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From: Remi
Category: Exhibitions
Date: 26 October 2004
This subject is a combination of an exhibition, but also a theatre with the cadavers being the actors, and the dissecting students the viewers. In fact, it merged into various forms. At one point we were in the theatre of operations, with the smell of formalin replacing napalm, the demonstrators were lieutenants, the professor our captain. We lost some of our crew, keeled over just in front of me. That could of been me. Blackburn saw to her, he called the choppers, to take her back to the World. Me and the enlisted stuck to the task at hand. Peeling back the Chest skin, which someone had kindly cut for us. But who was this person that we were cutting, and picking bits out of? What became of her when she took her last breath? Will we ever be able to shed light on what her life meant? My co-students maybe thought the same things, but concentrated on loosening up the pectoralis major with scalpels and tweezers. Then Maloney saw blood on her finger. She'd been hit! Take her out, the little green things might get into her wound. The smell grew groggy, the sight of lifeless bodies grew strangely monotonous, they seemed inacapable, through no fault of their own, of demistifying the great mysteries. After an hour or two, they were just another object in the room. Had I become callous to suffering, or merely less inclined to introspection feigning philosophy? The numbers were thinning, the enlisted were filing out of the theatre of the absurd. We were one of the last squads to accomplish our mission. Pectoralis major effectively detached, and pectoralis minor clearly revealed, sir! Walking downstairs afterwards, I realised that I knew what a few muscles looked like, but nothing more. How disappointing. Maybe I'll get another chance at knowing what it's all about next time.
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