We go to the Dewey number for dentists, ending up in the health and how bodies work section, and L spots “Clot and Scab.” I groan oh yuck, I don’t want to read that — which firmly cements it as his heart’s one desire, the only book he’d possibly ever want to read, can we get it please please?
How could I say no? For months he’s been poring over anatomy books and first aid manuals, which I heartily encourage. My future fantasies lean less surgeon than hellscape collapse where a basic understanding of wound care is a matter of life and death.
The book has photos of keloid scars and toes rotten with gangrene. Illustrations of eating pus sandwiches and getting your arm chopped off with a battle axe.
Now he’s producing dizzying drawings called “Spitting Out Blood.”
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