Dissection
I cringe. Cold, clotted blood pours out the heart. I shiver. My hand jolts as it journeys towards the muculent heart. I closed my eyes.
*
I watched the others poking their fingers inside the nauseating organ. I couldn’t believe they were doing it. I didn’t want to say I hated the blood. So I kept it to myself.
A voice inside my brain whispers: you should touch it! Go on, touch it! My back tingled, as my hand travels forward to the vile object lying in front of me. My hand grasps the heart…
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