impeding his grip.
He didn’t rush.
He savored this.
Did he actually take the time to switch weapons?
He was calculated.
He considered himself an artist-
He had you in his teeth.
He was grinding you.
You were caught in a horrible contraption that no one can stop.
It won’t stop, lubricated by waste.
I don’t know what to do.
What am I supposed to do?
Smoke bombs and flash bangs?
Shuriken shaped like bats?
Magic shop gimmicks and gumball prizes.
I’m tired. I am so tired.
Look at you!
Aren’t you lucky!
Do you feel lucky?!
You should, because with your purchase of one ticket to nothingness, you’ve won a complimentary carving at the hands of our very own detective! And because this is your second visit to the chopping block, we will deprive your family, if you even have one, a last look even remotely resembling what you once were!
Isn’t that wonderful?!
I’ve certainly made a mess, of you and the room.
Sorry. You don’t deserve that.
I’m a little jealous of you.
Your body doesn’t matter.
You should see mine after a long night.
Some days, no matter how long I sleep, I never feel like I catch up.
Don’t tell anyone.
That’s our secret.
What’s it like in there?
Do you get hungry, or thirsty?
Do you laugh?
Do you cry?
Do you worry about anything?
Do you get nervous?
Do you get sick?
Do you get scared?
Do you see people you know?
Can you talk to them?
I bet you’re never tired.
Always caught up.
How about a nice clean tub?
Would you like that?
It won’t hurt. I promise.
I’m taller than you.
I’d like to see people I know.
I’ll just follow the zipper.