I grind organs. All afternoon of every day last week, and every day thereafter, I've extracted little clumps of living tissue from freshly euthanized animals. Their bodies are still warm when I make my incision, and fondle their insides for ripe targets. Isolated in plastic containers, I line up my specimens next to a complicated-looking lab instrument that resembles a power drill with a blunt bit. I turn on my tool and
"There's little we can do to change this"
"You've not been honest with me"
My hand cramps from the effort and my nose protests the scent. Slowly, slowly the organs break down. Flecks of tissue climb the test tubes' sides. Guts, brains and all, dissolve into a lumpy lubricant for another machine.
"We can't go back to what we had"
When I grind organs, I must focus my attention on the heart.
"Please forgive and forget me"Muscle turns to fibers turn to loose threads, and I continue to grind. The heart is the hardest organ to break. But it always does.