Three knocks sounded on the door.
Someone entered. And there I sat, swinging my legs from the operation table, smiling and chewing. Mr. Living stopped in his tracks. I looked up at the man, standing very still in the doorway. I let the hand holding my sandwich sink slowly onto the table. There I sat, a corpse, naked, on a table, with a half eaten sandwich in my hand. Mr. Living stood, with the tools still deep inside Mr. Elliot, looking perplexed at the man in the doorway, who seemed to be more frightened than both Mr. Living and I combined.
There we stood and sat, in silence and confusion for nearly half a minute. Then, without thinking, I dropped dead down onto the operation table like nothing ever happened. Mr. Living smiled, the man in the doorway pointed at me, forming words with his mouth, but no sound came out. He managed to whisper coarsely “she… She was moving” he said, rubbed his eyes and took anxious footsteps back and forth, with his eyes still fixed upon my pale, naked body. He kept pointing at me. Mr. Living dropped his tools and wiped his hands on his stained apron. “It happens a lot” Mr. Living said calmly. He pointed a finger careful to his temple and tapped it and smiled. He whispered “it’s all up here” he said. The man made shifting movements, still doing his weird dance on the doorstep, pointing at me, shaking his head, moving his feet, denying…"
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