The first incision

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

Dr Hales placed the narrow knife upon the white cloth. “When you are ready, Mr Bell,” he said.

Ready was a word for other men. Edwin closed his fingers around the handle, and cold seemed to travel from the metal into his wrist. In its polished surface, he caught a piece of his own reflection: one eye, a strip of cheek, a face divided by the blade.

“Should the lamp be moved nearer?” he asked. Its bright circle already rested exactly where it was needed. No one answered. On the wall, the clock continued its busy ticking, as though determined to count every second that Edwin wasted.

The patient sighed. Edwin’s hand lifted from the table.

Without speaking, Dr Hales opened the clock’s glass case and stopped the swinging pendulum with one finger. The sudden silence was worse. The whole room appeared to lean towards the point of the knife.

Edwin fixed his gaze on the small ink mark the doctor had made. One breath. A second. On the third, he lowered the blade. Around him, the room released its breath.