Cut Off

        I held the edge of the blade to my arm, pressed down to cut the skin where my mole popped out into the world. PAIN! Roared out as I continued to push it down through the skin. I slid it across the side of the ugly oval only to scratch the surface. I pulled the blade out, pressed it back in where I started, harder this time, sawing back and forth on layers of skin until blood rose to the surface rolling over the top of my forearm. Waves of intense pain now flooded my brain from all directions, tears welled in my eyes as I held my breath and dug deeper still, making sure I would cut off the whole thing.

        I exhaled careful not to scream out in agony. Through my teeth I repeated, “Keep going.” while my inner monologue shouted demands to “cease and desist” at once. I held my arm steady with the blade stuck inside, took another deep breath then pulled back on the blade across my flesh, in the straightest line I could manage, until it reached the curved bottom of the oval shaped eye sore.

I pulled the blade from the wound. Watched as the red blood cells ran down to the tip of my elbow where they married into small droplets before falling to the ground. An arrhythmic drumroll played against the newspaper underneath me. I forced my breath out speaking, “She will love me now.”

        In one swift gesture I land the blade back in my arm, scrape at the line again cutting deeper through the skin. PAIN! Roared again in my brain begging me to stop, but the skin is cut. “There is no turning back now.” I try to tell it. It doesn't listen, yet retaliates with a shot of tormenting misery through my body in response.

        I stopped to retrieve the bottle of vodka sitting next to me. I took a quick pull off the end, poured another slow shot over my arm to clean my new cut. I could now see the blade has slashed deep enough to create a small opening. I sat the bottle down, slid the blade underneath and returned to work cutting out around the edge.

        I pushed down hard. Twisted up, cut straight, up again, around the oval curve. The maneuver was difficult, “What's the worst that could happen?” one thought asked. “I slip and slash across my arm cutting a major vein and bleed to death.” Although, that would take time, enough time to call an ambulance, but then they would reattach the skin making this effort pointless. “Stay focused.” I said.

I retrieved the vodka again, took a swig for myself then showered my arm with the burning alcohol washing away the oozing blood. The cut was a success. I could now lift up the flap to see underneath. “Half way done.” Adrenaline raced through me when I gripped the blade. It was time to cut around the other curve. This would give me a clear shot at the straight line on the other side.

        Again I dug in, twisted up, cut straight, curved around, pushed down as hard as I could to get it all. The mole began lifting up as the seam between it and the arm tore open. I got a better look at the attached skin just before a waterfall of blood flew down my arm speeding up the drum roll towards the anticipated conclusion. I rested the blade on my arm then grabbed the bottle, poured more vodka over the wound. My brain again commanding, “Enough!” between my temples. Memories projected in and out as if I was seeing my life flash before my eyes. Rejection, humiliation and jealousy are the major themes stabbing around up there.

        I opened my eyes to see the mole. I took hold of the blade and laid it under the skin. The mole flipped over. I readjusted my position. The mole flopped back. It was now too floppy to stay tight enough to cut through it. I could of used a third arm to lift it up. But my pain was too embarrassing to share, my actions too disturbing to put on display. I tried to hold it up between my middle and ring finger, but this gave me no room to move my blade. I l bent my head down and bit it with my teeth.

I pulled tight on the mole till the edges ripped a little. PAIN! Fired through my arm. I pulled a little harder trying to tear it off. It wouldn't tear. Blood pooled out of the open wound forming a lake of hell where the mole refused to let go. “Do it!” rang out like a bell. Summoning the power of a samurai I sliced once digging in the blade, twice cutting at the skin, three times crossing down the middle, then a fourth time where the blade met the last piece of attached skin. It peeled off.

        It was now free from my arm, me from it rested between my teeth. I breathed a sigh of relief. The mole dangling in my mouth flew to the back of my throat making me choke. Cough! I reached for the vodka, pulled it to my lips and swallowed a shot. I felt the mole wash down with it.

        I collapsed to the floor, hugging the vodka. I stared through the window at the dark purple sky illuminated by the moonlight. A lone cloud drifting in the sky moving so slow it didn't feel like it was moving at all. I took a deep breath in and on the way out felt a shockwave of suffering skin tissue scream from my arm.

        I poured another shot over my arm cleaning off the blood. Picked up the towel laid out on my bed and pressed it to my arm. I held it there, putting pressure to stop the bleeding like they do in the movies. I lifted it up to see a smeared mess of deep red blood hardening around the outside. Off the desk I grabbed the bandage I pulled from my roommates first-aid kit, fiddled with the white tabs until I was able to pull one back. Laid it over the center of the hole and stuck it down.

         Coming off the adrenaline high, pain was now free play havoc on my nervous system, but wasn't painful at all anymore. With each sting a renewed pleasure. The mole was gone. I lifted the vodka to my lips and took a celebratory drink from the bottle, then another. Sat back up on the newspaper, lifted the bottle again, this time pouring a shot of alcohol over my left tricep. I picked up the blade, squeezed the sharp steel in my fist and spoke “One more to go.”