A fluorescent hue lit up the work area, the outskirts of the room lay dormant in darkness. He stood motionless. The apprentice was staring at him, like a well trained canine awaiting a command, eager, loyal. He took a deep long inhale, his lungs expanded obediently, his diaphragm rose in unison, the exhale delivered deliberately after a momentary pause. The look he gave the apprentice was subtle, little could apprehend its meaning, but to whom it mattered it was greeted with a fidelity few understand. His arms lifted parallel to the ground, his posture now reminiscent of the subject’s dying deity, like all the others they lacked his eminence. The apprentice did not hesitate, the refined motion in which his head was secured in place within the apron was tasteful. The swift change to the rear of his torso to secure the two hardened cotton ties around his hips was a move that had been embedded deep in the boy's mind. Apron secured. The nervous energy in the air was now submitting to the uplift in anticipation, excitement. He felt it now himself, just by watching his apprentice glide through the motions, his sense of duty and pride was present but not visible, no, never visible. The gloves were slotted smoothly one at a time into place. The paper mask hooked around his ears, the nose bar pinched delicately, a task he once mastered and performed himself was now beneath him.

  The apprentice never dared catch his gaze during the preparation, not if he valued his post. It was almost time. The small silver table of apparatus was rolled into position. It stood tall, waist high with a thin central stem which stabilised on three angled legs with well oiled wheels. A-top sat the divine apparatus of which the duty was delivered. The boy moved purposefully to his station, he stiffened as he came to a halt. He saw the change in him, his leg trembled ever so slightly, his breathing was faster, not obnoxious but he must improve. This was the boy’s first. He’d make it special for him. The master stepped forward, he now looked down upon the cold hard surface and the pale grey sheet which was caressing the subject. Peaks and troughs drew his eye, a female he thought. He glared down, arching forward, his gloves squelched slightly as they were clasped behind his back. One careful nod of his head and the apprentice removed the cloth. As the cover was drawn off to one side swiftly, the peach-like skin took on an amber glare. It was secured appropriately, the boy did well. The ankles bound to the table using dark brown, almost black leather straps and polished steel chains into large rings welded to the table. The legs lay motionless in a decadent manner with a V shape that tapered up to a waist that was neat but sunken. She was clean, he acknowledged internally. The torso had a breeder’s scar around the midsection, distasteful to one’s eye. This led his gaze upwards over breasts that once delivered sustenance but now lay empty like the grain silos of old. The thin arms had scars that screamed of desperation and a lack of reverence. He scorned, then continued. The arms lay laterally outwards facing opposite ends of the room. Short strands of armpit hair poked out like shoots rising towards the light. The insertion to each wrist was beautifully clean, a work of art. Pitch black fastener heads stood proud of where their metal shafts were driven through the subject and secured to the table. The facial features did not impress any feelings upon him, the slender nose was bloodied indicating more non-compliant stock had been obtained. The cheekbones sat proud and whatever hair remained had been scalped removing with it the last remnants of power. Some fresh surface level scars were visible, he turned to look at the apprentice, who acknowledged this with a swift glance to his own feet. Freckles were pebble dashed across the taught face, like paint cast off from a heavy brush stroke. He touched firmly on the neck. It's time.

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  The art in his craft was about timing as much as precision. He held out his right hand which was promptly provided with a sharp mirrored edge blade that’s presence was palpable. He stooped ever so slightly and gently inserted the blade around the darkened skin of the areola. His speed was unmatched, the blade maintained a consistent depth for the duration. It took but a second, a swift rotation of his wrist and the mutilation manifested a reaction. The eyes on the table shot open. He looked down upon them, his head cocked to the side and his eyes met hers with a penetrating stare. The subject's body tensed suddenly. He looked at the apprentice and nodded at him. The boy held his eye for a moment harbouring a steely determination. The head on the table always regained the most mobility, this was by design. It suddenly flung from side to side with aggressive desperate jerks. Tears surfaced within her widening eyes, the confusion of her situation now evident all over. The clear stitches that kept the mouth sealed now were strained and barely visible as she tried to plead for mercy. They wanted to scream of course, they always do, but grunts and moans were all that was tolerable over a long shift, the stitches held strong. Enough lingering, he proceeded to tear and slice pieces of her, placing them into his apprentice's possession. The struggles were profound for a while, he was almost impressed until the will of the subject was deflated. Thirty seven minutes had passed and the peach body was now a bloodied mess with bone protruding from the countless gaping crevices cut deep into her fading frame. The breasts had been completely removed along with a kneecap and two parts of the right thigh, he was considering stopping for a quick break but he had an idea. The boy wouldn’t expect it, a treat on his first. He looked at his sullied apprentice who returned his gaze, his head slightly tilted. A swift stroke of the blade on her lips removed the fabric restraints from her mouth.

  The scream erupted from her, like lava from a long deceased volcano, unexpected and terrifying. He staggered backwards in a state of dismay, confusion and fear, as he collapsed he stumbled into the tray and its contents, spreading them unceremoniously on the hard tiled floor. At the same time the boy had shot backwards, bloodied hands clasping his ears, he now looked like a frightened child completely lost, all his nurtured instincts forgotten. The boy had forgotten the tongue! He quickly regained his posture as the harrowing roars filled the room, if he was quick he could fix this. Now his head proceeded to flick rapidly across the floor, seeking the unmissable glint off his finely honed edge. He seized it from two stained tiles away, pushed himself to his feet and lunged toward her. But it was too late, with her head tilted back, a desperate and commanding voice echoed: “Dear mother of God, have mercy on my soul!”