Stitch by stitch

Another day. Another guest under her knife for life altering procedures.

Cecelia was prepped and ready for the new case, one that has been waiting some time to get on the table. Ahe would be readjusting organs and skin to bring the the young man back to his glory, so to say. A pity when the mortal coil decides to enact spontaneous self-decay and poison, turning once healthy kidneys and heart into ticking masses of votile muscle and bio mass. Cancer is never a kind thing, only a reminder that all man are susceptible to the cold claws of the inevitable.

She nods to a attending nurse to start up the recording, another to begin her usual vinyl of classics, taking her place over the comatose form. Oh how she prefers a attentive audience, though numb from drugs, so she can calm converse with them while deep in their body cavity to fix their malfunctions. Alas not many are amiable to such, which often time ends with her filling the silence with music; much to the chagrin of her attendants.

With the stage set and the instruments at the ready, she begins the first cut to see how far the malfunctions have spread. Parts will need to be replaced, a convenient supply present for such, bit first she must take away tissue and mass that may still hide their sinuous stores of ill.

Stripe by stripe more is taken from the Man's body, sliming the bloat of years wasted, a supposed 'upside' to going through so much pain and life risk. She is no stranger to guest requesting her to cut them open and take from them pounds of flesh so they can appear 'beautiful' to the dull masses of false ideals. A waste of her skills but a good reason to practice to keep her blades sharp for the real cases.

Time moves, minutes lost in thought and concentration, the only steady beat of the world of too much sound, too much light, too much conflicting and double-worded people looking for something to feast their greedy egos. Time is at least constant and unchangeable, undeniable and reliable. A steadfast companion to her all these monotone years.

Finally, the flesh is raked and removed, healthy tissue ready to be remoulded into something more presentable once this is done. Carefully the kidney is removed, bloated and discoloured, finding its place on a tray as attendants are quick to spirit it away and give her new gloves and tools for the transplant.

Everything in order, following a set time right to the second. A good group she assembled today, knowing how strict she conducts her performances to a schedule. With timely work the kidney is replaced and fused to the body. With clips in hand and a pinch of skin, a temporarily seal is made as she moves to the more time sensitive part of the ordeal.

The heart of the matter.

Next to her are new valves and experimental materials, all showing the upmost promise in testing and successful cases. In the back of her mind she still wishes to tinker, to add her own flair of clockwork and ingenuity, but she is still in testing with her pet projects in terms of organs. Limbs so far have done her well, so she hopes for a proper breakthrough. Now however, she is needed to use what was given and forgo the personal aesthetics.

A breath is made, everyone preparing for the moment of truth. This will be the hardest part, needing every second to count. With a simple countdown, the knife is lifted and the heart now exposed.

A flurry is the best description of what comes next. Damaged and sickened valves are removed, inner walls are cleaned and scraped of diseased cells and tissue, pathways cleared of blocks and foam. Each extraction is met with swift removed from the trays and replaced with healthy specimens and fabricated materials.

A timer is ticking down how long they have, telling them how close they are to fail the operation. Tensions grow higher the smaller the numbers get, anxiety buzzing like mosquitos in the summer.

Yet Cecelia is calm. She works at her pace, never wavering, never taking more time than needed to get her work done. No one can ever decipher her calm in times of stress, often times wondering if shes a sentient entity that built themselves like her clockwork projects. She often is spoken of like a urban legend that haunts the hospital, sometimes even explained as being the hospital itself manifesting a viable form.

She finds these explanations humorous as most, often playing up those suspicions with subtle quips and phrases to see the confusion in their eyes as they question their reality.

They don't know the truth however. How she can be so calm during time sensitive tasks. They don't know, for they do not see what slips between the seconds on the clock.

To her eyes, the room is still-to-sluggish in movement. She takes her time to make each stitch and fusion to ensure the best quality. She will have nothing less than perfection for this performance, for anything less would be an insult to the Man that trusted her to fix him.

Between the seconds, the minutes, the hours, a woman stands with the flow of time wrapped around her like a shawl.

If only the people knew what walked their halls in truth.