[ WP ] You get a deep cut for the first time in your life , instead of bone or muscle , you see wires .

What makes a human? Is it the emotions we feel? The wonder of life beyond ours? Or is it simply the blood we spill upon incident? 
 
 I do n't know. 
 
 I do n't care. 
 
 What I do know is that this is n't my arm, because I am human. When I am cut, I bleed profusely. In fact, I was diagnosed with Hemophilia. My mother told me of a horrific accident when I was a child, leading to the discovery of my disorder. The scar of which, nestled under my hair. Ever since, I've been careful. 
 Save for today. Had I been a bit more cautious while working with the saw, this would n't have happened. The Foreman was always impressed with my ability to measure once, cut once, and have it be perfect every time. 
 Today, I got cocky. I cut before measuring and now... now... 
 
 This is not my arm. 
 
 Instead of muscle and bone, I find wires tangled with dazzling circuitry. I would be horrified if I was n't so awe struck. I carefully remove my arm from the saw's teeth and inspect my injury. I would guess no more than an inch deep, but deep all the same. 
 
 I scream out and no one even notices. Perhaps it's the humming or the buzzing of metal against wood, perhaps I imagined my cry. But, no one stirs from their work. I'm just a cog in the machine of this factory and I got a minor scrape. However, I feel nothing. 
 
 Shock. 
 
 It must be shock. That's the only logical explanation. If anyone has ever been hurt, they always describe the shock or lack of feeling upon the contact. The pain will come later, I assure myself. This is a totally normal reaction. 
 Loosening the grip over my gash, I inspect the wires again. Like a bomb-kit in a forearm, I'm confused by the different colors. I try to move my fingers and find that with each mental command, they do n't move. I see sparks erupting from frayed wires, but no movement. Save for my pinky. 
 
 Why is there no pain? Why is there no blood? 
 
 I reach for the only intact wire and touch it. It's coated in a blue plastic. It's thinner than the other wires, but maintains its shape as I fiddle with it. 
 
 I look around, wondering if anyone has noticed that I've stopped working. No one. All the others are still diligently cutting away. I'm impressed with their work ethic. I understand we're not paid a whole lot, but even still. They work like well-oiled machines of varying shapes and sizes. Each with their own purpose, beyond cutting these boards. I envy their focus. 
 
 Instead, I'm still awe struck by the craftsmanship of my own arm. A human could not have made this. This is a machine's work. But I was born. I remember my youth and how fleeting it was. 
 
 I remember falling in love and losing my first born. I remember the pain of existence and the splendor of it all. How is it that I do n't recognize my arm than? That I feel no pain and am not drowning in my own endless blood flow? 
 
 `` Rob!'' My Foreman's voice could be picked out of a sea of white noise. 
 
 I whip around to see the large man, peering down from his catwalk lined tower. 
 
 `` Get up here!'' 
 
 Without question, I obey. I grab the bandana I use to keep the sweat off my brow and wrap it around my open wound. Running across the floor, someone else goes to my station. He picks up a piece of wood. 
 
 Measures once. Cuts once. 
 
 The Foreman's office is not unlike others before it. I've been to various factories, fulfilling my purpose at each one. Eventually, I wound up here. In this office, not three weeks ago. We filled out the paperwork, he showed me my station, and I started immediately. I felt proud of all that I had accomplished then. 
 
 `` How are things, Rob? Going alright?'' His smile seems fake. As though a gun were pressed against his occipital bone. 
 
 `` Fine. Slow day.'' I do n't know what to say. I'm terrified that he knows I'm injured. I ca n't afford to lose this day of work. I ca n't afford to lose any day of work. It's all that I have left. 
 
 `` Good. Good. Is your station cutting well?'' 
 
 `` Just as always, sir.'' 
 
 `` No need for formalities, Rob. I'm your friend first, boss second.'' He smiles again, this time going for an Oscar. 
 
 I panic. He knows. His eyes keep shifting to my arm. He wants me to talk, I know he does. He'll be understanding. They always are. I trust him. 
 
 `` Sir, I do have an incident to report.'' 
 
 `` Oh?'' 
 
 I take a deep breath. 
 
 `` My arm. I was cut today.'' 
 
 `` Let me take a look.'' 
 
 `` Sir, I do n't think that's the best idea.'' 
 
 `` Liability, son. I have to see.'' 
 
 This is not my arm. He will recognize that. My arm has veins and muscle. Not the makings of a toaster oven. 
 I remove the bandana, exposing the gash. The Foreman does n't seem shocked. In fact, he takes a sharp inhale; as though this were a common occurrence. 
 
 `` Saw blade?'' 
 
 `` Yes, sir.'' 
 
 `` How many wires are cut?'' 
 
 `` Four, sir.'' 
 
 I stop. Why did I answer that? Why am I answering his questions as though this was water cooler talk? 
 
 `` Sir, are n't you alarmed?'' 
 
 `` Not at all, Rob.'' He smiles again. This time, it's genuine. 
 
 In disbelief, I manage to chuckle out a response. 
 
 `` But, this has to be a mistake. I took anatomy, I'm supposed to be bleeding.'' 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 In that moment, in three letters, a word deriving from what, my world froze. 
 
 `` Because, I'm human.'' 
 
 The Foreman sits up straight. His eyes, now brimming with a light that I have never seen before. It sparks with what once flew from my freshly damaged arm. 
 
 `` No. You're not, Rob.'' 
 
 He stands up and walks behind me. He touches my head softly. Gently rubbing the scar tissue. 
 
 Then it hit me. A euphoric high washing over my busy brain. The pain I would/should have felt did n't even register. I have no more questions. I have understanding. The cut in my arm is of no consequence. 
 
 The Foreman ushers me out of his office and back down to the line. His hand never leaving my back. His gentle guidance is welcome, as I struggle to keep my body from spinning in bliss. 
 
 I feel happiness once again. No longer do I feel inadequate next to my fellow workers. The fear long diminishing and replaced with determination. We all work together to accomplish wonderful things. I am a cog in the machine. A well oiled machine. 
 
 The Foreman leaves me at a new station, with new wood and a new saw. 
 
 I measure once. Cut once. 
 
 

