My Hand. It’s gone.

Instantly, it was gone. It was there, and then it wasn’t. I mean my hand. It was just chopped off. I mean like … just fucking chopped off. It was so clean, and quick, I didn’t even go into shock right way. Or maybe I did, but I didn’t know it. Either way, I didn’t feel a thing. The machine just … grabbed it, pulled it, separated it, and took it away like every other part.

So yea … what kind of machine? Fuck you, my hand just got chopped off. I’m literally standing here with my stump in front of my face. My new stump. Oh, rest assured, I am in shock now. This shit is so fucked, I am writing a story while I stare at my new stump. I look around. Is it me or has time slowed way down? Jerry is looking at me like I am the crazy one. I would laugh if my stump wasn’t beginning to squirt.

I imagine his face looks pretty similar to mine right now. Mouth open, eyes wide, eyebrows pushing up on the wrinkles in his forehead. I look over to the conveyor. My hand spills out on top of the other parts, fingers twitching. My fingers. I can actually feel them twitching. I can’t make them stop, though. I am not the boss of my fingers anymore. Their job has been terminated, and their protest is beyond me at this point. They will have to take up their issues with upper management.

I look back at Jerry, and now he is moving. I have no idea where he is going, though. I have no idea of anything any more. My stump. My hand. It’s just … not happy … about any of this.


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