"write about the depravity of the human condition"

The killed him on the table. Metal tables, dentist trays, even stethoscopes, things designed to save people's lives. All metal in hospitals is cold, it retains the cold, it is the cold. The coldness of death, perhaps. Blue lips, a loss of color in the cheeks. Even though the table he laid upon had a cushion, it was cold. They killed him on the table.

There was metal and plastic everywhere. Blades, tubes, wires, plugs, tongs, tweezers, tools, and needles. Electricity pulsed across the screen, and through the machine except for the line, long and lean. His chest lay open, a cavernous chest split apart and cracked. They went to work on him, fusing his organic flesh and blood and life with their metal and plastic and electricity. And then they killed him on the table.

Mind you, the machine is man made and so is the man, I know, made by a man and a woman to be natural, warm-blooded and alive. Was he made with faults, though? Are we humans flawed? Is it enough for us to be killed or kill ourseves? Nevermind our moral upsets and mistakes, although the soul and body are connected, and we do not have a soul, we are one soul with a body but I'll need a new pen for that image. Nevermind that the soul of the man they killed on the table was flawed by his own actions and that of Adam. His heart was flawed. It wasn't strong enough. And so they killed him on the table.

It doesn't seem fair that a man not only has to worry about the condition and the health of his soul, when we are all so soiled to begin with and it's not our fault. No, we have to worry about our bodies, bodies that are forms we live in but cannot always control, and we carry organs we cannot touch or maintain with a socket wrench or car wax or a piano tuner. The man they killed couldn't open his own chest and floss the plaque from his arteries or pick up a toothpick on his way out of a restaurant after eating a savory, saucy steak with dripping fat, and pick out the blockages like he wouldn't lettuce from his canines. It doesn't seem fair that this poor man should suffer coldly for that which he could not hardly help.

The killed him on the table.