I Prefer A Silent Harvest
"You've been working too fast," my supervisor says, tightening the restraints on my donor as I work. I shrug, quickly carving out an eye.
The supervisor holds out his hand, and I give it to him.
"Some of your extractions have surgical damage," he says, examining the eye closely.
"I like to finish before they wake up," I say. "I have a hard time concentrating after that."
Almost on cue, my donor's remaining eyelid snaps open, and he begins to thrash and scream.
I sigh, pointing at the flailing body with my scalpel.
"See what I mean?" I say.
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