(4) They looked like shadows. But still, they were more real than anybody else. They were everywhere. They were prevalent all over the earth. They kept terrifying me, constantly yelling at me, urging me to work, work, work and earn money by my own sweat.
Conversation
(5) One day they gave me a new sharp shining axe. It looked threatening. Hey, you, they said, chop off your left hand with this, they said. What? I said. Wha... what do you mean? I said. We mean, cut off your left arm, they said. Are you serious? I said. Yes, of course, they said
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(6) But somehow I didn't feel like defying any more. I resisted no more and accepted their order. I was terrified but somehow I felt strangely calm. I thought I somehow knew this time would come some day when I had to do this.
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(7) I slowly picked up that frightening-looking lethal weapon and aimed at the wrist of my left hand. Why was I that calm? I threw the tool down quick. Ouch! But somehow again, I didn't feel any pain. It felt as if I were in a dream. I felt no pain at all.
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(8) Blood gushed vehemently out of the cut. My hand was off of my body all right. The white bone was peeking through the blood and muscles. Seconds later I began to feel a tremendous pain. I think I fainted. When I woke, I was in a hospital bed. A doctor and two nurses were ...
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(9) ... taking care of me. My left hand was gone. I looked at my stump at the end of my left arm. The doctor said, we couldn't find your left hand anywhere, so we took the liberty to souture your stump as it is without your hand. I hope you understand. He said.
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(10) Oh, that's all right, doctor. I said. I didn't miss my left hand. I was rather satisfied to find my left hand missing forever. I even felt better without it. I thought I had finally repaid my debts to the world, redeemed my sins for having been born the way I was.
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(11) I had always felt guilty for having been born and I had never felt I deserved to live. I had thought I had to die. But still I had thought I had this great urge to live on. I was an active pessimist. That was why I had lived on and, instead of committing suicide, ...
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(12) ... I had opted for complying with that order to chop off my left hand. I had done it. And I was glad. I felt relieved that I had done all that.
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OED... you write some Kafka-esque stuff, man. This one kind of reminds me of Kafka's classic "Metamorphosis" where he wakes up as a bug one morning & can't function properly anymore.
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Also, the above narrative kind of reminds me of Kafka's "The Trial" where he is guilty of a crime but he cannot find out what it is
Replying to
(1) Thank you, Sugar. Your reading my lengthy writing through alone makes me very happy. On top of that, you've given me such encouraging words, which makes me even happier. I'm afraid I haven't read much Kafka yet. I've read "The Metamorphoses" and part of "The Castle" ...
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(2) ... a long time ago. But I'm afraid I'm still not in a stage where I can really appreciate his genius. I'm certainly going to read him and re-read him some day.
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