Theatre of Finis(Stuart Alt) Henry’s buggy rattled against the cobble road that lead into the town bursting at its seams: Finis. He tapped on his foggy window with a crooked middle finger; he was trying to get the attention of a boy with dirt on his face that was kicking around a football made of rough leather. Either the boy was too distracted or didn’t care about the man entering town, because he didn’t pay Henry an ounce of attention. At this, Henry scoffed and looked over at the briefcase at his side. He placed the hefty case on his lap and pried it open with his jagged nails. When it popped open, loose leaves of paper flew up into the air, revealing underneath a few scalpels that were fastened down by thin pieces of cloth.
Carefully, he picked up one and examined it; anyone looking at it could tell that it was brand new from the shine it gave. He ran his middle finger over the words engraved into it. He memorized those words until they were engraved into his brain: God has no time for mistakes.

It was a brief walk through the town square into the large building with battered flags hanging from the banisters. No one seemed to give an inkling of their attention to Henry, which bothered him greatly. He wasn’t wearing filth as if it was a luxury, he wasn’t drinking from a bottle wrapped in brown paper bags, and he sure as hell wasn’t a bum on the street trying to make a living off of cents in a tin can; or maybe he was lying to himself.

In truth, Henry was the poorest of the poor. He lived in a mud house not a few miles outside of Finis, and often times looked at the expanding city with envy in his eyes. He knew that the cityfolk weren’t much better off than he, but he still found himself gritting his teeth everytime he looked outside.

It hadn’t been that way all the time though. As he looked over at the boy that was tossing the ball into the air, he remembered when he used to live in Finis as a person of fame; of fortune. He used to be able to walk up to any person in the streets and they’d know his name right then and there. He used to sneeze into clots of money, then would leisurely toss them out the window where some poor boy (perhaps the father of the boy in front of him now) would cherish it. Then, it was taken all away from him between two moons.

* * * *

The last night he spent in Finis was spent, mostly, in the surgical arena that was found in the underbelly of the Finis Hospital. Oh! he had spent many hours in that room, next to the table surrounded by a hundred seats. It reeked of chemicals that made the hair on his nose stand up every single time. The concrete base of it was stained in crimson blood and yellow pus, but still it had a homey feeling to it. Yes, he felt like vomiting whenever he entered the room, but upon entering, he didn’t want to leave. In that room, where he spent, mostly, the last night of his in Finis, was filled with dread and sorrow. The surgery was supposed to be a simple task, but it still warranted a large audience. He was always startled at the amount of people that would show up to these ‘events’, mainly since the coordinators of the surgeries didn’t tell him who he was going to perform on. This time, this last time, he had the largest audience he’d ever seen; all of them wore suits that matched their monocles and sharp grey moustaches. Henry knew at that moment that the person laying restlessly on his table was of great importance.

And so, with shaky hands and a crooked middle finger, he delved his blade into the man’s hip; a small splotch of cancer had formed around the kidney. For a moment, the light that shined on his eyes wholly blotted out the view of the crowd. If he hadn’t known prior that they were there, he would have thought it was just him and the person in front of him.
The nurse across from his table waited with crossed arms for a task to do, but Henry knew that if he did this all on his own, he’d be praised highly. The nurse knew this too, and wanted to be part of it, so she whispered, “Sir, is there anything I can do? You know how much of an importance I am to you!”
He merely darted his eyes up to meet hers, but that was enough to cause complete and utter destruction. His small blade teetered on an artery, then sliced it clean open. A volcano of lukewarm blood gushed from the man, and everyone in their seats gasped. The nurse grabbed for a towel, but Henry waved his bloody hand towards it. “I don’t need that! Just stand there and be silent!” he said in a rushed, brute voice that luckily no one else but the nurse had heard.

The blood was too much for him to handle though, and within a few minutes, the body was frigid still. The small monitor that was mounted on a pole next to the table beeped with an echo. Henry flung the diagnostic mirror off his damp forehead, then kicked the wheeled table that had all his tools on it. Knives and pliers rattled against the floor, but other than that, th room was silent as if they resided in a vacuum. Henry looked up at all of the people whose faces were as white as the dead man’s, then he trembled his lip and he tried to utter ‘I’m sorry.’

After that, everyone in town resented him with every fiber of their beings. He had slain the candidate that was sure to win the office of mayor. On his way out of the front of the hospital, kids scrambled up to him and prodded him with small pencils into his hips. They snickered, then spat on his glossy shoes. He got into his buggy and tapped his crooked middle finger against the window, then arrived home into the mansion he had longed for ever since he was a child. Even the house wasn’t safe from the wrath of Finis; eggs were smashed against the dozens of windows that looked into the beautiful house. He wiped one clean with his sleeve, then when the glass cleared up, a distinct difference in the collection of dust could be seen where the furniture once was.

It was then that he realized he wasn’t welcome in the town that had spoiled him, so he sought refuge in the mud house his father had built for him in a summer long ago. He arrived at the mud house with only the clothes on his back and the tools that he had on him at the time, but he was still optimistic about his fate in Finis. He was dead set on the idea that if he exiled himself for a week or so, maybe more, that the people would forget about him and move onto the next problem. This wasn’t the case, because after a month of living in the mud house with flies around his face at all times, a trail of smoke billowed from the rooftops of Finis. He didn’t even have to investigate himself (which was a wise decision because he’d most likely be executed with something deadlier than that of a pencil) for the only building they could be burning was his own. It was also the first time since he lost his father that he wept. He couldn’t explain why he was sobbing, but he hoped that the tears would extinguish the flames of his mansion and the flames inside the people of Finis.

Of course, not every flame burns forever. After a half a decade in exile, he was summoned by an old friend (he could never explain how this friend knew his whereabouts) to perform one last surgery on a dying maiden. He was baffled, for he hadn’t heard of this friend since his departure, but was more so lenient on believing the man’s tale. Henry, after spending years alone with nothing to talk to but himself and the flies, had become paranoid about every little thing. He let his thoughts build up in his head until they turned corrupt; those thoughts made every movement, even a twig break outside on the hard ground, cause him to flinch. He let this offer dwell on his kitchen counter, then slept for a week before agreeing.

* * * *

Now that he was back in the town hall, he felt utterly lost. Part of him died when he left Finis, and he wasn’t going to bring it back to life just by stepping into a familiar setting with familiar people. He wasn’t going to bring anything back to life, hopefully. Slowly he paced through the marble corridor trying to see what was different about the land he left behind. Nothing seemed to change, except that the people were older and taller than before. Perhaps he was the one who had changed, but he refused to let this minute thought trickle into his mind. He tried his best to forget about the man whom he had once been, but soon his thoughts were clouded by that of cheering from a room to his right.

People held small stubs and cash in their hands, and were shouting to the teller booths in front of them. A large crowd of people stood between Henry and the people who could properly explain to him what was going on, so he settled on the first person he could see. “Hello, my name is,” he blanked, then blinked into the space between them. He honestly forgot his own name; the first name that came to mind was Peter, but that wasn’t it, right? He shook his head and started up again, “No matter what my name is, I’m trying to find out what’s going on here?”

“Newbies man, all over the place. People here bet on the outcome of the surgery being held in the Ring. Apparently Henry’s back in town, so if I were you, I’d bet that Mrs. Crabtree is going to be another victim tonight. Surely you’ve heard of him, yeah?” The man spoke in a thick english accent, and he tried to chew on some tobacco in the corner of his cheek. Henry had hidden a gasp when his proper name came up, and he slapped a hand on his forehead when he concluded he was a fool. He thanked the man, then fished for some change to give to the man for his kindness.
He found nothing but dead flies and some pocket lint in there, but for a brief period of time his mind was teleported to a time when Finis kissed his feet. Perhaps all that time alone he fantasized about what it would be like if he was the center of attention again. Perhaps if he did some good tonight he would reclaim his former glory. But he didn’t have enough time to dwell on things for within the hour he’d be performing once again.

He looked at the man in front of him, nodded, then scanned across all of the dirty haired people. All of those people were still depending on him tonight for their wages, but he knew that not a soul in Finis had faith in hims. He couldn’t argue with them, though; he made a drastic mistake, and in doing so, distorted the town in unimaginable ways. So, without a second thought, he wormed his way through the crowd and slapped his briefcase on the counter. He popped it open and held it close to him so people couldn’t see the tools, then he flipped back a hidden panel. He pulled out a large wad of cash and slapped it against the table.

In a rushed, burly voice he said, “Five-hundred that Mrs. Crabtree will perish tonight.”

* * * *

The briefing room that was adjacent to the shower room, which had a door leading to the Ring, was dreadfully empty except for Henry and another nurse. He waved at her as he strolled in, but she only gave him a second of her time before humming to herself. In one swift motion, he threw his dirt caked shirt onto the floor, then untied his trousers and stepped into the shower room. It was the first time in forever that he felt the spate of water flow over his rough skin, so he was taken aback by it. At first it was torrid, then frigid, then beyond compare. He groaned and moaned as scabs of dirt flaked off of his pale flesh, which made the nurse whiplash around in her seat. She laughed, which Henry didn’t know whether to take as offense or laugh at how silly it all seemed.
“What?” he said as a massive clump of dry grass tore away from him.
“Nothing, just from what I’ve heard about you, I wouldn’t expect you to be filthy.”
“Finis does that to a man,” he said after spitting spare water out of his mouth.
“You’re wrong. Finis didn’t do that to you, you did that to yourself.” With that, she spun around and donned her leggings, then stood up.

After the shower that he wanted to go on until he pruned and died, he put on the apron, the mask that covered his jaw tightly, and the diagnostic mirror. He looked into the mirror in front of him and ogled into his own eyes; he could see nothing but dread for what the next few minutes were about to bring upon both him and Mrs. Crabtree. A tear strolled down his cheek at the mess of a man he’d become, but there was nothing he could do about it...was there? Everyone in Finis was going to see him either save another life or take one, and the stress of it all could be felt in every muscle in his body.

* * * *

With both hands white knuckling the bar on the door, he breathed in and out to calm himself. He was about to commit murder, and his brain wasn’t fully catching up with the reality and calamity of the situation. He pressed his eyelids close together to create a dam for the tears, then in one swift push, the door flew open. The bright lights from both the ceiling and the cameras people held made him veil an arm over his eyes. He could see absolutely nothing for the first three seconds upon his arrival into the arena, but he knew his way well enough that he wouldn’t tumble. The camera’s continued to flash, but his eyes learned to ignore this, but the one thing he couldn’t ignore was the girl on the table who was trembling worse than a wet dog. He scanned her gorgeous figure carefully, then came to the conclusion that he didn’t recognize a bit of her; she was a complete stranger.

She darted her eyes back and forth from Henry, the nurse, and the small table with all of Henry’s instruments on it. Henry followed her eyes, then turned a small nozzle that was connected to a vast tank of gas. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Crabtree, you’re in good hands from here on out,” he said, but his voice was flat and he even gave out a little sigh. Regardless, she nodded and accepted the mask around her face that was pouring out a small, light blue gas. “Just countdown starting at ten, will you? You’ll wake up feeling better than ever, I promise.” This time, he tried adding flavor into his words, but the corner of his mouth twitched at how forced it sounded.
“10...9...8...7…,” she mumbled as her eyelids folded over her bright green eyes. She stopped speaking, and the room went silent; all eyes were on Henry and every move he would make. He closed his eyelids as well, then breathed in and out through his mask. He fleetly popped open his eyes and grabbed for the knife to his right; he was ready for his final act.

* * * *

The lights above Henry illuminated directly onto Mrs. Crabtree’s torso where small blue marks were made outlining her right breast. The procedure had been one he’d completed numerous times over the course of his lifetime, but at that very moment when the only sound was that of the buzzing of lights, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing exactly. Beads of sweat poured down his face, dropping from his nose onto the women’s lips, but he didn’t seem to notice this either.

The nurse tapped her hollowed shoe onto the concrete, making Henry whip his neck upwards to glare into her eyes. “Quiet! Quiet! I’m trying to concentrate, don’t you see?” She simply did nothing but stop the tapping of her shoe, but the look she gave him told a story of fear.

He brushed his hand against her cheek, but just then, the light at his zenith bounced off the blade: God has no time for mistakes. Time stood still for Henry, but everyone else in the room was growing impatient; they wanted Henry to make a mistake; they wanted Henry to slip up and take another person’s life just so they could fill the lining of their pockets. Some people started to throw rotten tomatoes onto the concrete stage, but Henry was still stuck in his own mind. He was thinking of all the different, the infinite possibilities that could arouse from committing murder or saving a life from a spoiled heart. The vast amount of effects rattled his brain, the pelting of vegetables made him snap out of his temple and into a fit a rage.

But the rage was only in his mind; only in his mind was he screaming out towards all of the people that had done him wrong. He wanted with every fiber of his being to slaughter the whole town of Finis, but still he refrained. The town held him on a high pedestal, and when he took that one unfavorable life, that pedestal was ripped away from under him. He knew that the exilement that he endured had crept depression and paranoia into his soul, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. At that very moment he felt the raw paranoia overwhelm him, and the only thing he could do to reduce the effect it had on him was to look up at the nurse.

She cocked her head to the side, then checked her watch: ten minutes had passed already and zero progress had been made. She tapped her foot once, then remembered what distractions could do to such a fragile man, so she stopped. Henry, without missing a beat now that he was out of his weak temple of a mind, dug his blade into Mrs. Crabtree’s breast and torso, then pried open her cavity. Inside, beyond the bones, pumped a black heart that looked like it could pump no longer. Some gasped at the horror of what they revolved around, but most cheered that Henry had finally taken some initiative. Henry’s reaction was quite solemn for he grazed his fingertips against her dying piece.

The bucket of ice to the side now contained the cancer ridden heart, and next to it was the heart that would bring life and joy to Mrs. Crabtree. Henry had only a small window of time to replace the heart, or else another life would be added to the list he was solely responsible for making. The heart felt unheard-of as it throbbed in his palms; for the first time in a long time, Henry could feel what life was again. The paranoia and depression that had riddled him for years was finally at bay, and for that he raised the heart into the air and laughed maniacally.

Of course, everyone looked at Henry as if he had gone mad, which he most definitely had, but Henry didn’t notice. No, he didn’t mind. He wasn’t lost in the temple of mind, nor was he sulking greatly about how weak he was now compared to the man he once was. No, simply nothing mattered to him other than saving this woman's life, and that’s exactly what he tried.

* * * *

After her torso was sewn up, Henry motioned a limp hand towards another monitor with cords bundled up around it. She had a light skip to her step as he brought it over, which made Henry beam with delight. He flipped up a switch, then tapped the monitor, hoping for something to flicker on, and after a second of restlessness, the screen blinked. He sighed with relief, then rubbed both paddles together.

The moment of truth was about to be revealed, and Henry was torn between wanting to stay in the moment and wanting to leave immediately. He kept rubbing both paddles, then stopped as the monitor beeped! The nurse wiped off the remainder of Mrs. Crabtree’s mixture of blood and iodine, then Henry sent waves of electricity throughout her body. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she jolted upwards with wide eyes. Then everyone didn’t know whether to cheer for the life saved or boo for the money they’d lost. Henry knew exactly which side he was on: the cheering side.

He didn’t get to say goodbye to Mrs. Crabtree, or to thank his friend for such an opportunity, because he dashed out into the streets and up and down the cobble roads. He danced and twirled himself around lightposts before anyone else could even emerge from the Ring. He was finally content with who he was when a passerby told him to go home.

There, in the center of Finis, when everyone was either asleep or about to pour out of the corners, Henry’s first thought at where ‘home’ could possibly be was right here. He jumped up and down on the spot he was, laughing as his coat danced with his knees. “Here! Home is here!”
He ran up the street some more, climbing a steep hill, then continued to say his little cheer, “Home is here!”

Light snow began to drift onto Finis when Henry arrived at the gates. He gave a gay bow to the operator of the large metal bars, then pounced onto the dirt outside of the city. He was going to walk all the way back to his little mud house on the side of the road, but none of that mattered. He simply smiled, felt the lint that coated his pockets, and uttered, “Home is here!”

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