What I did first was I took a scalpel and made a y-incision that ran along her collarbone and then down her chest to the groin, all of which had lost the pull of sexuality they'd had in life. You have to yank harder than is polite, cutting in under the skin as you go.
Her face under those bright lights was unfair, which I meant without justice. Her skin had lost its color and was fair, like it's startling how blood is subject to the laws of gravity even before it's spilled. She looked like an old computer on the inside, full of vacuum tubes and thick wires. I said this is who you were to no one in particular as I revealed the contents of her that she never shared in life.
I use garden tools, sometimes, like on the ribs. Power tools for the skull. I slice the organs down finger-thick, place it all in trays of offering. I find out why. I find the tiny surprises, sometimes. I say I'm just doing a job. It's such a selfish thing to do, though, taking people apart. Enjoying it. If I weren't such a coward I would cut myself open too.
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