the pleasure of a medium-rare steak

There she was: skinned and broiled and baked. Everything I'd loved in humans. Everything I'd loved in children, but that had often seemed absent in adults. The seared flesh had crystalised into scabs of self-awareness and routine. From where she'd moved too quickly, it had torn, revealing glistering ruby slits of unconscious  anger. They were not the calluses of a long life, hard lived; they were the burns of a searing, boiling life with showers of fury.

I had hoped to see the cuts heal and tear all over again. I'd prayed to see them re-heal in the wrong place. But some things can't be helped.

Reviews

[Laura Almeida]

I found is so disturbing and creepy. I liked it!

[caesarkreshen]

I realize now that I often find "of" weak.

Do you need "of self awareness and routine" or "unconscious anger." Further, then... of a long life hard lived (which is redundant wording)

I'd like to see this without OFS. Doesn't mean it would be just a cut, but it would require a line after. I guess the reason I find of weak is because it's like you take a metaphor and then explain it by relating it back to what you mean. When that should be established.

Down w/ tacked on prepositional phrases... when the images are much more interesting.

[TLK]

I like the tags.

I get the sense of a growing consciousness ripped out of time and displayed in all its multi-faceted glory. I like the idea of "unconscious anger", of some internal heat for the "boiling life". This person is/was like a volcano, the skin just cooled igneous rock that was always ready to shear in friction at fault lines.