Two injections in the thigh with gentle hands.
Scalpals, scissors, tweezers – set aside on white paper, wet with ethanol. Seems sterile.
A piece of tissue inches from the trash bin on washed tile floors.
Back against the stiff hospital bed, and eyes trace the cracks in the ceiling.
The curtains open – an exposed, numb leg.
Standing there, watching, sitting there, removed.
Scalpal leans in, takes the lead role in the film playing in the cinema with only one front row seat.
Skin pulls away, like cutting into elastic butter, decorating the scene with red dribbles.
Bumpy, bubbly, horror-film-like-guts push up, scouring for the spot light.
White cotton covers the most gruesome parts for our less courageous viewers.
Long enough for the needle, the understudy, to make its debut, to tie up the loose ends of this plot.
The needle weaves in and out, knots solidifying credits where they are deserved.