I've had them since I was a kid.
I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets, under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything in front of me, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.
I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor so that he could be examined. The rise of my hands seemed like the elephant in the room at that point, because they would just say I'm fine and change the subject. But I knew better.
I tried to remove them as a child, but to no avail. scissors, knife, potato peeler; Trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because once the pain started I couldn't keep going.
But today was different. It's amazing how numb you can get with two tourniquets and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning on using a sharp knife, but felt that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growth would be too difficult in my intoxicated state. I chose the slightly more technical plan B.
Although I had to hurry. I was already feeling very dizzy and started feeling dizzy. My hands and forearms, almost blue from lack of circulation, could not wait much longer. The whistling of the blender helped put me into a kind of trance—ready to do whatever I wanted to do since I first saw its weird distortions.
I put my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of the sharp blade slicing through flesh was jarring, but I was surprised by how well the alcohol worked—I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the churning and chopping of loud metal, working perfectly according to plan. I pressed my hand harder. All those bad memories, all the shame—all those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red goop.
Wracked with feelings of ecstasy, I passed out before the blade hit my finger. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. For development - well, five down, and five to go.
