He played the role of a butcher and cut himself tiny slices. Blood oozed from the lacerations. The flesh so delicate and irritated. He’s insides appeared through his exterior. I found it to be more religious than religion itself. I would have gladly drank a gallon of his blood, adopted his pain, or licked his self infected lacerations if not one human being found it morbid. To think of this as morbid would be to misconstrue. They could never see the naive beauty I saw in the obedience to death. A sacrifice. An affair with death in the mists of a mutual separation with life. The blood i saw was the very core of him. The very thing that brought him agony. If he had asked me to rid him of his pain, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I felt like a greedy mosquito aching for his life or at least a drop of it. His wounds began to form a scar. a piece of his ear was missing, a piece of his life. All that remained was his bones that fashioned the dislocations and relocation’s received over the years. Those things you cant explain, he wanted answers, he wanted clarifications. It was over a cup of coffee when I broke the silence with a stupid question.
‘Why still sad? You’ve bled all of your blood.’
‘Man destroys nature, nature destroys man. Man sought terror, terror give no remorse. Flames are hot, eternity scorched. Life isn’t far off from death. Nature is hell as man is disease.’
So he told a lie that became a lifetime of made up stories, symptoms. Explanation to things that weren’t meant to be explained. I felt it leaking from the hole. People mistake the ability to see through life, as being weak and fragile. They see the holes and try to fill them in with nice words. I saw his holes. I felt it leaking from my holes. I figured that since I couldn’t be as human as everyone, that someone should take me by my legs and throw me in the deepest river. Since I was little I couldn’t look at a car crash without feeling some responsibility even though I had no connection to the incident. This is how I learned how to be inhuman. I separated myself from the idea that most humans would gladly carve their initials into animal hide if we lived amongst horses or lions. They simply do not care for anything but they’d like to think they have the ability to own anything and everything. I was aware I was a sinner, but were they aware? I wanted so badly to be pure. To bleed from man made religious wounds. I wanted to be the Saint who got her tongue cut out whom I read about as a child in Sunday school. I wanted to be one of the mutilated martyrs. Saint Agatha with her breasts cut off; sitting on a dish in front of her. Saint Lucia holding a tray that contains her freshly gouged out eyes. “Christ became obedient even unto death.” I wasn’t a religious woman but made a vow to myself that i’d face life like Christ’s last days. This is how I became inhuman.