There are certain smells that stay with you, like when you’re four and mix bleach and ammonia in the cat’s bowl. Or the first time you sear flesh with a soldering iron to quickly close a suture. But this, this is a first: the smell of my own skull being slowly, so deliciously, pulverized into dust. I am breathing myself, my own self, my very physical being rising from my head in a cloud then flowing in elegant circular flows back to my nose for me to inhale my essential essence.
Ecstacy.
And the sounds! I already intimately knew the sound of bone turning to dust, could identify all the variations from drills to planers, from electric sanders to reciprocating saws, to whether the blade was steel, titanium, nylon, or diamond coated. But this. This sublime concerto, the stereo of hearing the sound of my mind being drill from both the outside and inside! I am beside myself. I can feel the sounds in my mouth like chocolates I have squirreled away in my cheeks, slowly melting in a constantly and tantalizing stream of joy down my throat. The only way this experience could be better – the only way – is if it were my hand on the drill.
There are no shackles that can hold true passion. Restraint is only an illusion, a belief in our own lack of capability, a belief in the negative, that which is not. We envision our inability, our weaknesses, the walls over which we cannot see or climb. To the mind that is single-mindedly focused, that knows exactly what it wants, there are no barriers, nothing that can stand in its way, not even the fabric reality itself. For while fabric is strong, can hold us and even wrap us in its fantastical lies, the one who wields the scissors is truly free.
So it is with no disbelief that I tear my hand free of its leather bindings, no surprise when I can reach up at an impossible angle, no doubt that it is happening when my fingers reach around the hand holding the drill in place and crush the flesh and bone beneath them. I barely acknowledge the scream of pain – a momentary background noise, soon to be gone – as the broken hand slips out of my mine, releasing the drill into my grasp. And then all else is oblivion. My presence envelopes me and blocks out the rest of the universe: nothing exists but me and my drill.
I am in heaven.
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Stein-The Early Days
FanfictionSet back in the early days when they were just students themselves, Stein and Spirit face Legion, a terrifying foe who can meld keshin eggs together into monsters that may be impossible even for Death to kill.
