In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

pulled down his face so he became a silent screaming flayed face, then
they took measurements with a caliper. How he could see this, and so
crisply, was a mystery that baffled even his dream self, watching this,
feeling no pain, feeling no emotion at all, and how could he think, with
his brain in a bucket on the floor? Ah, but dreams are like that, in that
world where anything is possible. But this was not entirely impossible,
for hadn't Mendez in reality peeled down portions of his face to study
the construction of one side for the reconstruction of the other, the
one bashed in by Ng's boot? Through the fog of medication all this had
gone in one ear and out the other as Mendez recounted the tale in his
rat tat tat Mexican Spanish to the bandaged mummy sucking his broth
through a straw. But then one never knew if the guy was joking or not,
except perhaps for his wife Esperanza, who disgorged fireballs of
laughter after everything he said, funny or not, amplified by a laugh
track of raucous jingling from the heavy loop earrings that ornamented
her own elephantine ears, features too daunting for even Mendez to
trim. As for Sandro's physical ears, Mendez had never mentioned
peeling them down, even to study, but in the dream they poked out on
either side of the floppy sheet of skin along with that other piece of
cartilage, his ridged esophagus, still dripping blood.
Sandro woke from his dream into the nightmare of reality, his
throat raw and burning from screaming but thankfully not flayed. He
was drenched in cold sweat and there was blood around his wrists, so
he could at least be proud of one thing; he had put up a good struggle
against his phantom surgeons.
The gate of his cage groaned open, letting in Züt dressed in a
crisp white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. It had
been a long time since Sandro had seen him in this costume. Never a
happy moment, Züt in the white coat. Next to him appeared an
embarrassed young recruit. The soldier took a key and unlocked the
cuffs on his wrists and ankles with blue surgical gloved hands that were
soon smeared violet with blood. Züt nodded and the soldier stood at
attention outside the cell.
"Well, are you coming?"
How could Züt, who'd known him since he was a small boy,
treat him like this? They walked down endless yellow, gray and then
beige corridors to a room with a medic. Züt made him sign a paper so
he couldn't sue. He could barely use his hands to hold the pen. He was
pushed into a shower and blasted raw with a disinfectant that looked
and tasted like Pepto Bismol, then was given a thorough physical, just
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