They slit my nostrils. They did not even wipe clean the blade, after slitting the nostrils of either of the men next to me.
I will not even mention, my transgression. For really, there is no such thing. From one village, to another, from one country, what is hated, in behaviour, is never the same. Sin, is shifting. It is a dream … or the scene, of a dream. For a thing to be truly bad, to be in itself evil, it must be reviled, and universally. It must be hated in all ways, and places. And there is no such thing. There has never been, such a thing. It is a winged monster. It is … a dragon.
The pain, of the slitting, was so very great. The sound, the rough sound of the cutting, like the pulling apart, by hand, of canvas. For preparation, I had only the screams of the other men, this pair of transgressors. The one … and then the other. Their screams, and then their weeping. So I bolstered me. I closed, my eyes. But … the agony.
I would sooner it had been placed, the blade, in my head. Or a vein.
I am inclined to think, there is no human action deserving either of reward, or punishment. As this is an opinion not generally held, I am all the more firm, in my opinion, and sure of it. What is generally held, is prejudice.
After they slit our nostrils, they cauterized them, with a burning file held in fire, telling us … this was to speed, the healing. But really, I am certain, it was to keep the severed portions of nose from growing together again. So marking us, forever. Transgressors.
All action, is bad. All is good. It is … an option. It is a choice, only.
We must one day make it.