It's great to
write about things without first-hand experience. Research, reading about them,
just like today when my search history is full of questionable things like how
to knock someone unconscious, collapsed lung recovery, which side is more
damaging when you stab a neck… Yeah, I have asked around before, and this is
the problem with every writer who doesn't write in normal, harmless genres. My
search history is sparkling, totally not a serial killer's vibe. Definitely
normal, move along, nothing to see here. Oh, besides the grim stuff, there are
many light research topics as well, such as how to make a pencil a certain way,
types of berries, etc.
It feels even
greater to write about things I've experienced before. There are several of
them in my upcoming book: a chopped index finger, riot, fish attack, and
mountain climbing, to mention a few. I don't want to be dramatic, so I will
write about the lamest one: a chopped index finger. It sounds fantastic as a
title, too.
It was late at
night in my hostel. I needed to make a model for my design, which was the big
task of that semester. With so many things to do, I didn't sleep for more than
a couple of hours for days. We didn't have good facilities and resources, so I
had to do everything on my floor and save on more cost-friendly materials, like
real wood instead of fancy model wood (that is softer and much easier to cut
but much more expensive). As you have guessed, after many slices, it happened.
I was pushing my left fingers hard on a metal ruler on top of the wood. I
needed multiple slices before I was able to break the wood, since, again, a saw
would be a more appropriate tool instead of a box cutter (we call it a pen
knife or just a cutter), but it would be difficult because of the small size,
and a box cutter was all I had. I had done this countless times, and each time
I got more confident and faster, increasing recklessness came with it, too,
with the desire to get it done in less time. Every time I sliced, the position
of my hand would move a little because of the pressure and movement. I had to
adjust it, but there was a time when I sliced way too fast before proper
adjustment, and the box cutter sliced through the top of my index finger. It
had gone beyond its original position and protruded from the metal ruler. Since
the knife followed the metal ruler outline, and the tip of my index finger was
on the way, it took a good chunk of it.
They said
(actually, it's my own theory) the pain in the fingers connects to the heart,
while the pain in the mouth connects to the head. Think about the headache that
comes with a toothache. Anyway, it was bloody painful, but I concentrated more
on the missing tip, from where I could see a dancing mini fountain now. I don't
know if it's anatomically or medically possible, but I swear the blood spurted
from its centre pulsed like a tiny fountain (Apparently it's a sign of arterial
bleeding, thanks to Google search). I don't know if my mind fooled me, but the
memory of the sight was engraved into my mind. I had learned many shabby first
aid courses and knew I had to put pressure, but there was so much blood and it
didn't stop. So, I ran out of my hostel room, thinking of haunting some people
and banging on their door asking for a bandage or whatever. Thankfully, one of
the occupants was there watching late-night football, and he had some
knowledge. It sounded ridiculous then, but we didn't have the luxury of a
proper pharmacy or anything in the middle of the night (or day!). He tied those
basic rubber bands (not the fancy ones, think of the only type that existed
thirty years ago) on the middle of the finger, asked me to elevate it above my
head so the bleeding would stop, and of course, abandoned the assignment that
night.
So, I slept,
pointing at the ceiling, and it actually worked. It took a while for the tip to
grow back after I had resigned on looking forever at the slanted shape. To my
delight, that assignment got an almost perfect score of 95 out of 100. Blood
sacrifice? I guess so.
The next day,
when I told my classmate about what happened, she shared a similar story, but
it happened on her big toe. Like an empathetic person I was, I laughed out
loud, thinking about the slanted big toe. To her credit, she laughed with me,
and she became one of my good classmates.
Okay, this story
is real, just like every ramble in my newsletter. My books are fictional, of
course. The latest one is coming up soon. I finished drafting it in two months
but took a year to refine and edit it. I'm very happy with it and want to try
setting up a preorder. It's scary to hope because they say the key to happiness
is low expectations. Argh! My target is to have the link by the next
newsletter. I shall not fail to do so! However, there is no blood sacrifice.
Just sweats, aching fingers, dark moments as I immersed myself with the
character, and many edits with the help of my awesome alpha and beta readers.
Thank you always
for being here.
I wish you a
great life, no blood sacrifice required.
