So many of the operations conducted here were unnecessary.
I have found an operating room and far too many pictures of surgeries and amputations. Some were done with the benefit of morphine and medications to manage the pain. Others, however, were not.
This room is called ‘Operating Room Prometheus.’ Whether the person who named it was fond of mythology or an avid reader of Shelley, I neither know nor do I care.
I spoke with the ghost of a young man named Garrett. He speaks with a lisp because half of his teeth were removed for no other reason to see how well he could endure the pain. In our long and dreadful conversation, he told me how he was skinned, inch by inch, over a period of eighty-nine days. Both eyes were removed, and his fingers were stretched until they were displaced.
At one point, the surgeons took suggestions from the other members of the operating staff, and soon Garrett found himself used as a host for a variety of animals. His stomach, the ghost explained, was used as an incubator of sorts.
I asked him if he still felt the pain, and he uttered a pleasant laugh.
“No,” he informed me. “I managed to turn everything off after they removed my teeth. My body was no longer mine. Why should I care what they did with it?”
I asked him if he would like to join me and he politely declined, explaining, “This is my home. One day, I believe, the doctors and nurses will return. I’ll kill them then. One by one.”
I hope they do, and I hope he does.
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