Post by Random OCW TV Stuff on Oct 8, 2021 20:56:18 GMT -5
There once was a boy. This boy grew up with a dream. He grew up with a fascination. That fascination resided within the medical profession. His mother enjoyed each and every medical drama which aired on television. And, trust me, there are a shit ton of those things. This boy, a mother’s boy some might call him, watched these programs with his mother. That’s when the fascination and, hence, the dream began.
He didn’t have many friends. Instead, he chose to chase his ambition of being a surgeon. He read each and every book he could get his hands on which pertained to his interests. He continued watching medical dramas. The boy’s ambitions grew as did his expertise.
Upon the conclusion of high school he received acceptance into a proper institution. Four years of hard studying awaited followed by medical school. While still so far away, the dream had never felt closer.
The boy’s personal life was obsolete. He paid no attention to women. He didn’t desire camaraderie in the familiar sense. His friends were words printed on pages. His friends were characters portrayed on television. His friends were grades that resided above the ‘B’ level.
College graduation eventually came. The boy finished in the standard four year frame. He received acceptance into a solid medical school. While short of a genius, the boy more than made up for what he lacked initially with hard work and advantageous goals.
His mother barely made ends meet. Therefore the boy was forced to finance his own education. He did so by working on cars. As it turned out, his fascination of the human anatomy translated quite seamlessly into the realm of automobiles. He enjoyed inspecting under the hood and diagnosing issues. The thrill of fixing what ailed the vehicle was unrivaled.
His passion and skill was highly sought. Mechanics from all over the area recruited the boy to work under their employment purview. This reputation garnered the boy more than average monetary gains. He was easily able to afford a strong education without finding himself mired in aggressive debt.
The boy, now twenty-six, saw his goal nearly complete. Not once in his life had he blinked. He remained ever vigilant in his aspirations. A fellow med student became somewhat enamored with the boy. He found the connection the boy established between automobiles and human beings more than a little intriguing.
One afternoon the male peer accompanied the boy to work. The mechanic shop was empty. This was not irregular. The boy was so efficient and so trusted that he earned keys to the establishment. He would often work odd hours, alone. This enabled him to stay one hundred percent focused which produced expediently precise results.
“Wow, you made that look really easy,” the friend, if you could call him that, uttered as soon as the sound of a revitalized engine filled the empty garage.
The boy sat behind the wheel, monitoring all the gauges. He turned the vehicle off, satisfied. “Yea, it’s really not that tough once you get the hang of it. Cars are like people. They show symptoms and most like symptoms point toward a like problem. You just have to know what you’re dealing with.”
The ‘friend’ nodded. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing toward a giant knife.
“Oh, that,” the boy headed over, calmly. He picked up the giant blade. “It’s my knife.”
A bit nervous, the ‘friend’ asked, “Uhh, what do you have it in here for?”
“A bit of fun.”
The ‘friend’ stepped backward and tripped over a tool box. He stumbled to his feet. The boy laughed.
“Relax. Nothing nefarious…I use it to fix cars sometimes. I’m getting really good with it. You see, I have this theory that everything can be fixed with a knife.”
The ‘friend’s’ brow furrowed, “What?”
“Think about it. A blade is sharp, it is sturdy, it is thin when it needs to be and it is thick when it needs to be. It is the perfect utensil.”
“But, why? There are so many other instruments. Why limit yourself to just one?”
“I’m not saying it’s the only tool I’ll use. I’m just saying it’s sort of a side project, a theory of mine. Just some fun to have, nothing serious.” The boy stared at the blade. It was obvious he was enamored with the tool.
The ‘friend’ noticed the eager gaze. The overhead light flashed against the super shiny blade. “Uhh, I think it’s getting kind of late, how about we get out of here?”
The boy’s attention refocused to the current situation, “Oh, yea, sure. I’ve got some work to do, anyway.”
So, they exited. The boy placed the knife in his back pocket upon his ‘friend’s’ request. While still present its current security made the situation feel far safer.
They weren’t far from campus. They had walked to the shop and were destined to walk back.
Their attentions diverted. A car had suddenly rammed right into a light pole. The boy and his ‘friend’ exchanged uncertain looks. The boy took to action, sprinting across the street in pursuit of the accident. His ‘friend’ remained behind, nervous.
The boy reached the car. The man inside was moaning. “Hold on!” the boy yelled, yanking the door open. He pulled the man from the car and placed him safely on a strip of grass lining the sidewalk near the road. The man reached for his left bicep. “It hurts,” he moaned.
The boy noticed an object lodged in his skin. He yanked his knife out and raised it high into the air. The injured man’s eyes widened. He yelled, “OH MY!”
The boy struck down with furious intent. The man yelled in horror. A few seconds later the boy removed what was lodged. It appeared to be a ball point pen. The man quivered. His hands shielded his eyes.
“Here you go. Not sure if you want this back,” the boy displayed what appeared to be a decent pen. “It looks like a solid writing utensil, if I do say so myself.”
The man removed his hands. He teetered in between laughter and tears. He sputtered out a laugh, “What? Holy shit, man! I thought you were going to kill me.”
“Why on Earth would I do that?” the boy asked with utmost sincerity. The man shrugged, looking at the giant, blood soaked blade.
A fireball shot from underneath the man’s hood.
“MY CAR!” he yelled. The boy turned.
“No worries! I got this!” the boy hopped to his feet and he forced the hood up. He lifted the knife high in the air and struck down with tremendous force. His ‘friend’ continued to watch across the street in tepid amazement. “A-ha! Almost there, it’ll be good as new in no time!” The boy was focused. He was in his element. A small crowd of people began to gather, watching this modern day Mozart do his thing.
The crowd shrieked with horror. A second, unexpected fireball shot up, engulfing the boy’s face. He flew back, landing roughly on the sidewalk. A few good Samaritans rushed forward to check on him. His hands covered his face. Blood, deep, dark blood seeped through his fingers.
“My face!” he yelled. “It burns!”
“Son, let me see…” a man hovering over him spoke. He was struck with silence upon seeing the mortified, mutilated face of the boy. A person next to him threw up. The boy felt instant shame. He reached around and grabbed his knife. He stood and looked around. People screamed when they saw his face. He took off, running into the darkness to conceal his monstrous image.
Hope remained. The boy, whose face was covered in bandaging, re-emerged on campus. He walked into the offices of his administrative superiors. A few short months from graduating, he wanted to ensure everything remained copacetic. The administrators awaited him.
He entered. They each lowered their heads, staring at the floor. They felt shame. The boy didn’t understand why.
“So, yea,” the boy uttered, still embarrassed by his appearance.
“Listen, we’re all really sorry about what happened to you.”
The boy waved off the superfluous apology. The most courageous man in the room continued to speak. The boy looked around while the man spoke, ignoring the typical rhetoric that meant nothing and was basically a vehicle to get to the point. He spotted his ‘friend’.
“I’m afraid we are going to have to expel you.”
“Wait, what?” The boy’s knees buckled. He hoped his ears had betrayed him. “Did you say…expel?”
“I’m afraid so. Practicing medicine with a dirty knife. You caused quite a scene out there. We can’t have that damage our pristine image here.”
“The knife wasn’t that dirty,” the boy argued.
“Not to mention bumbling around and causing that explosion. You jeopardized the lives of everyone involved. I’m sorry, son, but you are too reckless to practice medicine.”
The boy looked toward his ‘friend’. It was clear who delivered this hyperbolic recanting of events. The boy reached into his back pocket and removed his knife. The entire room gasped and jumped away from the boy. He lifted the knife high into the air and sliced the bandaging around his head from behind. It fell to the floor. They all saw his deformed face.
“You see, the thing about burns is they itch,” he lifted the knife and scratched, gingerly at a few itches on his face.
The leader of the group spoke once more, “We’d appreciate it if you just left.”
Despondent, the boy picked up his bandaging, reapplied around his he as best he could and exited.
The sun had settled. He felt far more comfortable walking around at night given his current transformation. He inserted a key into the garage door. It wouldn’t work. The locks had been changed. He didn’t have to ask, he knew. They, too, had banished him from existence.
The boy felt unwanted. He felt like a monster. And, thus, he retreated, into the darkness.
Several years later.
A drug dealer writhing in pain is draped with his arm around a concerned companion. Ahead of them resides an abandoned business in the bad part of town. The concerned companion kicks the door open.
In front of him stands a man wearing a black, mechanic’s jump suit. The hair on the back of his head is constricted via strings belonging to a mask. This strange man speaks without turning around. “Shot?”
“Get him on the table. I’ll be ready in a second.”
The concerned companion helped his wounded friend onto a fold out table ensconced by black trash backs. The strange man turns around. His face is covered by a white, faceless mask. Two black holes reside where his eyes should. His image sends chills running through the concerned companion’s body.
The strange man unveils a giant knife. The wounded man yells, “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
“Relax,” the strange man urges. “You’re going to be better in no time.”
The strange man lifts the blade high into the air. The wounded man’s breathing picks up to a pace that nearly sends him into a fit. The concerned companion turns his head away. The knife comes slashing down.
A few minutes later the strange man removes the bullet. The wounded man looks down to find his wound all fixed. “What…you…ha…haha!” he laughs with unbridled joy.
The concerned companion finds the gumption to look. He, too, is pleasantly surprised.
The wounded friend hobbles off the table and stands on his own, without help. The concerned companion extends a rolled up wad of cash. The strange man accepts and, in return, hands over an unmarked bottle of pills.
“One a day, no more. Otherwise you could develop a crippling addiction.”
The wounded man nods. With the fear of death subsiding he’s suddenly finding this situation to be relatively strange. The strange man turns around and returns to whatever task he was performing before they entered.
About to leave, the wounded man has one question. “Who…who are you?”
“The Knife Man.”