Bad guy

Sunday, August 30, 2011

Day 2:

Lived by caesarean section. That's the only phrase I can think of to describe how I feel - being dissected alive. As if someone had slit me open with a scalpel, the pain didn't come until the flesh began to split and the blood gushed out. I can hear the creaking sound when the frame is braked. Slowly, my internal organs, wet and greasy, were pulled out one by one. Until I'm empty. Empty and, in terrible pain - still alive. Still. Still. Living.

Above me are sterile industrial fluorescent lamps. One of them was in danger of going out, it flickered, hummed and tried to keep itself lit. I've been dumbfounded by its Morse code for the past hour. Flash-on-ro ro-ro ro-flash-off. My eyes hurt. I continued to look. Followed by my own Morse code: Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Eric. Don't think about him.

From somewhere, I am being watched. There's always someone here. There's always someone to fix the lines on my body. One is to monitor my hear