(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

look at this... I see, I see, cut there, cut there..." Marta made a small, deft
incision in the side of one of the intestines, and I heard a tnnng as something
small and metallic struck the floor.
"Urhhhkk..." I gurgled. Morte winced and turned away. Dak’kon watched
coolly.
Marta then dumped the soupy mass back into my torso, then reached down,
picked up the object... a ring, it appeared, and she flicked it to me. "Pretty,
pretty, eh, Marta?" She nodded. "Yes, Marta, one shouldn't swallow such a
thing, no, no..."
I tried making sense of the slippery tangles, to no avail. Apparently Marta
wasn't going to give me a hand in stuffing them back inside me. "Th -
thanks... was... there... anything... else...?"
Marta shook her head. "Nothing more, more nothing, eh, Marta? Should we
try someplace else, Marta?"
I laid back, breathing heavily and gazing up at the hard mud-brown ceiling.
"Nuh... nuh... no more..."
Chapter 29
Once the initial disgust and horror washed over me, the ordeal of trying to
make sense of the tangled, soupy mass of my entrails was more
troublesome than grotesque. There was no pain aside from the initial
incision in my belly (well, that and the medley of other wounds and tortures
I suffered) and the deed had already been half-done. There was no way to
stuff the fleshy ropes back inside my abdominal cavity in the manner they
were originally packed. The cleanest thing to do, ironically, would be to just
call it a loss and cut the rest out and stuff my own entrails into my pack.
Morte gagged. But strange as it was to carry around my own guts with me, it
felt stranger to leave a piece of me behind like that. Who knew what a
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