memoir

He calmly looks back at me. He maybe even winked at me. I am trying to maintain the coolness, but my body nevertheless is dominated by an uneasy hunch that something awful would happen. In front of a motionless mother lying down right front of him, the man takes down a deep breath.
And he suddenly jabs the knife into the unconscious woman. Following the trace of the knife, blood springs up. It flows down along the woman’s stiff body, smearing over the white blanket with its ruddy strain until it drops to join an already existent blood clot in the floor. A distinctive ferrous odor is prevalent in the room.
The man gains momentum. Now deeply obsessed with the body, he extracts the disgusting layers of human fat and further delves into the deepest of the organs. Yet the man’s face never loses its initial composure as if he has always been comfortable with tearing up a human being.
Even though I am considerably far from the operation table, I find myself all covered with blood. My friend next to me, who was supposed to shoot the entire process, is completely taken over by the scene. We both stood there speechless, simply immersed to the man and the body.
The man suddenly shivers. Something must have gone wrong. My heart pounds like crazy. But instead, his hands abruptly withdraw a dirty creature from the sliced body. The “thing” is all covered with a sticky fluid. It is constantly wiggling and at the same time shrieking outloud.
And another precious life is introduced to the world.