How Frostbite Affects The Human Body

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“I remember waddling down the museum aisles, lagging behind the lanky strides of my mom, as I timorously held on to her hand for dear life. On the left of that short aisle, underneath a foam sign with a scrawled WW2, was the aisle my mom dragged me in. Even with my puerile understanding, I could feel that the dimly lit room with grey bound walls and ashen pictures carried a solemn meaning; it hung like an ominous fog that drooped heavy and low and tenderly strummed the strings of sentiment. There was this one particular panel, which I can reminisce easily - hidden behind many other rows. It did not have the exquisite and elaborate detail that draped over it like a wedding gown, but was merely a black and white poster of soldiers with a blob of words that read, “‘Heroes,”’ erected on a wooden pedestal.” I pause to catch a breath and pick up the now lukewarm cup of coffee, downing half of it esuriently. I needed a better design for the cell.

I stretch my neck a bit, jump around, and fidget with my paper name tag that read researcher. “As I grew older, that experience queried me an enigmatic question which I could not untangle. What was the ratio between the sacrificing person and people getting saved? See, Christians love Jesus because he sacrificed himself to save humanity. One person saved everyone. War heroes that were in that little museum of mine were decorated because they sacrificed themselves to save more people.” I stop once more, jumpy and skittish now. I always loved telling this part of the story. I unhook the pen from my ear and set the classic folder cleanly on the rim of the oak desk, getting ready.

I let my mouth continue blabbering on. “In my later years, I got my answer. Those ratios were special; even if one person sacrifices their life to save three or even two people or even one, it justifies their death and is glorified. It is incredible! I mean, that is how science grows,” I finish talking with a smirk.

I begin seeing the fear in his eyes as the gears in his head slowly starts ticking. He starts straining against the bonds, his hands and legs vibrating violently, trying to break free. He can see my smiling face through the clear cell. With a snap-like motion, I flick my finger onto the lever, turning it on. I hastily shove my fingers into my leather gloves, examine him carefully, and my pen scurrying across my clipboard, scrambling to write all the information down.. Male, five foot eight, blue eyes… a whirling fan begins whistling while the silent scream begins to echo alongside the eerie scratching of pen against paper.

Taking a quick break, I rub my hands together and finish my cup, only to realize that if I had just waited just a bit longer, my coffee would have been completely chilled. I heave a sigh of annoyance and get back to work. His ratio was perfect for the northern areas.

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Published October 31, 2020

Written by David Oh ~ Edited by Sarah Wilenzick ~ Graphics created by Scarlet Song