Despite the noise from the surgical saw I could still hear the gentle spatter; each droplet of blood that struck the floor allowed me to keep count of the seconds passing with grim precision.
The need for inhalation seemed to pass as I moved with artistically morbid precision across the chest cavity.
Before too long I was marveling at the incredible audibility of extreme silence as I completed the journey I set out for the saw and laid it aside.
It was now, in this very moment, that I realized that I had used no anesthetics in my procedure; after all that she had put me through I had lost the ability to feel anything anymore.
An unexpected grin took hold of my countenance as I dropped my heart into the ornate wooden box upon the table, as my husk plummeted to the ground.
Beside the box a handwritten note says little, though attempts to tell much.
“My Beloved,
You dance within the grasp of strangers as I play the music you request. I look into your eyes and no longer see my reflection. Your starlit nights no longer twinkle at the sight of me.
I leave you with the one thing you told me meant the most.
Go. Dance. You shall always know where my heart resides”.
- j.g.smith(05/10/07)
No comments:
Post a Comment