The man hung on some strings with his belly facing the ground. Two men in white, face covered, wearing aprons, working on each of his body parts. One took a hot needle looking like object, maybe a foot long. He stuck it into the forearm of the man. When I thought that was all, he dragged it up to his elbow as he screamed, his blood and muscles pouring out of the rough laceration. The man screamed in pain looking at his arm. The apron man took out the burning tool and put it down as the cries started to die out. My chest was getting heavier, warm blood pumping in and out, leaving it cold and heavy. My skin crawling, as if someone skinned me too, as if someone just scratched the blackboard with a fork. The apron man took a dry cotton cloth and started rubbing the bones of the lacerated arm. The tears were now evident in the hanging man’s eyes, his screams of agony, I will not forget the agonised look he gave the apron man. The look of anger as well as the begging of mercy. The look of fear and hope. The look of pain and disgust. His eyebrows tightened, his teeth grimacing, eyes squinting in pain. I saw clusters of cotton, left on his bone, feeling the dry pain that must be bothering him. My teeth started to hurt, I can’t remember if I was pressing them against each other or it was my body resonating with his. His yellowish bones covered in muscle fragments and some blood spots was now visible as his head hung low due to exhaustion, as he started to lose hope and vitality. The apron man started to take out the bone slowly, disconnecting it from the elbow and moving it out. Rotating it to make sure the wrists stay behind. Can a man really survive this long? Is he going in shock? Is he dead? Will he be able to recover if I save him now? Is there hope? Is it me? Am I dead?