I will make this very brief because I just watched the series finale of The Good Place and I am currently contemplating my own existence and place in the universe. That was supposed to be a funny show. I did not expect to have so many existential crises. Next on my list of shows I’ve been meaning to watch but never got around to it: Santa Clarita Diet. Cannibals seems much more my speed. If that show makes me feel things, I’m going to be very put out.
Honestly, the only
thing of note is that I killed a woman with her toe.
Admittedly, that
was not my intention. It was very cool – don’t get me wrong – but I was doing
another experiment to see how long I could remove someone’s limbs and keep them
alive. As you’ll recall, I kept that man alive when he was only half a body for
over a day, but that was a sort of hard and fast test. This time, I wanted to
see if the level of pain would change if I removed a body part one piece at a
time rather than all at once. And I wanted to see how many body parts it took
for someone to die.
So, I cut off her
toe.
Like before, I removed
the toe at the knuckle with a clean cut and cauterized the wound immediately, there
was very little blood. I left her for an hour or so and then I came back and
removed another toe. Surprisingly enough, by the time I’d removed all ten toes,
she was barely crying. However, she screamed just as loudly when I burned the
tenth as she did with the first. Severing the nerve endings versus killing them
elicits different levels of pain.
The more you know.
Which is literally why I’m doing these experiments. To improve my knowledge of
human anatomy and its response to pain and death. As you well know.
After I removed
her toes, I left her to go to work and she seemed fine. When I came to check on
her afterwards, she seemed disoriented and had vomited all over herself but I
didn’t think anything of it. The girl had just lost all her toes, I’d be more
concerned if she didn’t vomit. I watered her, I cleaned her up, I cut off her
right ankle. Everything seemed fine.
A few hours later,
I went to remove her left ankle and I noticed that her skin was unusually
blotchy. There were red pricks stretching up to her knee, like little blood
spots. I’ve never seen a reaction like that before. But, again, I didn’t think
much of it and took her other ankle.
Two days later,
she was dead.
The red marks had
spread up her legs and across her stomach. And the spots had gotten bigger and
turned purple. She was unbelievable gaunt and definitely thinner than when I’d
left her – but, again, most of this was stuff I expected. But I still couldn’t
understand why she’d died so I googled her symptoms.
The bitch died of
sepsis.
It’s so unfair.
I wanted to be the
one to kill her but she got a fucking toe infection and took that from
me.
How rude is that?
I ran over a
cyclist and chopped off his head on the way home but it wasn’t as satisfying as
getting to really dig into a victim.
Oh well, tomorrow
is another week. All we can do is keep trying, right?
As always, dear
readers,
Stay Safe
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