“Those are some handsome hands!” Curt said to the homeless man as he passed by, then stopped to take a closer look. The hands – two chopped-off male hands – were in an empty, rinsed can of tomato puree.
The hands were one hundred percent natural, just like the tomatoes that had previously been in the can. The skin was flawless, probably because the original owner had not done any hard physical labor and regularly used skin cream.
The homeless man looked up at Curt but appeared unable to focus properly on him. Curt quickly concluded that the man seemed harmless enough. If he did try to jump at him, Curt could easily leap back, quick as someone high on cocaine.
Unfortunately, the incessantly talking homeless man did not speak Curt’s language.
Looking around, Curt noticed that all the other homeless people along the street still had their hands – though theirs were filthy, covered in scabs, and dotted with festering sores.
A glance at his watch: ten minutes left. He only needed one minute to get to work, but clocking in on time for his shift was crucial.
“Maybe my words will reach you after all… somewhere in your subconscious,” Curt said. “I think it’s telling that no one around here seems to care.”
The homeless man kept muttering as he pushed the severed hands deeper into the can.
“I mean these hands in the can. Nobody cares. And the original owner was probably dealing with two arterial bleedings. I wonder if he survived that?”
The homeless man yelled a word, his body jolting as though he had hiccups, then stared silently at Curt.
“Okay. Then you must have done a very good job. The cuts on the wrists… I’m guessing you used a machete, right? One clean swing, chop chop. And the guy those hands belonged to might’ve gotten a few extra swings from you, too. And now he’s kind of… dead.”
“Dead! Dead!” the man echoed, nodding vigorously.
Another man shuffled over unsteadily, holding a bottle of schnapps, and sat down next to Curt’s conversation partner.
Four minutes to go. Curt would need to leave soon.
The new arrival also spoke in a language Curt didn’t recognize, but the two men seemed to understand each other well enough.
Curt took out his phone and began recording the scene in crisp 32K resolution. To keep the video as authentic as possible, he refrained from commenting on what he was seeing.
The newcomer unscrewed the schnapps bottle and poured it into the can with the hands. The clear liquor immediately turned red. When the other man pressed the hands down hard with an outstretched finger, the liquid darkened further, becoming as red as 100% blood orange juice.
Curt wondered what the point of all this could be. Were they planning to eat the hands? The little skin and flesh left could probably just be gnawed off the bones. But this apparent first step in the preparation – Curt couldn’t begin to guess where it was heading.
Curt stopped recording. He wished he could set up a tripod, attach his phone, and properly document the entire process, but he had no choice. He had to leave, the mystery of the handsome hands unsolved.