JB: I’m submitting my resignation, effective immediately.
I can hear the distant hum of the building’s heart, the slow steps of a janitor cleaning its chambers with wafts of pine and ammonia, strong and harsh. I’ll track him down and kill him when I finish.
The first skin graft wasn’t so bad. I came to under bright spotlights, watching Ma-lee’s tight face fade in and out of focus and catching vague blurs of pink lips. A morphine-induced merge of metal and skin nodding approvingly down at me in the hospital bed.
Sure, I know what you want to hear about. You want to hear about the Civil War. I’ve already been interviewed, and that’s all anybody wants recollected. Yes, I know, I do look too young to have seen it.