Silent Scream

Silent Scream

A chill ran through my body as the syringe emptied the shot of clear liquid into my erect cobalt blue vein. But it must have been insufficient; I was still awake.

The Alfentanil pumped into my pure, innocent and virtuous essence had rendered me dormant, but grotesquely not unconscious. I was lying in tomblike angelic limbo and about to be carved open.

The high carbon Japanese steel scalpel would soon open up my epidermis. Then carve deeper and down through my relaxed muscles. Cutting me open while I lay cravenly conscious and cognizant.

The phosphorous operating theatre lights blinded me; my fully dilated irises must have made me look appropriately sedated. But I was awake, alive and dreadfully aware of every clinical action they openly discussed around me.

My head throbbed, blood thrusting and pulsating so hard against my skull. I sent messages to each neurotransmitter trying subconsciously to convey my terror. Trying to reach the man who was about to slash me open while I lay there, vulnerable, exposed and wretchedly conscious.

My god he was going to cut, I screamed, I shouted, my brain roared like a lion; I lashed out with my arms and legs, flailing like a wild-man, but nothing moved. Not even a single hair deep in its follicle would quiver for me.

I observed as the surgeon’s silhouette moved in towards me. The evil dark figure lifting his hand high into the sour, putrid air. The right hand plunging, the glint of light on metal flashes across my deadened eyes. He was unaware of my cries; the determined specialist heard nothing but the wheeze of the mechanical ventilator.

The perfect, precise edge was on its way to penetrate my unsullied, unblemished, virginal skin. I erupted with one more silent scream, but my hell had commenced.

The razor sharp tool sliced across my lower abdomen with a barbarous efficiency. My nerves lay quiescent as a deep gouge opened up my body to expose my infected innards.

The physician spoke with bold authority.

“Clamp,”

“Clamp.” echoed a vacuous voice.

“A tear, there in her left eye, a tear!” someone cried.

“My god, she is not under; 250 micrograms Aflentanil NOW!”

The phosphorous lights began to fade; the shadows turned to black then to nothing as I fell and tumbled into an infinite redness.

It was already too late.

When I close my eyes the screech of the scalpel tearing through my flesh, comes looking for me.

And finds me.

TMK

 

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