Life and Death {Enoch O'Connor}

9

Enoch gripped the knife with his left hand. A doll laid on the table in front of him, staring up at him with forever wide and glossy eyes. Despite its innocent face, painted on with such delicacy, and lacy, child-like dress, Enoch felt no remorse cutting it apart. It had never once been alive, and even if it had, that had never stopped him before. He wanted to use its head for a new project he was working on.

Holding the doll's body still the best he could with his right elbow, he lowered the knife to the doll's neck. The sharpened blade sliced into the dolls synthetic skin like butter.

Trying to keep his left hand steady, he dragged the knife down with slow movements - painfully slow. With his dominant hand, this would have been finished in seconds after many years of experience. But his left hand was not so well trained, his fingers shaking while he tried to keep the line straight.

Trying to hurry things along, he pressed down harder, pulling the blade towards him with more speed. The line became jagged and he tried to keep it steady. But as he pressed forcefully, his hand slipped. The knife cut through the skin too fast at a sharp angle, flying out at him. It stopped suddenly when it hit the table. The knife stuck out, the blade now buried in the splintered wood.

"Ugh," Enoch let out a moan of annoyance, slamming his hands down on the table as he stood up, pushing his chair out from behind him. A sharp pain shot up his right arm, where the stitches still stung.

Falling back into his bed, he stared at his bandaged hand, wishing it would heal faster. It had already been a week since the incident, but the doctor wouldn't be back to remove the stitches for another week or two. Until then, Enoch's work became impossible, unable to continue with his non dominant hand.

Lying in bed, he stared up at the ceiling getting lost in his thoughts. Ever since he discovered his peculiarity at eight years old, he'd worked on his projects almost every day. Now twice that age, he was unable to continue. Without his work, his life felt meaningless. What was a peculiar without the use of their peculiarity?

He tried to assure himself that it was only a little while longer until his hand healed. Then he could get back to work as usual. Maybe a break would be good for him. He could pick up a new hobby or read a book. Maybe he could go outside and bring some life back to his pale skin.

But none of that appealed to him. So instead, he moped around his room feeling useless, waiting for the days to pass by.

He stayed on his bed, hands resting on his stomach until there was a rapping on the door. He didn't get to answer before someone poked their head in.

"Dinner," Abe's accent filled his ears.

Enoch didn't move, "What if I'm not hungry?"

"Well, unless you're ill, I'd say you're lying, seeing how you already missed lunch today." Abe said, stepping into the room. Any other peculiar wouldn't have bothered him any more about it, but Abe didn't let up so easily. "I don't believe the Bird would be too happy about you trying to avoid us."

With a huff, Enoch sat up. He tried to straighten out his bed head, which was matted down in back from lying on it.

Abe chuckled at his attempts, walking over to him, "Got someone you're trying to impress?"

Enoch glared at him, flicking his last curl in place.

"Just teasing, mate." Abe gave him a signature smile that all the girls seemed to go mad for. "Let's go before Miss P has a cow because we're late."

Enoch stood and Abe threw an arm over his shoulder, walking out with him. Enoch's breath hitched. His eyes shot to Abe who hadn't seemed to notice his twitch.