Training

The cries of Mr. Martin were the melodies that blessed the night all the way to the morning of the next day.

Lenny sat on a couch in the corner, a good distance away from the operating table he had used.

Yet, Mr. Martin had stretched his brain cells from the table all the way across the room, looking like a long line of dried-up noodles all the way to where Lenny sat, just to hand Lenny his core.

In fact, even in this state, he practically begged Lenny to take it from his hands.

Naturally, Lenny obliged after much pleading for death.

The moment he did, the extended brain cells shriveled up and fell to the ground, becoming dust.

Mr. Martin had truly died.