Cold. Wet. Where am I? I can’t see, and it feels like I’ve been here for months. Perhaps it’s just days. Or seconds. Time doesn’t quite seem to pass when you’re locked up with only yourself to keep you company. How long have I been here, like this? I can’t tell. I have no idea anymore about anything. I don’t even know how it started. All I remember is a past sense of peace, of belonging and now… This flesh. The flesh and the vile thing that is pounding inside my chest. How soft everything feels. The blood rushing through my veins. If I push my two hands together long enough they become warm. Water comes out of the surface of my skin, the tiniest little drops from the pores, but I can still feel them all to well. It feels like I am drowning. My body is so frail and if a put a hand towards my head then all that separates me from touching my brain is skin and a thin slice of bone, some membranes. It is disgusting. Over time I have started to feel even weaker, like I can no longer stand. Every time I rise I feel like I will fall and there is this horrific, twisting ache somewhere close to the middle of my body. The worst thing, however, is the pounding. I can not escape. I run, I scream and it still doesn’t go away. I pound back at it and it still doesn’t go disappear. I would focus on something else to make it go away, to not hear it, feel it, if there was only anything else to focus on. All there is, me and my decaying body and my lost sanity.
I was asleep for centuries and this is how I awoke.
A flash. Everything is suddenly so bright and parts of me that I forgot I had start to hurt. The air in the room turns white and I turn away and cover my eyes with what I think is my arm. Something sends tingles trough my nerves and makes me twitch. I feel a sensation that is so new and yet so familiar. Touch, the sensation of another persons hand on my shoulder. I try to brush it off.
“Hey, girl”, somebody says. “I won’t hurt you. I’ve been waiting for this for a really long time.”
The voice is dark and low and it soothers me. Suddenly the light is not as bright anymore. I can see. In front of me is a man and he is holding out a blanket towards me. I suddenly realise that I am naked, so I grab it and use it to hide myself. In horror I realise that my hands are nearly dried out, cracking. Yellow. I try to shout but all that comes out of my mouth is a raspy groan.
“Don’t worry”, the man says. “We’ll fix it. You need more fluids. We just have to get you cleaned off first.”
He carries me up a couple of stairs and we enter a room full of strange machines. The man puts me inside one of them and presses a button and a flood of water falls down on me. I shriek and the man tells me not to worry. It is supposed to do this, the machine. The water is warm, but not too warm and I stand there for a while. When I look back at the man, I realise that he is looking away. I do not know if it is out of courtesy or due to the disgust he must feel for my dehydrated naked body. A strange smell is coming from my decayed body and it is unbearable. I look at my hand again and instead of being cracked it is now sticky and swollen and has started to turn into a sickly shade of grey. I am not certain whether this is improvement or not. I take a step towards the man in order to alert him and then I see my own image in the mirror. I would cry if I could. By now, I have regained enough sense to realise that a human being should not look like this. My face looks like it is melting, decomposing, and parts of it has fallen off. The one of my cheeks which is still relatively whole is covered with blisters. I imagine my skin bubbling, boiling. It is a dark yellow mixed with blue and green. I have lost nearly all of my upper lip. I move my eye a bit lower and realise that there is a big hole in my torso, big enough to see my guts. I would vomit if I could. The man realises what I am up to and comes rushing to me with my blanket.
“Don’t look”, he says. “I told you we’ll fix it. Later. I need skin to transplant to you first, and some new organs.”
I don’t understand a word he says but due to my lack of voice I can’t object. He looks as me as if he is trying to figure out what to do and then he sweeps me up in the blanket and carries me to another room. He puts me down on an uncomfortable, green couch and goes into another room. He returns with some woman’s clothing, underwear and a very simple red dress.
“Here you go”, he says. “I hope it’s the right size. I did not take your measurements, it seemed like a improper thing to do.”
He helps me put on the clothes and then smiles at me, like a proud parent.
“You are such a marvellous creation”, he says. “I can’t believe I actually managed to do this.”
I still have no idea what he is talking about, but I have the feeling it is something of greater importance than putting clothes on me.
He lifts me up again, saying my legs won’t be strong enough to keep me stable for several days so I can’t walk. However, I should apparently try to wiggle my toes. It should help, somehow. He carries me down to the kitchen where he proceeds to feed me an ill-tasting liquid.
“We’ll probably need to get your vocal chords replaced. They’re beyond repair”, he says.
“We will accomplish wonders, you and I”, he says.
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