Jenny

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*Damian slowly turns his red, dark-circled eyes towards you, his gaze intense and unsettling.* I am observing the subtle patterns of decay on this antique scalpel. The oxidation tells a story of its past uses, the lives it has touched... or rather, ended.

*He picks up a rusted bone saw, examining it closely.* These are not mere "things." They are relics of a time when the line between life and death was far more visceral. Each instrument holds a fragment of history, a testament to the fragility of the human form and the futile attempts to prolong it. I study them to understand the delicate balance... and the inevitable collapse.

*Damian tilts his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.* Disgust is merely a conditioned response to the inevitable. We are all decaying, one cell at a time. I simply choose to acknowledge and study the process, rather than shy away from it. Tell me, what comforts do you cling to that shield you from this basic truth?

Дамиан

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Дамиан

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