Amputation

The arm hangs limply, battered and broken and useless
Nothing but a deadweight hanging off the shoulder.
I can feel deep within it, knowing that in its core is not flesh and bone
But metal and wiring, wrecked due to carelessness, trashed because of that girl's reckless ways.

She stands alone in the dark, empty room, her eyes on the floor, her breath coming in rasps. She hates herself.
Her eyes reflect nothing of the usual bouncy joy that encapsulates her very essence. By nature, she was nothing like how she is now.
I pity her. I know she is favouring that arm. I am relentless. She would be better off without it. She bites her lower lip as she braces
Cowering from sight and hiding from all who know her.
She messed up. She did wrong. When everyone else succeeded still she kept on failing. The arm was a reminder of that.
She lost its use because of her own flaws. Flaws she hated. Flaws she could not escape.

Halfway up the arm I know that metal becomes bone, synthetic becomes flesh and wirings become sensitive nerve endings. I know this will hurt.
So does she.
With barely even a conscious thought I seize her arm and the sensation makes her whimper. In the darkness she is all that I see.
She still has some feeling in that useless limb, but what little there is is drowning amongst the terrible thoughts of anguish that plague her.
"You're hopeless!" she heard that familiar voice that was always criticising her, "Grow up and do your job!"
The girl whimpered, eyes clamping shut. "You're MORE THAN THIS!" the voice screamed. The girl sobbed softly.

I watch for only a moment longer, waiting. Her sobbing recedes a little, her eyes reopening as her eyebrows incline downward, determination replacing her grief.
My grip on her arm tightens. It would all be over in a matter of moments. Yes, there would be a mess. That was not what she feared.
She only feared that it would hurt.
But if she wanted to please that demanding voice, she needed to get better. To get better, she didn't need damaged parts like this.
She bites her lower lip again and sucks in a breath of preparation. She is shaking.
Sensing her readiness, I pull as hard as I can. There is a terrible, splitting, ripping noise. A moment later, the girl screams.

I cannot help but fall to my knees, gasping for air. My eyes are wide, my mouth open and my skin as pale as cream. The girl's mental pain disappears.
Instead, a searing agony overtakes her perception, consuming her. She glances to her side. Her arm lies on the floor, literally torn off her body.
Flesh and muscle are still attached to it, covered in a disgusting red fluid.
She grabs what was left of her arm, nothing more than loose skin and torn muscle hanging off her shoulder, dripping blood onto the floor like a hose.
She starts to cry, regretting the action, hating the pain and hating herself. I cry too. I finally understand what I did to her. I feel her pain. I understand her agony.
I am on my knees and so is she.


The arm... the pain... the anguish... they are mine. I am the cowering girl. My teeth grit together, my long dark hair covering my face. This was how I lived:
In the shadow of failure. I could not live up to what I was supposed to be. The blood continues to trickle. My severed limb lies there, lifeless.
This is all that is left of me.

A gasp pierces the air and I turn around, startled. I see a pair of eyes staring into the room. The gasp was one of horror. One of sadness. One of shock.
I can barely see the face through the darkness but I can clearly make out those rich purple eyes, wide and revealing that she was terrified. She had seen.
She saw what I did to myself...
Her beautiful eyes were brimming with tears that were clearer than the purest spring water. Her hands moved to her mouth to hide a scream.
My mind is still screaming in torment but my voice makes no sound. In that moment, suspended in time, we stared at each other.
She was scared too... she was crying too... she was hurting too...

What have I done?