🔒 Staple Lady

Next time her skull is sliced open, she must have a mind limber as rubber, bending to the pain. Under the bright lights of the icy theater she will melt, allowing the saw’s buzz to fade into the sound of the surgeon entering her interior, surveying the field of tumors for the bad one. When he finds it, there will be no escaping his blade. She will hear him hack through her anesthetic fog and scrape at her numb meninges wall, vanquishing the invader. Perhaps she is only dreaming, she thinks: when she awakens she will be at home, puzzled but refreshed from this deeply troubled sleep. But then she feels the bone door closed and stapled shut, cancelling her delusion. Later she is told that the enemy is gone but his colluders, claiming innocence, remain. A new vigil begins as she watches and waits for them to regroup, organize

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