My avid interest in the human body began as a young teen, but it was so subtle. It began with tiny things, taking apart mechanical devices—Remotes, electronics, even a bed. I was so curious; I just wanted to know what made up these things. What made them move, come alive, do what they do.
It was such a fantastic mystery, pulling apart a computer to find millions of parts that hum and vibrate. The only problem is that I could never put the mess of bolts and bits back together. Eventually my parents got sick of me destroying things in the house so they would buy me books to try and quell my unrestrained desire to pull apart objects. Sadly that only subdued me for so long. After being hit, beaten, and screamed at by my parents I stopped, until I started learning about the anatomy of animals.
I think we’ve all squished spiders and killed ants… whatever the reason may have been, it happened. I did this as a kid, but I never thought about cutting them open and taking a look inside them. It was a summer day, and I was relaxing outside. Our dog, Alex, brought me a present, a rat.
I remember ripping it from Alex’s grasp, feeling the rat, which was still alive, squirm and struggle. I would have thrown it away and forgotten about it but I felt something. A pulse, a single heartbeat. I had felt my own before, but never thought much of it. Now I had something that shared a piece of me. I was so curious and ecstatic to find out what made it beat and move.
I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went on the back patio. I held the rat down on the little table we had out there and began to saw my way into the rat’s body. I only got so far till I hit the ribs, so at that point I dug my fingernails into the incisions I had made and began to pull apart the skin. I dug further into the rat and pulled apart the ribs, snapping them and tossing them in the trash behind me. I had pulled apart almost all of its ribs, so I had a clear view of the rat’s heart. I was amazed, but disappointed.
In my haste, I had forgotten that I was killing it. The heart was still and broken, and I frowned. What point was there to look at it now? In my anger, I began slicing at random, tearing the rat to shreds and covering the table in guts and blood. After I could cut no longer, my anger ceased. I looked down at the bloody mess on the table and my hands. I heard car on gravel, and knew my parents had come home. I quickly washed off the blood and tossed the bones and guts in the woods.
As I grew older, it grew to other things. I occasionally cut open a mole or squirrel but I was always so careful. All I wanted is to see the heartbeat, but every time I got that deep the animal would die. I would grow frustrated and mutilate what was left of it. I had to be sure my parents never found out and what I did was a secret. The closest I ever came to getting caught was in high school.
We were in biology, and we were learning about the anatomy of animals. Specifically, the frog… And I had been waiting so long for the day we would get to dissect it. It came painfully slow, and when it did come I was so joyful and ecstatic I was shaking. Frogs didn’t usually hang around my house, so this was a first time experience. We were working in pairs and I hadn’t even noticed who my partner was.
My face lit up when my teacher set down a small metal tray with two frogs neatly taped to it. We were separated into sections with small walls in-between each section, giving everyone privacy. Each section had a small trashcan under the table to dispose of the frogs. I sat down next to my partner and took the scalpel and my partner began to talk about what we need to do…I completely ignored him.
I began cutting away; inspecting and enjoying each thing I cut out. It went from a slow and steady pace to a rampage. I simply cut and cut, feeling a growing sense of bliss. My partner stared with complete disbelief at me, but I continued. Soon there was nothing left on the tray except the other frog and a pile of unrecognizable guts and pieces. I calmly dumped my bits into the trashcan, walked up to the teacher and told her I had to go to the nurse. My partner never spoke to me ever again.
But now… I can’t contain it anymore. I went to medical school to try and become and surgeon but I can’t wait. This morning I called the cable company complaining about my TV acting up, and they sent a mechanic over. I told him that my TV was in the basement. I followed him down the stairs and before he could ask where the TV was, I took a metal baseball bat and hit him over the head. I tied him to the bed and began to sharpen my butcher knife.
When he came to his senses, I had just finished sharpening the knife. He struggled against his leather restraints as I brought the knife near his hand. Turning the knife sideways, I began to slowly peel the skin away. I had given him painkillers but the look on his face was of pure terror. He tried to scream out loud but I had gagged him. I dug the knife into his raw hand just half an inch, and began to peel away little bits of muscle and skin.
I had reached the tendons, and one by one I began to pluck them out. Each pluck sent a shock through his body, and finally I undid his hand strap. He tried to move his hand, but it hung limply. He was barely conscious now, so I gave him more painkillers. I then began to work at his legs, repeating the process I did with his hands. Now his legs were raw and both his hands and his legs were bleeding freely. Before I could finish his legs he passed out, and his legs stopped struggling. I got angry, and fell into my old habits.
I slashed and stabbed his legs, ripping them to shreds until I reached bone. I sharpened my knife again and began to cut his fingers off, one by one. He died as soon as I began this process. I got so frustrated; I didn’t even begin his head or torso. I began sawing away at his face, ripping out chunks of flesh. I cut a laceration from ear to ear, ripping open his mouth. I cut his throat near the top and pulled his tongue through. I finished by completely ripping out his vocal cords and cutting all along his neck.
I got too curious, so frustrated that everything died before I could finish. I had a wild idea, what about me? I smiled and brought the knife to the upper left part of my torso, where the heart was. I took as many painkillers as I could and began to cut and cut. Looking down at my bloody torso I felt pure and utter joy, and then it happened. I pulled out a small red object, and it gave a single beat.
... One slow and utter beat, and then it stopped.