The crash. The screaming. The sound of metal twisting. Burning flesh. Then no light. Then bright lights. Then pain. The cutting. Scalpel. Drill. Bandage.

Time.

The doctors said I would feel the phantom pain, the old arm, and I do. My insurance wouldn’t pay for the Sense package for new arm so I can’t feel what I touch. But I still do, though it’s an odd sensation, like picking up something in a video game. You know you picked it up, you can see it, use it, manipulate it, but it’s not really there.

The new arm works fine, better even. Every finger a tool. Screwdriver, wrench, and even a short-range laser cutter. It’s the Swiss Army knife of my generation.

I was able to find new work quite readily; at a factory that employs veterans with disabilities like mine. I seemed to fit in just fine, and I was placed in an assembly line with other workers who have lost limbs. There’s just some things that flesh can’t do. Accidents don’t slow us down at all. Last week one of the workers got his fingers smashed in a press and was back to work the next day, with brand new replacements, better than mine, even. Jealous.

More time.

The emotions seem fleeting now; the doctors never mentioned this. After the accident and the surgery I still felt human and did human things. Now, not so much. Just the ghost pain and a mindless job. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to retire. I supposed that’s not really an option for me, after all, I’m just an arm.