Chaos

Henry's hand slipped causing the scalpel to slice through his palm like butter. "Shit!" he exclaimed, dropping the scalpel into the soapy water. Normally a scalpel cutting flesh would be a familiar feeling, but he had never cut himself. Never.

He winced as he examined the wound on his palm, seeing the muscle and sinew of his hand. A vast amount of blood had already begun to gush from his palm, slowly trickling down his forearm to his elbow and soaking into the rolled-up sleeve of his white undershirt.

The throbbing pain shot through his arm and up to the base of his neck. Henry quickly rolled up his sleeve further then threw the rag he was using to clean the scalpel over his bloody palm, balling up his fist, ensuring the wound got as much pressure as possible. He dashed to an open ornate glass cabinet adjacent to him.

Inside were a plethora of different instruments including scalpels, bone saws, large knives - like the ones to gut a large fish, different vials of many copious things, a variety of different eyeglasses each with multiple lenses, as well as what he was searching for, a rather large leather duffle bag.

He swiped an eyeglass off the shelf along with the bag and flopped it down onto a large dining room table that was being used as an impromptu operating table. There was a darkened red stain on the white sheet that covered the flat of the table

Henry reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a set of matches. With a flick of his wrist, it was set ablaze, and he used it to light the lantern hanging just above the table. He slipped the eyeglasses over his head and adjusted them slightly until he could see clearly, then unfurled his hand to reveal what once was a vibrant cream-colored rag that was now stained a sickening dark red.

The blood had dried the rag to his palm, causing a sharp pain when he tore it from his flesh. He inhaled deeply and the stench of fresh blood perforated through his nostrils. He flipped down one of the lenses on the eyeglass, allowing him to get a closer look at the wound. Adrenaline started pumping through his body, the pain slowly faded as his excitement built.

Henry unbuckled the bag and rummaged around within it, eventually finding a vial within his grasp. He took it out and inspected it, the label on the bottle had been rubbed off. He used his teeth to uncork the vial, and the stench of alcohol filled the air. He spat the cork toward the floor and it rolled across the hardwood.

Quickly Henry began to feel lightheaded. He had already lost so much blood.

Henry haphazardly poured the alcohol onto the wound and the striking pain caused him to recoil and grind his teeth together. Rooting around in the bag once more he retrieved a spool of thread and a needle. Taking it from the bag, he threaded the needle and brought it to the flame of the lantern then doused the needle in the alcohol. He put the bloody rag in his mouth and took in a deep breath before plunging the needle into his skin.

Each time the needle pierced his skin a sharp pain ran up and down his arm and after a few minutes he had expertly sewn his wound together in a cross-stitch pattern.

As Henry finished the stitches he bit the thread, severing it from the needle then held up the end of the excess thread protruding from his wound to the lantern's flame, burning it away. He then examined his work, the rhythmic thumping of his heart slowing and the jitter from the adrenaline dissipating. His excitement was over.

"Careless," he muttered, "By the gods, so careless."

Reaching into his bag Henry grabbed a ball of gauze then wrapped it around his palm. Taking a sharp pair of scissors from the bag he cut the bandage from the gauze ball. He sighed as he studied the gauze wrapped around his palm, checking for imperfections. He found none.