and aisles of shelves piled high with an overwhelming amount of home improvement supplies enchanted me.
The greeter at the door smiled and said, "Hello." I returned a genuine smile of my own as I passed by. I strolled toward the middle of the store where I knew the drills and power saws to be, admiring the flooring and lighting options along the way.
My happiness was short lived as I studied the first table saw on display. The actual saw had been removed and the device unplugged. I moved to the other table saws and noticed a similar disturbing trend. It was the same with the Circular Saws, Jigsaws, Chainsaws, and Reciprocating Saws. None of them were armed or juiced up.
I put my head down and continued past the electronic marvels, cursing myself for my bad luck. I stopped and leaned against a shelf and felt myself shudder. I was so close to accomplishing my goal of freedom only to be thwarted by a paranoid abundance of safety measures. Frustrated, I sighed and looked up. That was when I noticed that I'd wandered into the section of the store that held nearly every type of hand saw available.
In my planning I had been so focused on using an electric saw of some sort that I never considered using anything manual. It was mostly the convenience of a machine that would cut through flesh and bone quickly that appealed to me. I wasn't sure that I had the guts to go through with it otherwise.
At the first sign of backing out, the voices returned with a vengeance. They screeched over each other, making my head spin. "CUT IT OFF!" I dropped to the floor and grabbed the sides of my head. It was all I could do not to cry out.
After a few seconds, I agreed to their demands, and when I did, the voices grew quiet again. Using the shelf for support, I pulled myself up into a standing position. A woman and her child walked by quickly.
I surveyed my options. The large tooth Crosscut Saw made me want to gag when I thought about using it to cut through flesh and bone. It was far too ragged for my tastes. The Hacksaw looked like it could work, but the teeth were so small that it made me think it would take an unreasonable amount of time to finish the job. I settled on a Backsaw. It was good sized with medium size teeth and would stay fairly stable while I made the cut. It reminded me of a Bonesaw I had seen on a Discovery Channel reality show once.
I pulled the Backsaw down from the shelf. It was heavier than I would have expected and felt cold in my hands. I hugged it against my chest and started walking toward the back of the store. I ended up in the lumber aisle, surrounded by pieces of cut wood of various sizes. I turned my head left and right, not really sure what I was trying to find. And then I saw it.
A makeshift counter top sat at the end of one of the aisles. Using two Sawhorses and a throw away piece of plywood someone had made a work surface. I approached it and rapped the top a couple of times, sending little clouds of sawdust flying into the air. It was solid and stable enough for my temporary needs.
The strange peace settled over me again as I considered my macabre task. I had already decided to cut off my right hand, the dominant one, which would prove a bit awkward using my left to cut. But it had to be done.
I laid my right arm on the wood surface and made a fist with my thumb facing up. Gingerly, I laid the cutting edge of the saw against my wrist and felt the radial artery pumping blood into my hand. A wash of dizziness swept through my brain and I felt like I might pass out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The swirling in my brain faded.
I had to act fast before I lost my nerve. Steeling myself, I grabbed the handle of the saw with a death grip and made my first forward sawing motion. The artery I had felt pulsing a moment earlier tore open, spilling what seemed like an unusual amount of blood. It poured over the edge of the work surface and splashed onto the floor.
I moved the saw back and forth, cutting through tendon, cartilage, and bone before reaching the radial nerve. As soon as the blade touched it, intense pain coursed through my hand and raced to my shoulder, blinding me. Tears streamed down my face and I cried out in agony, nearly dropping the blood covered saw.
I heard a voice in the distance shouting, but the words were drowned out. I heard more shouting and work boots slapping against the hard floor.
My entire body trembled, but I was determined to see it through. I laid my blood soaked hand back on the dust covered table and used the blade of the saw to locate the cut. I could no longer see it with the blood that obscured the wound. When I found it, I made one more forward sawing motion, severing the radial nerve and cutting deeper into my hand.
The pain grabbed hold of me once again and the world swam. The saw clattered to the floor, splashing blood on my exposed legs and shorts. Grabbing my arm below the wrist I forced myself to look at my hand. The blood still flowed freely, down my arm and over my left hand. I could no longer move my thumb, forefinger, and middle finger.
What have I done?
I felt the pulse in my wrist and watched as each beat pumped out more of my blood. Voices surrounded me and the world began to rotate dangerously. I fell to the floor, hit my head against the cement and passed out.
****
Even now I can see the events of that day clearly. My hand has long since healed. The only reminder is a puckered white scar that feels sore whenever rain is coming. That fact that it is still attached to my body is a constant reminder of my failure to absolve myself of my sin.
I wasn't allowed much for entertainment at first, with the exception of a small library of books that I was allowed to read under strict supervision, and some TV time that I avoided like the plague. That crap rots your brain.
One of the books was the Bible. I had hardly picked the Word of God up at any point during my life. Curious, I turned to Matthew 18:8 and read the verse my grandfather quoted so long ago. It made my heart beat faster, knowing that I was still guilty of my sin. But it was the next verse that made my stomach sink.
It was Matthew 18:9, which reads, “And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.”
I sat that night at dinner with my flimsy plastic Spork (I can't have a proper fork) wondering how hard it would be to dig out an eye using such a utensil. I'm not ready to try it just yet, but the voices are beginning to cut through the chemical haze of the drugs I am forced to take. I pray that God shows me another way, a better way, before it's too late.
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About the Author:
Jess Hanna is an author of supernatural thrillers that explore spiritual themes. Jess's stories intrigue and entertain while tirelessly pursuing the truth. He lives in San Diego, CA with his wife and works in the publishing industry. He is also a devoted follower of Jesus Christ.
Connect With Jess Hanna Online:
https://www.jesshanna.com/
Twitter:https://twitter.com/JessIsaacHanna
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