Updated: Nov 27, 2019

In kitchens and farm fields, construction sites and factories, I’d earned my keep by my sweat and blood.

Scarlet lubricant pumps life through the human-machine, yet a single slip can forever alter the entire apparatus.

A piece was taken from me, a crimson tide seeped from where I’d once felt touch.

The healers said that I was ill-suited to recover, but they knew not of my wisdom or strength of spirit. My concentration was unwavering, forcing my cells to regenerate through willpower alone.

Each time the nurses replaced my bandages, I would stare at the missing segment, recollecting the sensory experiences it had collected before its excision.

Weeks later, my caregiver was shocked. It had healed, my appendage returned to its former glory on par with its four peers.

Though still sensitive, I have resumed activities with the gumption of a younger man, but with a new appreciation for the healing power of the mind.

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