The two fingers that fell to the floor were lovely examples of their type. Each was long, strong and well maintained. They were attractive enough to have been sources of quiet pride for their owner. The only points of criticism that might be leveled in their direction was an uneven, even clumsy, trimming of the nail of the index and that the edges of their point of incision that ran diagonally down from above the second knuckle of the first to just below the same on the second, was quite roughly done. This was to be expected given the implement of their removal was not the ideal tool for the job, and its wielder entirely untrained. Nonetheless, it was an ugly bit of work.
They were, respectively the index and middle. Up to this point, both had served their roles admirably. The index had loyally jabbed, pushed, hooked and indicated whenever called upon. The middle finger was quite supple, perhaps because it had been deployed in a communication role more frequently than most. Both had worked beautifully in concert, they had clawed and gripped with strength, resolve, and reliability. But now, the fingers, ironically, symbols of both peace and victory, having been separated from the whole, wetly bounced once on the floor, tumbled, then rolled with speed in opposite directions, like family members suddenly released from all obligation and each filled with resolve to finally find their own way in life.
Life, specifically the length of its continuance, remained an open question for their remover.
Margaret was instinctively apologetic. While she freely acknowledged that was she not always a particularly nice person, her self image did not hold space for physical violence. Certainly not amputation. She had swung the machete more as a gesture rather than with intent. The machete was brand new and well made. Its edge retained the hone of its initial sharpening on factory machines. Had it been capable, it would have been both surprised at its first task out of the gate and justly satisfied with the result. With a few milliseconds of consideration, so was Margaret.
Victor’s conception of himself was similarly challenged suddenly. He had never considered with any depth the life of an amputee. And he certainly never saw himself in the role. But, with the quickness of mind of the devious, he instantly anticipated the struggles ahead and the necessary adjustments to habit and lifestyle he would have to make with two digits fewer at his disposal. More immediately, he realized that his plan of strangling Margaret needed to be substantially revised.
Aric Cheston 