Pain, Meet Pleasure

There is an intriguing juxtaposition between the removal of a foreign object from the skin, such as a splinter from a weathered broom handle, and the removal of something intended to be part of the whole, like petals from a flower.

In this instance, I consider the fingernail.

The part where the nail disappears into the skin has the potential to elicit satisfaction upon removal, but I think it's the nail bed that gets in the way. That place where the nail clings to the skin makes it so that you need to jimmy something between the two in order to separate them before you can pry it free and enjoy the release.

My contemplation is accompanied by the ever more rasping screams of the balding man strapped to the chair before me. He is the bank manager from the branch in the city next to the town that I live in. He's the man you go to when you need a loan to buy something you really can't afford but you want to buy it anyway. The chair is made of metal, sturdy, with wide armrests to easily secure a belt around to keep the limbs atop them still. I smile at the man but I’m not sure he notices through all his antics, so I refocus on my task.

The spudger, metal of course so we avoid those pesky splinters, sinks easily under the tip of the nail, its flat head has the perfect amount of flex so as to not damage the nail in the process as I tap it with my hammer. It creates a tunnel of freedom between the skin and keratin where I can move it from side to side to loosen the grip of the nail entirely. It takes some effort before it swipes through the last tendril joining the nail to its bed. I swap instruments, this tool has done its job nicely but it is unsuitable for the next step.

I deposit the spudger into the bowl of solution at the end of the table before moving on. I wave my hand over the selection before plucking the next tool from its pocket and turn back to the man in the chair and the task at hand. All it takes is one final tug and the fingernail comes free. The man whimpers like he hates to admit that the ending satisfied him almost as much as me. I smile again, inspecting the shell pinched between my pliers. He must have participated in the nervous habit of chewing his nails when they were still attached as they were jagged around the outermost edge. I rinse it in the cleaning solution before releasing it into the specimen container to join its counterparts and drop the pliers to join the others in the sanitising dish on my workbench.

The man's forehead, of which there is a fair amount, is covered in a glistening layer of sweat close to ripening into droplets. He has stopped his incessant screams, perhaps noting their futility, and has instead resorted to hissing through his clenched teeth. Spittle coats his lips from the harsh breaths he is imparting, glossing the rouge so it matched the rest of his face.

All his fussing has brought my attention to his mouth, past the desquamating skin of his lips to the ridged row of calcium that stands beyond. Those teeth would pull with an exponentially more satisfying result than the fingernail did. One point of contact, buried deep within the gum, the delicious moment when flesh is freed of the invasion of a solid form. The only question is how best to loosen it? The two methods to consider; a standard to and fro teetering before a final tug to free it, or a twisting method where I will encourage one final twist before there is a pop and out it will come?

The only way to know for sure is to test them both and choose a winner.

I turn back to my workbench, the wood of it is well-sanded and polished to preserve it from splintering—I truly do detest them, they’re like inanimate parasites. I choose another set of pliers from the leather roll set upon its leftmost side. The other pair are contaminated now, and besides, the needle nose would hardly be suitable for the task. Teeth are far less delicate than fingernails, despite not clinging to a layer of flesh, they are buried rather determinedly within their sockets, tethered by ropes of stubborn nerves. A wider grip would be required for this next task.

“Please.” The word is drenched with saliva. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop.” According to his nametag, this bank manager's name is Larry.

Larry has a voice that reminds me of a frog. It warbles and croaks as it leaves his throat, aided by the extra flesh that swells below his chin in ample measure. To add to the impression his eyes bulge as I turn back to him, channel lock pliers in hand.

“Please, please, no.” He has reduced to sobbing and struggling, both futile acts. His tears are meaningless. I have impeccable skills when it comes to bindings, the belts creak—as leather is wont to do, but they do not budge. “What do you want from me?” His volume seems to directly affect the distance his spit can travel, and I am thankful for my protective gear as it arcs through the air. The veins have swollen under the skin of his temples, indicators of his struggle to match the tint of red that flushes him.

“So strangely accommodating, to offer whatever I want, after just this morning you denied me exactly that.” I grip his chin in the thumb and fingers of my left hand. My skin is protected from the salinity of his by the layer of black latex that hugs them. I angle his head for a better view as I inspect his bottom row, only a little build up, he must have a decent cleaning routine, he could probably afford a good dentist too. The absence of any decay will make the task somewhat more demanding as the gums will be healthy, but I never back down from a challenge. I select a molar, the first on the right, and clamp the pliers over it. There is a little bit of crowding so the choice is made for me, I’ll need more wiggle room for the twisting method so I will save it for after.

Larry begins to struggle again, before I've even truly begun. And though I can guess as to what he is trying to say, his words are impeded by the metal that invades his mouth. His tongue clashes uselessly against it, trying to form words that fall apart at the first consonant.

“Hush now,” I say, my voice softened with concentration. “If you wriggle too much you will ruin the experiment.”

Tears have joined the other fluids that pervade the skin of Larry’s face and neck and I take a moment to run some gauze across it. I dislike an unkempt workspace. I notice a trickle of my own sweat cooling the back of my neck, but I let it be so I don’t contaminate my gloves. I seem to have lost track of the time as a result of the arduity of the task but my experiment proved fruitful, though it did provide a previously unconsidered result. I have concluded that for optimal satisfactory results, a combination of the teetering and twisting methods must be applied, in that order.

I release the final tooth into its jar and seal it. As I turn back to him, I see a familiarity in his gaze that reminds me of a fire obscured by its own smoke. An anger swallowed by fear and confusion. I have seen that look before, but I have also seen that flicker become a forge where madness is honed. It is an enrapturing moment. People think madness is either born into you or builds slowly over time, but I have seen it snap into place like the final thread of a tendon losing its war against gravity.

It was a different room, a different chair, a different silhouette writing in the fluorescence, but the task was much the same. The objective was to immobilise entirely, that was the only way to control the situation. Fourteen leather straps strategically placed were used to secure their limbs to the chair. Ankles, knees, thighs, hips, chest, wrists, biceps, and two for the head—that was key. One had a divet to secure the chin as it passed the ears to clasp to the headrest, and another was used as a gag. Bars welded into the headrest jutted out at temple height and gave no opportunity to shift once the leather was secured. From there all I needed was to set the water to drip so that it would land squarely on the forehead from above for as long as I wanted at designated intervals for an extended period of time.

I learnt two very interesting things that day. Medical equipment has an exceptional supplementary use as torture implements, and the Ancient Chinese were exceptional when it came to cruelty.

A murmur has me blinking the memory away until the visage of the past detangles itself from the present and I am once again staring at my pitiful specimen.

“Why?” The question is weak, the voice behind it even more so as it enters the room unfiltered and wet with ichor.

“I find it utterly amusing that the average human is incapable of comprehending their own insignificance. How, when affected by something, their first instinct is to question why. Well, I would question why is it so difficult for one to acknowledge how truly inconsequential and irrelevant they are to the world, Larry, and yet you think there is a reason?” I pause and take a moment to remove my gloves and wipe the dampness off my own skin. “There was a reason I walked into your bank at 9.48 am. There was a reason I asked you for a loan of twenty thousand dollars. There was even a reason that you denied me that twenty thousand dollar loan and then forgot about me the moment I walked out of your office.

“I admit, there could be a number of reasons as to why it is you strapped to this chair, at this moment, and not Tod from the office over who really shouldn't wear that colour of green, or Susan from reception who smells of musk and garlic. But the truth is, there is no defining reason that gives this moment purpose, that gives you purpose. There is no hope that you could persuade me to end this before I call it finished.” I dispose of the towel in the waste bin at my feet.

“You see, the only thing of value in this world, beyond the watery visage of joy or happiness, beyond the tasteless bite of revenge, beyond even the warmth of success—the only thing worthwhile in a world full of inconsequentiality, is satisfaction. And the only way to achieve satisfaction is to feed your desires.” I lean in closer, lips hovering next to his ear so I assure he hears me over his own whimpering. “And Larry, I find deconstructing people piece by beautiful piece very satisfying.”

After my soliloquy, I decide I want to challenge myself this time. I want to see if I can tell the moment his mind is gone without the windows of his eyes to see it.

You see, taking someone apart, one piece at a time is delightful, but the magnum opus, the true moment of enlightenment is when you take their mind.

I smile as I step away, tuck my hands into a new pair of gloves and run my gaze over his shivering form. So many tools, but what to choose? I palm a simple house-hold dessert spoon from its home in my kit and turn it in the light.

Yes, this will do quite nicely.