The Weight Of The Knife (Patrick’s 1st Log)

Posted: July 15, 2015 in Patrick's Entries, Paul's Entries, Ronnie's Entries, Sonja's Entries
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The third TERMINATRYX blog post is Patrick’s intriguing first entry (of several linked parts).

3rd Log
The Weight Of The Knife: Part I – Patrick Davidson

Patrick DavidsonI can imagine that people must wonder what could have been going through my mind at that moment.  The moment when a dubiously shiny instrument, grasped firmly in my hand, set about to split the dermis of a living man.  Granted, it was living man who had brought himself into that very circumstance, powerless to resist the bite of the blade.  I glanced up to watch him grimace as flesh yielded to a drawn and searing sting.  A tendril of precious scarlet began immediately to reach out wonderingly into this new dimension, exploring gravity across bare skin.  I recall, in that very moment of first blood, my first true recognition that there would be no turning back from this ghoulish task until it had been completed.
A part of that recognition, of course, was that I knew my tormentee to not only be a husband and a father to two boys, but if inquiring into the appropriate circles, also a celebrated intellectual.  There was a certain weight of responsibility bearing upon the cold steel of that knife.  Would my conscience fall into question for the actions in which I was engaged?  Or perhaps my sense of morality?  Considering the context, it did not really matter.  Only blood mattered now, and pain.  And the witnesses.  So I proceeded with a second cut; cold-faced and meticulous in my intent; beset by a dark sense of determination.  More blood.  Then a step back to take in the bigger picture.  In his opposing resolve, the victim of my attention disguised it well by setting his jaw stubbornly.  But I knew.  Oh!  How our family man suffered as a small cluster of aghast spectators looked on, equally powerless to intervene and transfixed in a silent, lips-parted sort of amazement.  I was vaguely aware of a brief sound underlying the prescribed ambiance of the room.  Perhaps it was one of the onlookers clearing an anxious throat; or choking back their sick.  It was not my concern to heed the others as a harsh realization of what they were observing began to sink in.  I could continue my work in full confidence that there would be no intervention.
I stepped forward again to induce more anguish with a third incision.  Slowly, of course, before making way for all to admire my handy-work.  Time was on our side for this endeavor, and pain was the order of the day.  Multiple cameras rolled to capture the carnage whilst the beam of a projector flickered overhead.  The room was large with bare walls that were painted white, completely unadorned save for a large disc shape mounted high against the short end where I worked.  The purpose-built disc consisted of a heavy welded metal frame, wrapped neatly and lovingly with a canvas covering, also painted white.  The place was dimly lit, but there was enough illumination for all to see.  This had been made certain of.  There was also music for dramatic effect.  After another lengthy pause, I stepped forward and divided human tissue yet again.  This time he grunted, loudly enough that it carried into the room.  I sliced again.  And still again.
Please don’t mistake me for a brute though!  Muscle beneath the bloodied surface tissue began to tremble under strain when I approached.  There were times that he needed to rest.  I allowed him his reprieve as he slouched, and panted, and groaned.  Without words, we had quickly developed a symbiosis of knowing when to cut and when to wait.

To be continued in Part II…

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