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Love and Limbs: "What Are You Called?" "I Am Nothing."
Love and Limbs: "What Are You Called?" "I Am Nothing."
T hey called out to her, like an unbearable siren. She first found
her head, stowed away in a black bag thrown into a small tributary
under a bridge. Chamie crawled helplessly across the ravine,
hoping against all hope that she won’t tumble into the murky
water. Navigating toward her head with just a sense of where it is
was literally groping in the dark. But she couldn’t even grope at the
mud properly — her two arms are nowhere to be found. Someone
had undone the bag, giving Chamie a small opening — enough for
her head to creep out slowly until it was able to fuse with what
remained of her neck and shoulders. Her first breath, or what
passed for it, was harsh, feral, and sounded nothing like her. Her
attacker had chopped off bits of her voice box and part of her right
ear, so she had a hard time hearing from that side, too. She felt the
wind escaping from the slash and she felt chilled with every
exhalation. Chamie was also cut down to her left thigh and below
her right knee. She only wanted to find the rest of her, and finally,
come home. She had little time left, she could feel it before the
void claimed her completely.
“I am Nothing.”
“What do you mean, you are something.”
“My lover.”
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds bad if you end up like
this. I can smell what’s inside you. That couldn’t be good. Is love
losing your limbs?”
“Follow me.”
Chamie found herself crawling at an intersection, about half a
block from the largest wet market in the city. She was horrified at
the thought of being dragged by people, but no one seems to be
noticing a botched body crawling at a snail’s pace, leaving a trail of
bile and blood in its wake.
“I will.”
Chamie found a small nook in the street and tried to regain her
composure. She looked at the dried blood across the gap in her
chest, and the multitude of incisions made on her belly. A portion
of her colon protruded from the right side. If she only had her
fingers, she would push back those tissues where they’re supposed
to be.
“Among other things, yes. Some of it was still in the pot, but you
know how they are. They’d probably kill me if I took the entire
thing.”
“How?”
Chamie felt the warmth of the dinuguan pulsing in her chest. The
smell of garlic and vinegar invigorated her. It was her heart
alright. But somehow, it found its way to people’s midday meals.
Just thinking of how her heart got there made her want to puke.
She then remembered what she must look now, gashed and
chopped up like sisig. Chamie burst into tears.
“There, there.”
Nothing wagged its tail at Chamie and went away for a few
seconds. While Chamie was bawling her eyes out, the dog returned
with a hat that seemed to have been recovered from a dumpster
and then stomped on for good measure. The dog did its best to put
the cap on Chamie’s head.
Chamie found her legs and arms strewn across the city, and each
time, Nothing helped her retrieve them, in whatever fashion they
happened to be.
A witch doctor had already peeled half of her left arm before.
Nothing growled at him, fangs bared, so he would hand it over.
A wild man born with no anus cradled her right arm like a baby,
calling it Esmeralda. He was the easiest to convince — he gave the
limb willingly to the dog. He had been a dog trainer in his other
life.
“Mom, I’m here. Mom I am so tired. I told you, I’ll always come
back in one piece.”
Delicate, green tendrils emerged from the black soil, caressing the
girl’s graying skin, claiming her for the earth.