VII

As I approach the factory I see a crowd gathered in the square. A boisterous oafish mob cackling gleeful and jeering. The spirit of tasteless hullabaloo hanging miasmatic from the air–

An Execution! 

That was the only possible reason for such a ruckus. No one left their houses for the stockade, or the thumb screws, or the rack. Only the most upstart and fanatical citizens left their houses for anything less dramatic than corporal amputation, and even that was only popular because of the possibility of souvenirs.  

I remember one such woman. She had been collecting limbs since she was a tot. She would preserve them in salt until they wrinkled and turned black. Then she would nail them to the walls of her “6 by 6” room. She would show them to anyone that had even the slightest interest. There wasn’t an inch of wall that wasn’t cloaked in flesh. They shrunk the already cramped space substantially. I don’t know how she had the space to sleep in there…They must be a bitch to clean when the blood pipes leak…And she would just stare at them for hours, and whisper about “the long arm of the law”, and titter to herself. 

She never missed an opportunity to expand her collection. She would stand in the splash zone right up front. She would wait until the knacker started his downward swing then she’d dive forward and elbow away any rival trophy hunters. I heard she once bit a man’s ear in a bid to procure a 6 toed foot from a man with Polydactyly. Took his ear right off and walked away with two trophies that day. 

She was a fine and patriotic citizen. I can only wish to be so civilly minded.