The fluorescent light is shining in my eyes. I stare, unblinking. Supine and motionless, I am becoming numb. The frigid marble table presses against my naked skin, and I wait. I can feel the cold surface tense against my back, my buttocks, my legs, like an uncompassionate but persistent lover. I still haven't blinked. I hear a sound, and he is looking down at me with analytical eyes. He is very tall. He leans over close to me. I think he might kiss me, very softly, on my mouth, but he doesn't. I remain inert. A flicker of light in his hand, and I feel the sting of a razorblade just below my neck. It burns deeper as it penetrates. The searing languidly spreads down like a thin tongue of fire lingering between my breasts, over my belly, and suspended just above my pubis. Never looking away, he abandons the blade. The intensity of his eyes makes me transparent. He tentatively places his fingers over my incision. He tugs at my skin gently but insistently. He pulls apart the skin and muscle and reaches in. One by one, he removes each of my organs, examines them, and places them on the table on either side of me. My liver, my intestines, my lungs, my kidneys, they all huddle close to me like small wet still-living abortions, seeking comfort from the chill. My bodily cavity is emptied. My blood stains his veiny arms up to the elbows. He holds my heart in his hand, slick and darkly red. He scrutinizes it, then bites into the fleshy muscle. The juices run down his chin as he tastes the bitter fruit. Then he leaves, abandoning me exposed and torn and void. I still haven't blinked.