《I want this to hurt.》 Biting off your own finger The worst part about deciding to bite your own finger off is the part where it''s your own finger that you''re biting off. Biting off someone else''s finger has it''s own problems. You have to ignore the fact that they''re like you. Human body, human finger, human blood - it''s another person but we''re so used do feeling like people are people, not meat, that being confronted by their meat makes you think of your own meat. The fact that you are meat and just meat. Walking, talking meat that thinks it''s alive. That ''alive'' is even a thing when really we just made it up because we have a vested interested in staying that way by crushing everything else. Biting another person''s finger makes you think about that difference. And if you really do have to turn a person into meat, you find out exactly how arbitrary that definition, that distinction, that difference is. Because you start finding reasons to turn that ''person'' into ''meat'' way before you bite down. It happens in your head. Because the choices are simple. Either you decide to bite down without thinking about it, which really is a game of random chance and just delays the question anyway. Or you really decide that its just a bit of meat that used to be a person. You shrink the definition of person so that it no longer includes the thing attached to the meat you''re about to bite off. You have to shrink it. Because... otherwise... if they''re a person... and you''re a person... then both of you are just meat. And there''s no going back once you make that choice. If one person is mean, then every person is meat. They have to be. We must be consistent afterall. But what if you''re with other people when a person become meat? What if it''s a family dinner situation? Well then, the family must be people and everyone else is people shaped meat. Blood is thicker than water after all. And that, dear children, is how you get cannibal cults. The family that hunts together, eats together. But it''s a whole other problem when you have to bite your own finger off. When you have to turn yourself into meat. Because you can''t do it. Turn yourself into meat I mean. In your head, you can''t do it. Because where does it end? Is only one of your fingers meat but other not? Well, that just doesn''t make sense. If one of your fingers is meat, then all your fingers are meat, thumbs included. But if your fingers are meat, your toes probably are too. Toes are just foot fingers after all. Disagreeing is probably just favoritism. And if fingers are toes are meat then your hands and feet are probably meat too, right? And on it goes. Are eyes meat? What about your ears? Your nose has to be meat. The only conclusion you can come to is that you are meat. And we know this, abstractly. We know that we are meat. No different than the meat you eat. Oh maybe tastier, selective breeding and all. But... how can you be sure? You''d have to try it. Side by side comparison. Taste is subjective. It would be the only way to know. Usually we foget that we''re meat. Until something reminds us. Like a paper cut. When we see our insides leaking out, like juice from a fruit. Ever cut into a pomegranate? Red beads pushing to rhe surface. Blood is really the closest we get to remembering that are meat. Put your finger in your mouth. Do it. You''re here to read about it right? To experience vicariously what someone might feel. You watch movies and play video games looking for some "immersion". I''ve got some immersion right here. Put your fucking finger in your fucking mouth. What''s the first thing you notice? Taste, right? Your skin has a taste. Do you like crispy chicken skin? That''s what is crisping up. Finger lixking good. That''s what you notice first when you bite a finger off. That people have a taste. It''s what makes it easier to shrink the definition so that people are meat. Meat has a taste. People have a taste. People == meat. That''s not what comes to mind when your own finger is in your mouth, is it? Not really thinking ''raw flesh'' are you? "Yes. That is my finger. Can I take it out of my mouth now?" is probably what you''re actually thinking. And no. We have more ''immersion'' to go. The next step to biting your own finger is deciding to bite it. Have you heard of the phrase ''mind over matter''. Here is where that philosophy falls apart.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Because you''re not meat, you can''t be meat. Other people can be meat under the right circumstances but not you. You''re not meat. But you are meat, just meat. Your mind says you aren''t, even when it''s in your mouth, where meat is supposed to be. But the matter of your meat is meat. Nothing more, nothing less. Crispy chicken skin is all that lies between your teeth and your meat. But your mind isn''t having any of it. Try it. Decide that your finger is just meat. Have a little bite. You can''t. Or maybe "you don''t want to". "What a dumb thing for me to try to do." "Why would I ever bite my finger for some badly written garbage by some troll online?" Mind over matter indeed. Meat that will find any reason to think it''s not meat. Because if you''re just meat... well. Another concern with deciding to bite is the pain factor. Motivation not to be turned into meat so that you can make more meat later with other meat, so that other meat can eat more meat. Pain is not really factoe when turning other people into meat, it''s really more for you not turning into meat yourself. Evolution didn''t really concern itself with meat that sees it''s own nature and gets hungry. That''s a problem that solves itself honestly. But if you want to know what it''s like to bite through your own finger, we have to address the pain problem. So press your teeth against your finger. You don''t have to bite through - not that you could. You''re reading this because you could never, but you have that morbid curiosity. You want to know what it would be like yo bite through your own finger. But you won''t do it yourself of course, you''re too smart for that. You need that finger to do things. To wipe your ass and push buttons, and buy garbage, and fuck yourself or someone else. And to read of course. Read garbage like this. About what it might feel like to bite off your own finger. To roleplay. Bite your finger again. Give the pain a number out of 10 in your mind. Bite slightly harder. Another number. Bite harder, another number. Now, bite and hold. What''s the number? Did you notice? Anythinf of interest about the numbers, about the pain you''re in, about how tightly your teeth clench? You keep going back to the same number. You can try to bite harder, but something in your jaw just... loosens. Your meat won''t let you. The thing is... you think you''re your brain. Reading this right now, you think you''re you. The one in ''your'' body, the one in control. The pilot guiding your life. You''re not. You''re meat that thinks. Disagree? Bite your own finger off. No? Thought so. You''re just meat that thinks. Thinks it''s not meat, more than meat, better than meat. You have purpose and drive and goals and very good reasons not to bite your own finger off. And even if we took all of that away, you still wouldn''t be able to. Not until your meat allowed you to notice. You come to this website to read. Read about mythologies and dystopias and warriors. Of people overcoming the odds, railing against the unfairness of the world, or just having a good time. A better time than you''re having. And it makes you feel like you''re not in a world just as dystopian, in a life that not as magical or constrained. But you''re just meat. And not just that. You''re meat that''s trapped inside a meat suit. A meat suit you don''t have any control over. But you''re fed the illusion that you do have control. You think: "I" brush my teeth. "I" wipe my ass. "I" eat my dinner. "I" decide not to bite my own finger off. Where is "I"? Where exactly is "I"? Where do you keep it? In your brain? Which part? The part that keep your breathing while you sleep? The part that makes sure your heart keeps beating? The part that makes you speak confidently with one person but makes you go blank when speaking to another person? You are meat. And your meat suit lets you think you have control. Because it''s funny. How many times did you do something without paying attention to what you were doing? "Muscle memory". Whose memories are they? The muscles''? But... the muscles are you, right? So why can''t you remember how to do it when you focus on it? When you try to focus on it, you fuck it up. Try it, try to breathe on purpose. How deep do you usually breathe? Does your chest move or your stomach too? How much should it move? Do you usually involde your back? Ribs should expand a bit too right? But how are you breathing? Seriously. Diaphragm, yes. Where is your diaphram exactly? How does it move? How are you telling your diaphram to move? Sure nerves, electricity, fine. But how? You don''t even know what it looks like. Are you sure it''s even you doing it? You think you are but you stopped focusing on breathing and yet you haven''t passed out. You didn''t decide to stop. Did you even decide to start focusing on your breath or did it just happen because I told you to? Who chose? You? Or me? How many things can you even do without paying attention? How many things have you been doing without ever noticing? Have you been doing things without noticing, that you would not do if you had a choice? How would you even remember if you did? What if you noticed but you weren''t allowed to remember? How do you even remember? Literally? How do you remember things? Bite off your own finger. Do you remember the title of this chapter? Do you remember what each word means? Do you remember what the words sound like if you say them out loud? Where do you keep that information? Where is it right now? Did you even keep it there? Who did? Who else is in there with you? Bite off your own finger. You read words and understand them but you don''t know how. Bite off your own finger. You choose to breathe but it was happening without you before you thought of it and it keep happening after you got distracted. Bite off your own finger. You felt pain but your jaw loosens without your deciding it. Bite off your own finger. You read every word, followed every train of thought but you still don''t believe you''re meat. Bite off your own finger. You''ll close the chapter, the book, the app, and forget you read it, forget that someone showed you your face in tbe mirror and you were meat. Bite off your own finger. You were meat trapped in meat and the meat laughs at you because you think you''re not meat. Bite off your finger. If you are not meat If you are "I" If you are one, if you are your meat, if your meat is you and you breathe and you remember and you choose Bite Off Your Own Finger Thank you for your presence at tonights show. We know Meat has many options available to you to expose the madness of your existence for your amusement and we are glad Meat chose us. I pray that your Meat allows you to move on quickly :D Stare at the Stranger Look in the mirror. It is the face of a stranger. "Not so", you say. "That is me. It is my face reflected in the mirror." And from one angle, you are right. Do you remember that old visual gag. The one where a character steps infront of an open doorway, and another character plays the part of the mirror reflection. And the first character is such a bumbling fool that they do not even realize that their "reflection" does not even match their dimensions. And we laugh at the disparity or at the foolishness of both characters. At one for thinking the other would ever believe the lie. And at the other. For believing it. You no doubt see where I am leading us, intelligent meat that you are. Your mind already conjuring the many justifications against my point of view. You think of me as a one trick pony. "This again." But I do beseech you. If you consider yourself to be someone who values truth over peace of mind. Find a mirror. I want to show you something. --- What color are your eyes? You don''t have to be precise, what''s the ballpark figure for your eye color? Mine are brown. A little fact for you. To build trust between us. Now it''s your turn. What do you see in your eyes? Look away. Trace your facial features. You no doubt have some opinion on them. Maybe you like some over others. Maybe you even dislike some over others. Maybe you like them individually, but feel off about the whole. Maybe you''re indifferent to your face overall. Your face isn''t for you after all. Faces are like funerals. They''re held in the name of the deceased, but they''re really for the living. Your face is for other people. We worry about our faces, some more than others. We worry about what our faces say about ourselves. Do I have a kind face, a trustworthy face, an evil face? Do I have a face only a mother could love? We look in the mirror and in the camera and to other people to figure out our face. And with good reason. Our faces make or break us. Looking good can mean the difference between rejection and success. You can deny it, say that personality and sociability counts as well. I never denied it. But personality needs time, and sociability takes effort. A good face is quick. Do you have a good face? You have eyes, presumably, if you''re reading this. Eyes vaguely in the right place we hope. A nose too, perhaps. A mouth certainly. Is that enough for a good face? A good face, one that makes the difference. Check the mirror. Is that a good face? Smile. Better or worse? It''s too fake. I can tell. Something around the eyes. Too stiff. Relax. Try again. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. There, see. You don''t smile with your eyes. You look cold. Like a liar. Like someone with a bad face. Lose the smile. Try again, this time involve the eyes. Get some laugh lines around your eyes. Are you even trying? You look so tired. Aren''t you happy? Why do you look so sad? You should smile more. But not like that. Maybe you should do some facial exercises. Stretches. So you can smile properly. Try again. What''s wrong? Tired of this? Maybe bored? What do you expect if you didn''t even find a mirror, if you didn''t even commit. Do you even want to understand? Aren''t you afraid? Of not knowing? Of not seeing what it is everyone else sees when they look at you? Funerals are for the living, your face is for others. But wouldn''t you want to know what your funeral is like? Or maybe you''re tired of it, tired of putting on your own funeral everyday. I can relate. But needs must when the devil drives. And the devil drives all of us. So brush your teeth, comb your hair. Pluck, poke, and patch up the wounds. Because your face is for others. You are a walking funeral. Make sure the flowers are fresh and ready for mourning. And cover the mirrors. It would not do to see the dead in the glass. Yes, you have your eyes and nose and mouth, all in more or less the right place. Or so you hope. After all, your face is for others. You can''t be sure. You know what you want in other faces, but you don''t know what other''s want in your face. ''I think therefore I am.'' I can think. Even thinking that I don''t exist is an act of thought. If I can think, I must exist. Is there a reason you haven''t gotten a mirror yet? Is it a good reason? I''m sure it is. There''s always a good reason. Did you come up with that reason or did meat? Have you ever looked yourself in the eye? Really looked? Looked at yourself like you were someone else, trying to understand this person in the mirror. Reached out to judge how far the person in the mirror was... an arm plus the reflection''s arm... Looked at their expression like it was aimed at you... expressionless, like you don''t even exist... It''s hard to do it. The mirror is for us afterall. It''s part of a loop, like pain. Touch something hot and react by pulling away. Look in the mirror and react to the information provided. Change your posture, or fiddle with your hair, or smile. What if you didn''t though. What if you just.. looked. Waited for the other person to do something first. What if you gave your reflection permission. What if you decided to be the reflection. Absurd of course. That''s just your reflection. You are you and it is but a shadow of you. Or so says your brain. Meat. Ever so happy to make observations and judgements of mere glances of others. Somehow unable to do it when looking in the mirror. But aren''t you curious? What do people see when they look at you? Who do they see when you''re not watching? Is it the same person you see when you look in the mirror? How can you be sure? Take another look. Take a closer look. What color are your eyes? Are the the same color as before? Can you be sure? When you look into your reflection, how can you know that your reflection isn''t looking at you? Trying to tell what color your eyes are. So it can get them just right. There was a time before mirrors you know. Before mirrors and cameras and perfect reflections. When we used to see ourselves at a remove, warped and distorted by water or metal. We never saw ourselves with the clarity we do now. What does that do to a person, to an organic being. To see itself - perfectly mirrored. To look into our own eye, like it''s another person. Are we the same as the person in the mirror? Is that us? Does it have our soul? Do you see your soul in the mirror? The famous light behind the eyes? Is it in the left eye or the right eye? Circling the colored iris, or in the black hole of the pupil. See it twitch slightly as the light changes and your head moves. Is that a flicker of the soul in there? Is that... it is... your soul. The mirror has your soul. Take a step back now, and watch your soul step back. Look your soul in the eyes, just between, and see how it looks right back. Is this what others see? Do they see your soul as well, or just the shell? The meat? Take another step back and take in the whole of it, of you. The eyes and the face and the torso and the limbs. Watch as your soul does the same. Observing you with the same blank expression you have. Is this what others see? Take another step back if you can. Your soul is so distant now, in the small of your eyes. So far away, inside the you on the other side of the glass. If you look away, willl it stay there, in the glass, or will it come with you. It must come with you, it''s yours after all. But then again... you spent so long staring into that glass, into your face. You stood infront of something you were never meant to see, something you were never made to see. No part of your evolution accounted for this, no part of your brain was ever meant to experience your own face in such sublime detail, such sharp, clear focus. You saw your soul in your eyes. You were never meant to see your own eyes. It was meant for others. You are a living funeral. --- Blink. You are alive. Your reflection is a reflection. And your soul, if you have one, if such a thing exists, can only rest in your own body. Of course.As a matter of fact, you have not even looked into a mirror yet, regardless of what the writer of this... thing... has asked of you. How could you have, given that you have only two eyes, both busy reading. Interesting though the thought might be, you have no fear that looking in a mirror would steal your soul. How absurd to even consider it. After all, for the premise to be true, if anything else could ever be true, you would have to have stared into a mirror. A reflection of your soul. Any emptiness you feel, any desire to fill a hole in yourself though web novels and manga and shows and movies and work is simply the result of... what? Capitalism? Mental illness? Boredom? Never mind. This was a mediocre way to pass the time. You should move onto something else now. A different novel perhaps. Or maybe a different app entirely. Then again, you have been staring at a screen for a while. It may be time to take a break. Yes... After this chapter ends. I''ll take a break. Close the device, watch the screen fade to black and... Oh. Isn''t it funny how you only notice your reflection in the screen when you turn it off?