"Okay, if surgery needs to be done, just do it," I said since I couldn't read the text completely with the panic.
"Aghh," Jack continued to whimper.
I came slightly closer to him.
"Jack, it says surgery needs to be done to remove something from your stomach."
"What surgery? Where did it come from?" he asked with a hardly audible voice.
It appears that it was hurting more than before.
"I don't know. The wall says it. He will probably send a surgeon," I said.
Hearing this, Jack lifted his head slightly and looked at the wall.
After a few seconds, he put his head down.
"You are the surgeon," he said.
"Huh?"
"Did you even read it? It says there is something in my stomach, and you need to remove it."
"No, there is no way I can—" I turned back to the wall to see if he was right.
"If you perform surgery successfully…" My eyes widened as I read and whispered the line.
Am I supposed to perform surgery? But how? I am a middle schooler. I just can't. I don't know anything about how surgery is done, and I've never had surgery myself. I am not even good at biology, let alone performing surgery.
It's impossible…
"Dan," Jack screamed with all he had, "Look, either you take this thing out, or it takes me out."
"But how am I supposed to do it? I might kill you by doing the wrong thing."
"I will die either way, just do it."
"But how? With what?" I asked.
"I don't know. Check the cloche. The text said there was something you might need," he said, not lifting his head.
Hearing this, I went to the other table where the cloche was.
Then I held its lid and lifted it.
The thing I saw was something I didn't know. It looked like a knife with a long handle.
"Jack…" I called him.
"Jack…"
"What?" He shouted, "What is it?"
"I don't know. It looks like a knife," I replied.
He slightly lifted his head.
"Show me."
I took the knife and held it with 2 fingers so he could see it clearly.
"It is a scalpel. A special knife for surgery. Be careful…" He said, but stopped for a second to take a deep breath, "... it is extremely sharp."
"So this is a scalpel?"
"Yes, it is. Now, help me stand up."
As he called for help, I went ahead and held his hand.
He stood up but was about to fall. Because of the pain, he was having a hard time doing anything.
"Take my shirt off," he said.
Not knowing why I was doing it, I helped him take his shirt off. He was half-naked and leaned against the table to stand.
"Ask if they can provide us with anesthesia and ethanol."
"O-okay," I said, rushing to the door.
"Hey! Give us anesthesia and ethanol."
I understood why he'd asked for them: anesthesia to numb the pain and ethanol to keep the procedure sterile.
But no one answered my call.
"Hey…" I knocked on the door roughly, "... we need them. You said you would give us what we wanted."
"No, they didn't," said Jack in a whiny voice. "I just remembered, they said they would only provide us with food."
"Then…" I got an idea: "... we want alcohol for drinking."
The door suddenly opened. A man in a suit, holding a bottle of alcohol, came through it.
"Here is your request. We provide you with any food or drink, but drinking alcohol is not suitable for your age. Just a reminder—"
"Just give me the bottle." I took it out of his hand and rushed to Jack.
He closed the door and left while I came to Jack with the bottle.
"What do we do now?"
"We don't have a lot of time; help me lie on the ground," he replied.
I helped him walk a few steps to where there was no blood or vomit.
He lied carefully.
"Pour the alcohol on my stomach, quick!"
"Okay," I said as I opened the bottle and poured half of it on his stomach.
"Bring my shirt and the scalpel," he said later.
And I did.
"Now, I will put this shirt in my mouth…" He took a deep breath as he was talking, "...and you first pour a bit of alcohol on that scalpel and then cut my stomach, find that shit, and take it out."
"Are you crazy? I can't do—"
"I can't do it either, okay? I might pass out halfway, and there is no way I can look inside. You're gonna have to do it."
I didn't know how to reply. He was right, but performing surgery isn't something I could just do.
He stuffed the shirt in his mouth and lay back, closing his eyes.
"Do it," he tried to say.
"Okay," I said as I began pouring the alcohol onto the scalpel with trembling hands.