I could never deal with the guilt, so this was a good way to see closure. Only a year ago I was in charge of the information section of my armed military faction. People came in, people went out and I did my job. I didn’t see this as a crime, as a punishment for them but as a job. They called me the chain man. Now looking back the patient that was next admitted to my ward was a special one. The fear in his eyes was like a puppy who had been hit for no reason. Now they call me the chain man for a reason but I’ll let your mind paint that picture, a picture I myself don’t like to recall. It was this very cell; this dark, dingy hell hole I called my office that I sealed my fate for this very day. I sat down and lit a cigarette, I blew a smoke ring to keep the mood of the appointment casual. I stood and my patient started breathing heavily.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Because they make leaves too crunchy these days?”
“Something along those lines.” I struck my fist across his face and with it another sane piece of me left. This was my job, this is what I lived for, so why after all these years did i still feel pain? A cut had formed under his left eye, I could see the fear seeping out of him. His look of hate became a gaze of sheer hate, this stare, it burned. I felt it eating away at my sanity.
“I think you have the wrong…” Smack! That hit would permanently scar him. My knuckles after years of work had become callas and hard. His head was draped back over the chair and his blood was running through his hair then onto the ground. Why does this still hurt me? Why does my job pain me inside? This one wasn’t talking so I picked up my notorious tool. A faint whisper came from the battered head.
“Why do you do this? Do you know who I am? I bet you wouldn’t notice your mother in this chair? Have you tortured woman before? How about young boys? Have you… You’re a blind man to not see the horror of your ways.” Memories of past events came flooding back. I was a monster. Some of my patients must have wanted revenge some of them may even want me dead. Maybe it was that one victim that landed me here where I am today. I was a vicious beast that listened to the leader of the pack. All the cut, bruised and bleeding faces taught me nothing. I fell to my knees and buried my head into my hands. My dirty, filthy blood covered hands. My profession taught me a lot and now sitting in an operating chair with a doctor awaiting to operate on me did I understand why they called me the chain man. Now I would finally get a taste of what I had brought upon people. Do you know what the sad thing was?