The missing piece

A Story by Hopeindeath

An emptiness that comes and goes. Made more empty than before

Again it was ripped away, mercilessly torn out by crude tools not made for such a fine operation. It's always the same piece, but not always the same surgeon. Last night my Dr. came in the form of a beautiful young vixen housing a shy smile, welcoming gaze, and a stone fortress of defenses just asking to be sieged. She prepped her tools and went to work. This time the anesthesia chosen was craft beer and amphetamines. Not the normal choice but this was no normal surgeon. Hours later and blackness... I woke and it was gone again. It's no surprise but the emptiness is always a s hock, an intense freezing that grips me all the way down to the marrow. I go through the routine to put the piece back in, armed with my prescription of self loathing. Directions: take one pill on empty stomach every 3-4 hours. I'm making quick work of the bottle. I'll have to get it restocked soon. I found my piece, I always do. This time though it doesn't fit as snug as it used too.