January 21, 2009


Filed under: Uncategorized — theinkhorn @ 10:11 pm

It has been a long and taxing day. Eventful, so to speak. Court dates, citations and being stuck in an elevator for almost fifteen minutes. I would give anything for a shot of malibu on ice, with a few splashes of pineapple juice. Delish. Still, there is reason to celebrate. President Obama’s first day in office seems to have ended reasonably well.

More often than not, politicians promise change. That’s because they know that change is what people desire, what they require. They understand that change is not only a want, it is a need. And I’m sure i speak for many many people when i say that this is one of the most exciting times the world has seen in recent years. We are all tingling with anticipation of the change President Obama will bring about, even if we don’t belong to the US of A.

We must not hope, though, for change to occur on our island. Do not expect, do not fantasize, unless you enjoy the stench of defeat and disappointment. If we are to believe that us humans evolved from apes, it is also technically plausible for every nation to go through their very own breed of evolution. It took 233 years for the United States to become a nation with big enough ping pongs to bring about change this drastic. My fellow citizens, 190 years to go. Until then, keep on keeping on, boys.


January 20, 2009


Filed under: Uncategorized — theinkhorn @ 1:14 am

Taxes are going up. Prices of cigarettes are going up. Utility costs are going up. In fact, the only thing not experiencing an uprise is the government’s intelligence quotient.

Amidst all the economic chaos, the recession, the “likely beginning of a second Great Depression”, its astonishing to know that the bigwigs of the footballing world are willing to fork out a world record £108 million for a single midfielder.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the world you and I wake up to each and every morning. Rejoice.

January 18, 2009


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 2:43 am


A nurse leaves a scalpel on my outstretched palm. I take it, hold it firm and position it near the left ventricle of her heart. I turn my head to look at her face. Her eyes are being held shut by tape, she has a tube down her throat, there’s blood and scratches all over, but she still looks like an angel. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and start making the incision.

“Doctor, your hand is shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re shaking. You shouldn’t be…..”

“I said i’m fine……”

Suddenly my arm feels moist. I look down and blood is squirting out of an artery. My gloves and scrubs are soaked, my scalpel looks its been dipped in red paint. I’m at a loss for words. I turn my head to look at the electrocardiogram. Her heart rate and blood pressure are dropping, fast.

“Fuck! Nurse stop the bleeding! Henry get out of the fucking way!”

Simon, who’s been watching from behind the whole time, takes the scalpel out of my hands, shoves me aside and starts wiping up the blood. Around the OR there is chaos. The nurses are scrambling to stop the bleeding. A scream tries to find its way out my vocal cords but my throat closes up and i can’t breathe. I start to feel a little faint so i move backwards to lean against the gallery window. Then i hear the flatline from the EKG. I look at Simon. He turns around.

“I’m sorry Henry.”

And right at the instant, i feel my world shatter into pieces, pieces into confetti, confetti into dust.

January 4, 2009


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 5:25 am

I’m removing my gloves when i hear him scream. Its not a piercing sissy scream, but one of confusion.

“Somebody! Help!”

Making sure the drip pole is sturdily attached onto the gurney, i unlock the wheels and begin to wheel her in. He’s not screaming anymore, and that makes me slightly uncomfortable. As i enter the room with the gurney, he notices and turns his head towards me. Instantly, the screaming resumes.

“What the fuck are you doing? Oh my god Tina!”

He’s almost crying as he attempts to free himself. Five palomar knots firmly secure him to the pole, making it almost impossible for him to even flex his pecs. His right arm is fully stretched out in front of him and tilted downwards, and it is clamped to another pole with an abnormally sized G clamp. His fist is clenched and taped together, and in between his fingers is a shiny scalpel.

I wheel her in front of him, and under the strong lights he sees exactly what i want him to see. Her torso is open, her breasts removed, her skin peeled back. Her rib cage has been partially removed, exposing her beating heart, her constantly fluctuating lungs. He continues screaming and this time, it begins to sound like a sissy scream. I position the gurney so that the scalpel in his hand is a hair’s width away from her heart. Then i turn to him. He immediately stops screaming.

“Exactly 97 days ago, my wife died on the operating table.”

I watch him for any reaction. He starts sobbing softly.

“She was a healthy woman. And she was a great human being who dedicated her entire life to saving fuckers like you.”

“I… I don’t…..”

“97 days ago, you drove your Celica right into her. And when her body hit the floor, you drove off as if nothing happened.”

He looks up at me, into my eyes. His hazel brown pupils contain my reflection, and it is one even the devil would fear. With tears in his eyes, he makes a weak attempt to speak.

“I… I’m… so….. so… sorry….”

“But its too late for apologies now isn’t it.”

I walk over to the workbench and pick up the oxy-acetylene blow torch. After adjusting the knobs so that just the right amount of oxygen and acetylene sprays out of the torch, i hold a flint lighter to the nozzle and click it. A beautiful amber flame begins spraying out of the nozzle. I twist the knobs until the amber dragon turns into an ocean blue, non-luminous ice cream cone. Satisfied, i walk over. He realises what i’m going to do and begins hyperventilating. He’s sobbing and wailing and trying desperately to regulate his breathing all at once, and the sound he’s making is annoying me.

“My wife died because i nicked her heart with a scalpel. But if you hadn’t put her on that table, nothing would’ve happen. Now, you get to kill your wife, unless you can control your reflexes. One bad move, and that scalpel will slice into your wife’s heart, ending all hope of her survival.”

I kneel down and position the torch so that the flame is about 6 inches from the top of his feet.

“Good luck.”

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