Microstory Monday

A Moment With The Augmenteer
"I dreamed he tore himself off and tried to kill me," my client says.
Bending over to unfasten the bandage clasps, I shake my head. They always say this.
"It can't tear itself off," I say, unwrapping the graft. "It doesn't have any arms."
"I guess," he mutters. Then, craning his neck to watch me work, "Is he awake?"
"No," I say, but my fingernail scrapes an eyelid, and it snaps open.
"It's okay," I whisper to it, but the screaming starts anyway.
Sighing, I wrap the graft up with gauze, muffling the hoarse cries.
"You'll get used to it," I say. "You both will."