First I cut off my left ring finger. I don’t remember doing that- but it was gone. It only seemed appropriate, though.
At some point, standing on the street, I severed my left arm below the elbow. I then spent some time burning the severed limb with a lighter, admiring it, adorning it, scarring and burning patterns into it.
I put it in a bag, and started making my way home. I realized that I only had one arm, looked at the stump, and began to panic, knowing I could not reattach it. I beganto wonder if I needed help, who to go to. I made my way through an almosty familiar city, unable to reead the subway signs, but recognizing the colors of the lines- which made me realize that I did not know which way my home was, and that my arm was never, ever going to grow back. Irrevocable, terrible loss, of my own doing.
When I woke up, I stared at my arm for a long time, flexing it, making certain it was real.
You know… Like you do.