The corporealness of man left much to be desired. His life held no meaning, and even the essence of feeling was absent, especially when he was bored, which was all the time. This was his familiar life—if one could even describe it as "living"—yet he occasionally wondered if the monotony might one day cease. Out of options in his own mind, he reached behind where the table was and felt around for a while before his fingers brushed the small metal object. He hadn't bothered turning his head to acquire a different vantage, one that would have aided his search; instead, he strove to feed his laziness. A small pair of tweezers had cost him the better half of five minutes, but in a world where time meant nothing to him, he didn't bother lamenting the wasted effort.
He looked down at the thumb on his right hand and eyed the tab of skin. It had long stayed a freeloader atop his highest knuckle, growing as the days and weeks of dry weather peeled it back, exposing new epidermis emerging from beneath. With the small blades of the metal tool, he pinched the dead portion of skin and began removing it. Too soon, the decaying cells entwined with the healthy outer layer of his thumb. He didn't conclude the pruning.
The old man continued to strip away his living flesh, disturbing many nerves in this mindless process. Somewhere, he expected to feel pain, and reveled in the thought of it. However, no sooner had he thought it than it became apparent to him that this task would not allow him to feel anything.
Perhaps it was his endurance, or maybe the pain he sought, knowing he would never feel. Regardless of his hopes or intentions, he never stopped.
He had removed the skin from his thumb, resolving to continue down the palm and later his wrist.
The nail, he realized, stood out like a sore thumb, a pristine island amidst a sea of red, dermis tissue, muscle, nerves, veins, and tendons. But the man wasn't about to remove it just yet. If anything might elicit even a slight whisp of sensation, it would be his fingernails. He concluded that they would act as a sweet finisher, the dessert after a main course. In his situation, there would be five of each. "Surely five delicacies should create the very thing I sorely lack." This is what he would have thought to himself, had he granted his mind the strain of doing so.
The old man continued this way till his right hand appeared to be wearing a fingerless glove. For a moment, he admired his work so far, then began picking at the nails.
The instrument he was using hardly accomplished what he was trying to do. This was the conclusion; however, a delicate but elegant conclusion after a satisfying main course. He resolved to take his time.
Each new chip and tear grew the tips barer and barer, though no gram of lost matter made this process any sweeter. Soon, there was nothing left to remove, so he resumed peeling. With a clear edge at the base of each finger, it was simple to continue where he left off.
He stripped his palm, the back of his hand, and began deconstructing his arm. The flesh there was tougher to remove. The shoulder peeled easily.
Realizing his inflexibility, the old man called for his servant caretaker, and the android responded to his beckon.
"Resume my progress," commanded the old man.
The android deftly took the tweezers from his intact hand and, after observing the missing flesh, picked up the task of removing the old man's skin.
Two days had passed since the old man began the quest for feeling. And even though it should cause him pain, the uprooting of nerves simply did not allow his mind to acknowledge such reward.
It meticulously and efficiently stripped away his outer layer of dermis, working around his back and mirroring the man's work onto his left arm.
Since the old man lived alone, he did not bother dressing in the morning, nor putting on undergarments. His stark vulnerability allowed for a smooth procedure, apart from the chair on which he sat. This wooden structure obscured his buttocks, so the android helped him stand.
The routine was much the same and accomplished similarly to how previous portions of his body had been removed. There were nuances, however, when it came time to pare the old man's groin. Smaller folds and tighter corners didn't allow for a rush job. Though it hadn't slowed the method, the time it took per square inch was not equal in efficiency ratio compared to his back, arms, or legs.
One might think that such a sensitive area would—and should—cause a great deal and a detailed amount of pain; therefore, feeling. For the old man, however, there was no such presence.
An entire week had passed before the old man had no skin. When his helper had gotten to the old man's toenails, he knew that hoping for something other than numbness was foolish. After all, neither the android nor his own efforts had reaped the harvest he so desperately sought.
"Finish the job", he said bitterly, and without hesitation, the servant obliged.
With each strand of muscle stripped away, so also was the strength to move slowly peeled from his weakening frame. This was no longer a bothersome hangnail or vexing tab of skin; feeling—or rather, the lack thereof—was the one drive that prevented the old man from questioning the grotesque, systematic destruction of his own body.
Tendons came after muscle. The old man was now a skeleton, his ribcage and skull protecting what little remained. His brain still received nourishment from functioning organs, but with the end edging closer, he feared there was no longer a future point where he could experience feeling.
The android removed each innard, except for the brain. It deconstructed his old bones, and in his final moments, it savored its duty. After one long month, the old man was no more.
Left with no instruction and no master to produce any form of command, it set before itself the task of reconstructing its master from the pile of organic components. In reverse order, the android created a new being out of the parts from the old man. When she was complete, the android admired its work. But after realizing that, as her creator, it made itself by default her superior. With this new knowledge, the android would make its human, its own servant. And with that, it took on the role of its master, designating itself as a "he."
Were it because he lacked creativity, or he too sought feeling, the android handed the woman a pair of tweezers and ordered her to make him no more, just as the old man had instructed him to do. Without question, she did as she was told, and the android began his spectorial endeavor of discovering feeling.
When the woman was done and had no master to instruct her, she created a new one out of the parts she had piled and instructed him to make her no more.
09/02/2025