Segments of the process of segigimizing the world.

The Pie Next Door

There was no way to classify my horror that day. I found myself seated at the dining table at my neighbor’s house. Who I thought was a kind old lady would turn out to be far from kind, a lady and not even a who but rather a what. What had brought me into this creature’s house was a power outage on a hot day at my own home that had started soon after I left for work and a fridge that was devoid of anything still edible. In dismay, I had decided to fetch something from the nearby grocery store when I was intercepted by my neighbor. We had regularly exchanged niceties while running into each other outside of our houses. I’d help her carry heavy seeming bags and whatnot. Now I know she didn’t really need my help at all. She could have carried them thirty times over. So there I was sitting at the table waiting for the pie to come out of the oven. The old woman staring blankly at my face, seeing as we had already talked about the weather and how work was, My inquiries about any family or history were met with the most concise of answers, as though she craved this awkward silence and so she stared. I did my best to avoid staring back. A part of me felt that my soul would slowly be drawn from my body if I did. I would, however, find myself looking at her eyes which would grow deeper and deader by the moment. For an instant, it seemed her eyes were completely devoid of life and I felt that either my body or her face was getting closer to the other. The oven bell rang and pulled me out of the trance I had found myself in and the blank deadness in her eyes and face was replaced by an excited smile.
“Oh, it’s ready love, let me get it out of the oven for you.”
“Thank you, you’re too kind, I really am hungry.”
“Not for long. You won’t need to worry about your hunger for much longer dearie.”
“Thank you Miss-”
“No need for thanks child, you’ll thank me enough by eating it. I don’t get to keep much company you know.”
“Yes, it seems… I mean, I’m glad can keep you company. I’m sorry.”
“What’s in the pie, by the way? I forgot to ask.”
“Never you mind, just dig in”
“Here you go love”
She placed the pan in the middle of the table. I looked at it and thought to myself that It was rectangular then reassessed and saw it was shaped more like a diamond with the long tips cut off. On regarding it further, I was certain it looked like a coffin. A coffin that was about the size of a large shoe. I looked up at my neighbor and she was again staring blankly at me. With her mouth held slightly open and what seemed like a string of drool making its way down from the corner of her mouth. I smiled at her and slowly sent my knife and fork towards the coffin to cut myself a piece. I took a small serving from the bottom right corner of the pie.
“Won’t you have some more” the old woman pleaded.
“I’ll have to try it first” I replied.
“I assure you, you’ll love it. Everyone loves it.”
“Yes, I’m sure, but I’m a very fussy eater.”
“Yes” she whispered reclining into her vacant state.
As my knife cut into the pie it crunched the cover and then again when it penetrated I felt another crunch. I wondered if it was quail. That she, in her old age, had left in a few bones. I forced the knife through it and it snapped. “Love, aren’t you taking your time with that, I’m absolutely starved” she said
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll give you this piece”
“It’s a bit small”
“I’m sorry, I’ll have it, then”
“NO! No, it’s okay, maybe you could pass me the pan and I’ll eat out of it”
“It’s okay, I’ll just give you my serving”
“I’m sorry.” I whimpered as she snatched the quail pie piece.
She ate it up like a starved dog given a bowl of fresh meat. It was gone almost instantly, but when I tried to adjust my seat I found myself oddly unbalanced. I looked down and saw that my right foot was missing. Hacked off, but not bleeding. I pulled it up towards me to inspect it. Was I losing my mind? Holding the shredded stump in my hands I looked up to protest to the old woman. I was met this time, not with a vacant expression but with a slack-jawed grimace. Her dead eyes appeared deeper set in her head. Her teeth seemed sharper and menacing and the string of saliva from the corner of her mouth had now become what I could only describe as a torrential downpour of mucous oozing through the gaps of her teeth. She spoke in a gargled tone “Love, the pie’s not finished.”
“MY FOOT” I screamed at her
“Ah yes, what a lovely foot it is”
“Lovely foot. Lovely foot. Now let’s eat the rest of it.”
“You want me to eat your foot? Why? When the pie hurts much less”
At this point, though I had seen how her face had deformed, I was only just starting to realize it. Perhaps it was the shock of losing my foot being replaced with the fear for my life. I swallowed hard and again moved towards the coffin-shaped pie. I paused for a moment and thought to myself how this could be possible. How did my foot seem to disappear and could it be that the pie was the reason? Had I somehow fed this monster my foot? If that was the case, then my only chance of survival was not feeding her more of the pie. But what if I ended up eating my own other foot this time, or my head, who knows? Then an idea came to me. I cut another piece of the pie, where my left hand would be and as soon as I set it on a plate, the monster that was now growing more horrifying by the second reached for it. As sure as day, my left hand was severed. Unbleeding but hacked away crudely by my own knife and fork.
“Another piece my child” the monstrosity gargled again
“I-I’d love to, but I can’t cut without my hand. It’ll be impossible to use the fork and knife”
“Just use your hand, grab as much as you want. YES! AS MUCH AS YOU WANT”
“That’s not civilized, I’ll need to cut it up properly.”
“Properly? PROPERLY!? I’m hungry, child.”
“Listen, if you put it on a plate for me, I’ll be able to cut it up with my mouth and hand. I’ll feed you, then.”
For some reason, my request was granted and it flipped the pie onto a plate and slid it towards me. I felt disgusted to the pit of my stomach for what I was about to do but I wouldn’t be eaten by this creature. I had set my mind to devour my whole self in one gulp. I forced my face into the place and ate as quickly as I could. I heard the creature screaming and trying to get at me, but failing for some reason until its movement and its wailing stopped suddenly. I had finished the pie and looked up to see nothing. Nothing but a single old rotting right foot and an equally degenerated left hand. I knew my neighborhood was trouble, but I didn’t think the constituency also included literal monsters.

The Angry Farmer

In a house, in the middle of a very unfarmed farm there lived a farmer, who was a very angry man. He could be the angriest man that anyone could ever hope to see, or rather hope not to meet. See, the reason that his farm was unfarmed was that he had no help and it was not that help wouldn’t come, they just wouldn’t be able to stay. Whenever a farm hand came to work the farmer would stand over them and watch. Were the poor farm hand to make a single mistake the farmer would yell at him at the top of his lungs all sorts of terrible insults. The farmer’s rage and fury was so loud and intense that fit young farm hands would start to wither away after a few words from the erupting human volcano that stood before them spouting its fire. They would arrive with meat on their bones and heads held high and would leave within two or three days a sack of bones, dragging their feet behind them.

One day, a stranger walks onto the land of the farm, behind her she leaves a stream of flowers that bloom immediately behind her footsteps. She walks towards the farmer’s house and knocks on his door. The farmer, being the angry man that he is, expecting everything to go his way and never being one to like surprises or visitors, let alone surprise visitors , lets out a mighty roar “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” some of the flowers that had bloomed around the strange guest wilted at the sound of his terrible shouting. Slightly knocked back by the winds of his fury the stranger at the door she musters her breath and shouts with an intensity attempting to rival that of the farmer “I AM AWADIYA THE SPIRIT OF THE RIVER AND I AM HERE TO OFFER YOU A PROPOSITION”.

The farmer walks to the door and opens it, in front of him he sees a beautiful tall dark skinned woman with a wreath on her head and a shimmering baby blue dress that shifts between rebelliously lapping around and calmly waving almost as though it was alive. For a moment the farmer started to forget his anger and let her in. He hadn’t realised it, but he had started to become fatigued, it was the first time that someone ever shouted back at him and it was the longest he’s had to shout, people would have normally walked away or collapsed far sooner. He rushes ahead of the woman and crashes into his chair. She gracefully seats herself across from him. “So, what is this proposition you want to tell me about?” the farmer asks
“Oh, so you don’t always shout”
“LISTEN, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO HAS COME TO ME AND DISTURBED ME IN THE MIDDLE OF MY… DAY!” said the farmer getting worked up again because of his poor sense of humour and sensibility.
“Fine, I’ll keep my remarks to myself. Well, Mr. Farmer, the village that I run by has been growing and unfortunately the food they farm beside my banks will not be able to sustain their growing population. I need your farm because the land is among the most fertile in these lands and it’s horribly abandoned.”
“Well, if it means I’ll be able to make use of my farm, then let’s hear the details of this proposition. I have no help at the farm and I don’t know if we have enough time to plant the crops we want to in time for harvest.”
“Don’t worry, I will be bringing very special help to make it all an easy and speedy process. It’ll take about a week. The seeds we’ll be using are very special.”
“Very well”
“But, one thing, the plants we’ll be planting have souls, very fragile souls and I’m afraid that your catastrophic shouting would definitely bring them to an immediate end.”
“I’ll control myself”

The next morning the farmer heard a knocking at his door and ran to answer it. There in front of him he saw Awadiya, the river spirit and next to her was Sihaba, the cloud, who stood there, fluffy but soaking wet and dripping on the floor. He let them in, clenching his teeth, the veins in his forehead practically dancing like a firehose under his skin. Sihaba walked in, dripping and leaving a trail of water behind her. They sat and talked for a while and the cloud agreed to come every day for a while for the next week and rain down on the field.

The following day, Awadiya came again, this time with the old tree from the forrest, who brought with him the seeds that would be planted but also mud and dirt about his roots. They came to the farmer’s door and again he came and opened it. This time he clenched his jaw and felt as though his skull would crack in half, but held himself “it’s only mud” he repeated to himself. They sat down and talked for a while and the old tree from the forest agreed to plant the seeds throughout the field.

The earthworm visited the next day. The farmer, put off by the creatures slimy appearance snarled at the creature until he caught a very scornful glance from Awadiya. He again, clenched his jaw and this time felt a suffocating hot ring about his neck. The Earthworm, slightly insulted hesitated at first, but agreed to help for Awadiya’s sake but still left quite displeased at having been made so uncomfortable.

The farmer heard a knock on his door and made his way towards it to open it. Before him stood a spider and behind the spider was Awadiya. The farmer, having learned his lesson smiled and gestured them to come inside. They sat and talked about the importance of pest control and everything was going well. The spider agreed to bring his children to help keep the plants safe and the farmer thanked him and shook his hand. At that moment, the spider’s thorny hands cut into the farmer’s skin and the farmer let out a terrible scream!

The farmer cursed the spider and cursed Awadiya and cursed the day she had ever brought these creatures to his door and his farm. He shouted at the top of his lungs, shredding his vocal chords and his fury rattled the windows and blew outwards from the farm and into the field. Awadiya looked at the farmer, with a certain broken sadness and then looked out towards the field to see all the plants with broken souls wilting and withering away.

The farmer stood in awe of the destruction he had brought upon himself. Awadiya and the spider walked away, but he stood there idly for minutes, or maybe hours. It felt to him as though a part of him was also broken and so he retired to his home and slept in hopes that this would be a dream or that he may wake and find the world fixed. The next day he awoke and trudged into the field surrounded by dead things. In an attempt to escape the bounds of his home he made his way to the further parts of the farm and to his surprise he found that there were a few plants that were slightly out of the range of his outburst.

He immediately called his old farm hands and pleaded with them to return. They were all hesitant and the majority refused but four hands did come to help. He took them to the surviving plants and they uprooted them and brought them closed. They provided the plants with water and brought the necessary support for them to grow. All through the farmer was being patient and giving the hands far more time than he had ever afforded them before. By the end of the week they had matured. The farmer took a few of the vegetables for their seeds and took the rest to market. His produce did not last long in the market, everyone was drawn to his stall and he returned home.

That night, with magic in their stomachs, the villagers again dumped their sewage in the river and the river spirit knew where this magic had come from. Awadiya made her way to the farmers home. The farmer ran to the door as soon as she knocked and smiled at her saying “I did not think I would see you again” to which she replied “You are largely not wrong for thinking that, but I am glad to see that you can no see yourself.” and she walked away leaving the farmer learning to find peace.

A Ghost In My House

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”. I’m sure you’ve been told before, but it seems that love is lost but only after having made you lose your mind. Maybe we have to be crazy to fall in love anyway. It seems like nothing a sane mind would agree to, delegating your happiness to someone else to do with as they please, to succumb to their whims and fall in servitude. I guess it’s okay when they feel the same, but who am I kidding, people never feel exactly same. In fact, scratch that, it’s never okay! If only we didn’t get lonely. Loneliness can be fought away, by the company of friends, surrounding yourself with invested loved ones, all the usual solutions, but there are times when loneliness finds us at our weakest, and that’s how my story starts.

I had been hired by a company to work in their IT department, the only problem was that this city is about 5 hours away from where I live. It became obvious that I would have to move and so I began searching and found my new abode in a quieter part of the city, close enough to work and the commercial area at an affordable price. I guess I should have figured out that something was a bit off since the price was so disproportionately low. The home owner told me that there was one room in the house which was locked and that I wasn’t allowed to enter it. She, however, explained that it was her daughter’s, who was a travelling journalist and who would rarely be in town and even then, rarely stay in the house. The house itself was quite comfortable and well kept, a kitchen, two bathrooms, two rooms and a small hall. In contrast, the two houses to its left and right seemed abandoned and in states of complete disarray. They were both two story houses painted a dark brown which was starting to peel in places. I soon moved in and began making mysel comfortable in my new abode. The closed room would sometimes annoy me and curiosity would almost overwhelm me at times, but I kept true to my promise to the home owner.

After a few weeks of work, I was struck by the realisation that not only was my department seemingly a boys only club, but rather our whole floor consisted almost entirely of men. I am not one to scour the workplace for love interests, but perhaps some female presence would have kept me from what I was about to do. I have never been in opposition to internet romances, but I myself had never been in one. The idea of trusting a computer to decide who I would be most compatible with, it’s hardly ideal. Firstly, I know the limitations of computers and secondly if I myself haven’t been able to find someone compatible with me, how could a computer do so? Also, people lie on the internet and I might find myself falling for some 35 year old man who spends his time pretending to be a 20 year old woman with hopes of tricking lonely guys out of a buck. A few more weeks passed and I was becoming that lonely guy, desperate enough to seek the assistance of the internet. A coworker told me about a website that, unlikely the more popular trends of the day, relied exclusively on text and information. It also gathered, after giving it permission, your trends and habits across social media. The only catch was that there are no pictures, which at first was almost entirely off-putting, but upon further consideration I thought to myself that it’s an app and completely noncommittal and so I gave it a try.

I recall the first response I got, in fact it was the only response that I got. It was an especially long day at work and I had every intention of going immediately to bed, but just as I was about to pull the cover over my head I saw my phone faintly glow. It’s funny how readily we abandon our intentions when our phones summon us. I wonder if it’s a sense of curiosity or obligation that drives us to answer every beck and call of these small devices. Everything could have been very different if I had just decided to sleep. I found that I had received a message from one of the girls I had expressed my interest in. Her name was Sarah, and she was perfect, her profile was at least. We had so many interests in common and liked the same videos and responded positively and negatively to the same articles. The fact that I was exhausted seemed to have become completely null and the fact that I had work tomorrow completely slipped my mind. I was, no, we were completely engrossed in conversation that covered everything ranging from mainstream media and internet culture to science and philosophy with every overlap in between. We said so much that it felt like we hadn’t said anything at all by the time we realised the time was getting late.

Surprisingly, the next day I had no trouble waking up. It was as though I had slept at my intended time and the whole conversation I had, tapping at my phone screen curled under my cover was only a dream. I of course checked my phone to make sure the conversation had actually taken place and was surprised to see several messages had been sent while I was asleep. At first it was slightly offsetting. I’m not one to warm up to people too easily, but after reading a bit I found any and all discomfort had been replaced by a small storm of excitement. I had to get ready for, and go to work, so I sent a message simply saying “I will get back to you on that, I don’t want to run late”.

A few days later I felt peckish and so I decided to fix up a sandwich, but when I reached the fridge and started rummaging for the cheese I had bought the day before I couldn’t find it. I tried to imagine what could have happened, but nothing other than Jerry from Tom and Jerry came to mind. That was the first experience with the ghost that I had. It only became more frequent as time passed. Groceries started appearing instead of just disappearing. I’d hear the door open and shut and I run out and find nothing. Furniture would have moved when I got back from work. It was strange at first, I thought I was just being forgetful. Over time a genuine fear started to come over me. One day, I heard the outside door open and just as I walked into the room it shut. The floorboards were also creaking and making their way to the closed room. Its door opened and slammed. I was standing there frozen in awe, not knowing what to do, wondering if I had merely lost my mind. It was unlikely that I would find better housing, and the ghost was doing little to harm me. I decided I’d look for other homes that were affordable, but I was pretty much set on not moving.

I had been talking to Sarah for a week or two and I was so caught up in conversation that I didn’t to meet, or her phone number or in fact her social media profiles or anything. In fact, realising this made it even more difficult for me to ask. Perhaps it was sensing that she thought I was uninterested I blurted out to her that maybe we should check out each other’s profiles on other websites. She enthusiastically agreed to the idea, but the strange thing was, once she gave me her links, it seemed that all her pictures were either set to private or wouldn’t load. Before I could point this out to her, she sent me a message asking if I had her on limited, which I didn’t. I told her that I was having the same issue and we speculated what it might be, that it may be some conspiracy to stop us from seeing each other. It might as well have been, but we were ready to fight it. With the blocked pictures fueling our curiosity we decided to meet as soon as possible. It was to be the next day during my lunch break at a cafe near my work place. The sense of urgency was augmented by the fact that she was to be leaving soon on a business trip.

There I was, sitting at the cafe waiting. I stopped myself from ordering until the waiter nervously approached me and almost pleaded with me to order as he kept looking over his shoulder at the manager. She had stood me up. It was the most frustrating and humiliating experiences I had ever been through. I checked my phone to see if she had perhaps apologised or excused herself, instead I found a long and wordy message expressing her disgust and disappointment in me and how I had stood her up! I scrolled up and found several messages asking where I was and her saying that she’s waiting at the cafe. I was confused and myself frustrated, I thought that maybe she or I had gotten the time wrong but the timestamps on the messages showed that it was at exactly the same time I was there. I messaged her and explained that maybe we missed each other because we don’t know what we look like, though I recall the cafe having no other individuals sitting alone and I’m sure she did too. I suggested that I could maybe meet her near where she lives and she agreed. She told me her area and I was surprised to find out that it was the same area as mine. I told her that we might be neighbours and she asked what street my house was on and when I told her, we were both shocked that we lived so close to each other. I jokingly said that we might as well be living in the same house. I then hesitated for a moment and I gave her my full address. She had replied immediately to every message I had sent before that as long as she was online. I asked her what was wrong, I pleaded with her to reply, but no response came.

I went to sleep nervous and anxious, and woke up with a degree of difficulty that directly contrasts that which I had felt over the past few weeks. I eventually managed to drag myself out of bed and got ready, avoiding checking my phone because I was so uncertain of what I would find. It seemed that regardless of whether or not I found a message, what I had said apparently hurt her or drove her away. I finally mustered the courage to check out the application inbox and I found what could only be defined as an essay on stalking and ethics. I read through it and was confused what she was talking about until the part where she stated that the address I claimed as my own was actually hers. I froze, for what must have been a relatively long period of time because it sparked the concern of my nearest coworker. I told him that my stomach was acting up and I went to the head of department and requested leave. I got home and sat on the edge of my bed staring at my phone for what felt like an eternity, wondering what I should write, when suddenly I receive a message from her. “Are you alive?”
“Yes, are you?”
“I’m alive, but I don’t think you understood my question. Are you a living, breathing human being?”
“Haha, I know I seem too good to be true, but I’m here and I’m real and I’m alive.”
“I’m not joking. Listen, can you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothing, I guess it’s all in my mind, I don’t think we should keep talking to each other.”
“Wait, what’s wrong, I don’t know what it is, maybe there are two houses registered under the same address?”
“That’s pretty unlikely.”
“Alright, tell you what, let’s bother just walk outside and see if we can see each other”
“You just want to make a fool of me like you did at the cafe!”
“You’ll just be stepping out of your house, it’s hardly an embarrassment”
“Okay, but I’m blocking you after this.”
“Please don’t, lol, but okay.”

So I headed to the door of my room  and opened it, simultaneously the door across the hall also opened. It quickly shut and I quickly shut mine. I quickly typed “was that you” in my phone and just as I pressed send I received a message saying exactly the same thing. I replied with “I think so”.

At this point of time it became more than apparent that Sarah was the ghost that had been haunting my house and consuming my groceries. We talked about our experiences living in the haunted house and about disappearing groceries. There was a sense of enchantment and confusion but below it all was a sense of disappointment, we would never be able to see each other. We experimented and found that we could also not feel each other. We each walked directly out of our own respective rooms and into the other’s across the hall and would pass through each other without feeling a thing. Small object would disappear if one of us was holding them, our clothes would remain invisible for extended periods of time when we weren’t wearing them until the ‘invisibility wore off’.

We continued talking to each other just as regularly and getting along just as well as ever. She’d go on her business trips and bring my back gifts that would take a day or two to reappear sometimes. I would treat her by getting her favourite snacks and whatever else I could. It was comforting knowing she was close sometimes. It was also painful, knowing that I would never be able to be as close to her as I could any other person. What made it more painful is that she was closer to me than anyone else, both literally and metaphorically.

Days passed and we slowly became more and more aware of the limitations of our relationship. She said she had a business trip coming up soon and she’d be gone for a few months. When I said we could just talk like we always did, she said that the internet wouldn’t be as available and that it may be best if we didn’t talk as often anyway. It what she wanted to say was clear from what how she was saying that. I wanted to protest, but I guess I also felt the same way.

Months passed, more than she said she’d be away for, the ghost hadn’t made any grand appearances, perhaps just a few slamming doors once or twice a week, but no more. I would resist the urge to message her, but sometimes I’d fail. She’d give me lukewarm responses, I guess in response to lukewarm messages. One day she sent me a message saying that she was going to delete the application. This caused me distress but at the same time comfort, it was the final step to letting go of what we had. I was making more friends at work and joined a few clubs. I was getting to know more people. None, however, were as outstanding as she was.

She had almost completely left my mind, as completely as she ever would I guess. I remember coming home from work, excited about some new episode of some show or something. I sat down in front of my computer and just as I was about to click play, I hear the outside door open. I hadn’t heard it in such a long time, maybe that’s why the effect was so intense. All the feelings suddenly came rushing back for some unknown reason. Then I heard a man’s voice. It wasn’t the ghost, I must be being robbed. I grabbed a wooden shelf off the wall and balanced it on my shoulder and quickly made my way outside my room. I found a tall man standing in the middle of my hall staring at me, at first he was shocked, then his expression grew menacing. I shouted at him asking what he was doing there, but before I could finish my interrogation I see a small figure standing behind him a little way off. The man answers “This is my fiance’s house, you must be the tenant”.

My heart and mind shattered into a thousand pieces in that instant. I could tell by the horrified look on her face that she, too could see me. It was undoubtedly Sarah, she had described her appearance, and this was definitely her, though she was far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. My stomach churned and I must have blacked out, because I don’t recall what happened next. I woke up in my bed the next day, that man must have carried me there. That being, perhaps, the most emasculating moment of my life. I made my way downstairs and had breakfast, I found a note from Sarah, asking me to meet her at the cafe we were supposed to meet.

We didn’t stand each other up this time, but it seems that the chemistry we had was forced out of our systems. We got along just as well as before, but perhaps it was that the exhaustion of trying to find ways to work around our barrier had taken too much of a toll on our affections. She said she came to invite me to her wedding, which would be in three months time, which was also the time I had to vacate the house. I didn’t have any problems with that, that haunted house held too many memories for me anyway, and I had been promoted at work and so could afford somewhere more comfortable. We parted that day, me and Sarah, not meet again until her wedding day and after that we wouldn’t meet again, or perhaps we passed by without seeing each other.

Narcoleptic Acute Polypodia

It happened again today. I woke up and I couldn’t feel my legs at all. I was walking down the street when it happened this time. It’s getting to be more than just a nuisance, it was tolerable at first. I mean it wasn’t this extreme, it was only one or two legs that popped up at a time. I can remember the first time it happened vividly. I was waiting at the bus stop, I was going to interview for a new job, feeling very anxious as one would. Unlike this condition I always remember having had narcolepsy, you know, that illness that makes you fall asleep all of a sudden? It usually happens when I’m stressed out, I just fall asleep all of a sudden regardless of the situation or position that I’m in.

There I was sitting at the bus stop waiting for the bus and stressed out about my interview when I suddenly fall asleep. I woke up almost immediately and the bus was just approaching the station. I jumped to my feet and made a dash to the bus, but I tripped and fell on my face. I tried to stand up to dust myself off and I was terrified by what I saw, a third leg had suddenly appeared attached to my hip. Strangely enough I was wearing grey pants and this odd leg was wearing bright green beach shorts with a yellow floral design. I struggled to my feet, all three of them and hailed the bus. I seemed to have control over the third leg but it was still difficult to fully maneuver it. It felt as though everyone on the bus was staring at me, with piercing eyes, analysing  this freak of nature that had stumbled into the bus so awkwardly. I brushed past them as inconspicuously as I could and settled down in the back of the bus trying to drive them away with my mind.

I must have been more stressed out than usual that day because I slept again. When I awoke I had missed my stop, but it was only two stops back so I would have been able to make it back to the interview on time had that dreaded third leg not have been there. The cursed thing had fallen off in my sleep and now I sat next to what appeared to be a severed leg clad in clothing that I myself was not dressed in. Everyone on the bus had of course taken the opportunity that I had fallen asleep in order to observe me more closely. I heard some of them murmuring about calling the police and that I must have killed someone and taken their leg. As I tried to get up and out of the bus everyone started pushing and shoving me and trying to force me back into my seat.

I had no choice but to comply and I waited in the bus until the mob came to a decision about what to do. One of them was a medical doctor, he was nearest to the door when I had walked in and he saw that I had three legs. He had taken a scientific interest in my condition. He declared to the bus that he was a doctor and that he would examine the leg. He also reminded everyone that I had walked into the bus with three legs. Passengers responded to him with strange theories about how it was someone else’s leg sewn to me or that I was merely carrying it  and that at first they thought it could have been a mannequin’s leg. The doctor chose to examine me first. He inquired about the leg and I told him that this is the first time that this had ever happened to me but he was suspicious of what I had told him. He then moved on to inspect the alien leg. He seemed confused, turning it over and looking for any wounds or places where it may have been severed, but strangely enough the leg was entirely intact. At the point it was attached to me it seemed to have healed completely in the same way that a severed limb attached to a man’s body would heal and close over time. He suddenly declared that I was extremely sick to everyone and that I indeed had a parasitic twin whose leg was attached to me and that I would need to be taken to a clinic immediately to have it reattached. This of course was a ruse for him to be able to inspect my condition more thoroughly.

We arrived at the clinic a few minutes after that ordeal. It was a private clinic, far cleaner than any I had ever seen. The doctor sat me down and interrogated me, probing for any information he could extract but I couldn’t help him since I myself hadn’t the slightest clue what was going on. The best he could do was tie my leg appearance to my narcolepsy. He decided to name my “condition” Narcoleptic Acute Polypodia.

I called in to the office to set up a new interview and they agreed because I told them I had to go to the doctor’s. I got a slip from the doctor as proof. Thankfully I got the job. It was a few months before I had another episode. It seemed that each time it happened it would be more likely to increase in severity, the legs themselves would also be more various and dressed more outlandishly each time. I recall once I had grown a leg so muscular that I could only assume was a body builder’s leg on one side and on the other it must have been a supermodel’s because it was significantly longer than my own, more slender and definitely not a man’s. The body builder’s leg was wearing a tight pair of blue shorts whereas the model’s was attached to a long pink dress. The phenomenon started occurring more and more often. It also started to affect my narcolepsy, where I would sleep and then immediately start sleep walking. It was also as though the legs themselves were gaining a mind of their own and each time they reappeared they got smarter. That’s not even the worst part, waking up to find myself laying in a mound of severed human legs once every two or three weeks has become more than an inconvenience. I would donate them to science or even the local zoo so they could feed the starving lions but I wonder what interrogations I’d be subjected to. I currently have been burying them in the back yard, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it up. It’s becoming a mass leg grave back there.

Recently I find that I am losing the sensation in my own legs each time these legs appear. With their increasing numbers my control over the invading legs and even my own has been waning and they carry me wherever they desire. All I can do is try to suggest which direction to go by leaning my body in it, though I have often found myself screaming at them and pleading with them to cooperate with me. It was on one of those days that I ran into you, I am not sure if you recall. In your line of business you must come across too many strange occurrences to remember them all. Anyway, you gave me your card and you told me to come to you if I ever had any trouble, well here I am because today, it seems that my own legs have rebelled against me completely and I don’t know what’ll happen the next time I have another episode. That’s why I need your help. Give me some medicine or anything to help me.

Last week I visited a witch doctor, he gave me this strange potion to drink and I downed it. Not a single leg has appeared since then, but I’m not sure if I’m cured, because each time I sleep I wake up with pins and needles in my legs. Maybe it’s just a side effect but I also feel like my control over my legs isn’t completely back. Who am I kidding, I’ve completely lost control over them. Just a few days after taking the medicine I swear they tried to throw me down the stairs. Two days ago was the worst, they kept running me into the wall, repeatedly. They would sprint towards the wall and then thrust me head first into it. I worry for my health doctor. I don’t know what else to do at this point. I’m going to need you to amputate them. I’m sure it’s the only way to save myself from this curse.

I understand that you might have a desire to research my condition. I am sorry that I haven’t afforded you an adequate opportunity to do so, but I will not be able to bear these things being attached to my body any longer. Cut them off doctor. Please.

Dear World,

I am afraid that I have been driven completely mad by some unknown affliction. I have had stranger’s legs sprout from my waist and my own legs turn against me. In an attempt to bring my suffering to an end I resorted to both the dark arts and science. Now I am confined to a wheel chair, but not for long. I believed that I would be rid of this curse if I could rid myself of my wretched legs, but it saddens me to say that it is not my own arm writing this letter to you. These are not even my own words. I woke up this morning with three new arms attached to my shoulders and as one write this letter another holds my mouth shut and the last holds a knife to my neck as my own arms ignore me completely. This is the last you will hear of me. As for my arms they will be joining the visitors in the back yard for some gardening. We have a few friends we wish to visit. Don’t worry about me I will be going to a better place. However, you may have to worry about yourselves.


“Your face looks like a knee, what are you doing here trying to talk to humans you monkey” children can be very mean, but it’s a problem when adults are the same kind of mean that children are. I was always unpopular, my appearance drove people away, my own family always made me feel as though there were on the verge of disowning me, perhaps disowning me would have been better than to be treated the way I was by them. I’m the middle child, I have two brothers, one older and one younger, both of which are far more good looking than I. My mother says I take after my grandfather, who apparently, was a very unattractive man, so much so that he was never photographed or painted, for fear that he may curse those who would look upon his image. I’ve tried applying makeup before, my mother once walked in on me and told me “You’re a broken canvas, no amount of paint will ever make you look good”.

As fate would have it, I one day decided to take a walk, at night, a very dark night where there was no moon to be seen, but the stars pierced the darkness of the pitch black sky, a sight far more beautiful than I would ever be. I’ve always preferred the dark, nobody would bother me about my appearance there. After walking for about 30 minutes I found myself in front of something I slightly dreaded finding, a light, a dim light, but a light none the less. In spite  preference for the dark, as a human, the instinct of finding comfort in the light was getting the better of me. I walked towards the light, and before I knew it, a figure appeared before me. “Girl, what are you doing here? Isn’t this a bit far from the village? Do you know what time it is? Aren’t you afraid of the witch?” Inquired the figure, I was quick to answer, “I’m walking, it’s not as far as I’d like to be, it’s late enough for the Sun to be down and what would a witch do? Steal my beauty? Curse me? I’m already cursed and my beauty was stolen before I was born”

The figure had the voice of an old woman she chuckled “Well well, I see you’re very aware of what you’re doing.”

“As aware as I can be.”

“Do you happen to have a death wish.”

“I am already dead, at this point it’s just a counter counting down the days before I disappear from this world.”

“My dear, I have a proposition for you, would you like to be beautiful?”

“Nothing short of a miracle could make me beautiful.”

“Is magic short of a miracle or not?”

“Unless you’re the pharaohs most talented magician, then I doubt any amount of magic you try to perform on me will lead to any change”

“Well, I may not be the The Pharaohs magician, but I am a decedent of his, now, my dear, would you like to be beautiful?”

“I will not sell my soul, & I will not take a life”

“No, no, nothing like that, but you must agree before I tell you the terms, if you refuse after I tell you the terms you’ll have to be my slave forever, so child, do you agree?”

“I would be relieving my family of my presence if I was to join you as a slave, if that becomes the case. Tell me.”

“It’s a simple procedure, you need to get a strand of hair from the most beautiful person you know, I’ll prepare the potion and you’ll drink it down, the beauty of that person will be stolen from them, and you will receive it”

“Will they become as ugly as I?!”

“No, they will just lose their beauty, they will become plain, you will gain her beauty, and it will cancel out your unattractiveness, if she is far more beautiful than you are, then you will become beautiful, but if she is only a little beautiful, her beauty will only make you a little less ugly, so, do you agree?”

“I guess I do”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, it has to be tomorrow”

“I’ll come back with a strand of hair”

I headed out on my way, debating with myself who is the most beautiful girl or woman in the village, who to rob of their beauty, I felt evil, the most beautiful girl in the village, Haneen is also the kindest person in the village, she’s probably the only person who has never hurt me in any way. She never really hurt anyone, she could be mistaken for an angel in human form. She was out of the question, on the other hand, there was a very beautiful girl, a very very beautiful girl, who was equally mean, not as beautiful as the first, but parallels her personality on the opposite side of the spectrum. Now she deserved to be robbed of more than her beauty, she was a sadist, she often beat me, and gathered children to throw rocks at me. I was determined to obtain a strand of her hair. So I slept outside her house, she would definitely come out and beat me, but it would be a small sacrifice to pay for a single strand of her hair.

I awoke to a kick in the stomach and an infuriated screaming “BEAST! GROTESQUE CREATURE! WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE!  I’D RATHER WAKE UP AND FIND A BOAR GRUNTING THAT YOUR REPULSING GROTESQUE FIGURE AND FACE! I couldn’t move because of the pain. As she beat me a crowd started to gather, but no one interfered. That was until Haneen cam rushing to my aid, pushing the girl off me. In that moment I remembered the task that the witch had given me but as I lunged to grab a strand of the girl’s hair I accidentally snatched some of Haneen’s along with it. I then ran off as quickly as I could through the crowd and to the witch’s house.

So there I was, outside the witch’s door with a handful of the hair of the two most beautiful girls in the village. I wonder if I should try to sort Haneen’s hair from the other girl’s, but before I could do anything about it the door opens and the witch looks at me and smiles. “You will now finally obtain what you have earned! But first, you must bring me the horns of a goat and a cup of milk from the Usher plant” she says.

“You never told me that I’d have to get more things! I could have gotten them on the way”

“Don’t worry darling, all you have to do is step outside the door”

I stepped outside and indeed, the goat was standing there, half starved to death next to an Usher plant. There was a saw right next to the goat, I tried to saw the horn off, but the goat wasn’t staying still, I impatiently struck it on the neck and proceeded to saw off the horn. The witch had given me a cup to fill with the Usher milk, I broke off about five branches to fill the cup properly, I then headed inside.

The witch took all the ingredients from me, and stirred away until the mixture separated and a clear part formed, she filtered it off, gave it to me and said “The end of your journey to find beauty ends here! Drink up! And embrace your destiny”. So here I am, cup in hand, about to take a sip.

As the fluid flows down my throat and down into my stomach, I feel my stomach churn, and twist, I want to throw it up but I’m holding it down. My breathing becomes heavy, but my heart is starting to beat faster, My consciousness is fading. I see a light, is this beauty?

Three Stories

Story 1:
“Twenty five years ago my son” He said as he pointed towards his old cabinet proudly. A cabinet he kept trinkets of his past in. “Twenty five years is all it took, you may think that twnety five years is more than a lifetime now, in your youth, for it has been, but twenty five years is nothing once you have lived it once, twice, maybe even three times over.” he said this all while embracing his cabinet with his eyes, I could see memories flowing back and forth between his heart and that wood and glass case. HE looked at me and asked “Do you want to hear a story” and before I could answer he continued, “Just choose one from this old cabinet”. I looked at him, pointed and replied “That old pair of flipflops”. He smiled and answered “THat is the reason we live in this ouse, a reminder at least, well, at least a reminder for me. I wore that the first day I sold my first tray of eggs”.

Story 2:
“I see nothing in those eyes” he thinks
“Does he like the way I’m touching his face” she wonders
“I see nothing in those eyes”
“He’s smiling, but he’s not happy today”
“I see nothing in those eyes”
“I’ll ask him what’s wrong”, “Are you okay darling?” she asks
“I’ve never been better than when I’m at your side” he answers, still seeing nothing.

Story 3:
“How could she! That bitch!” he said furiously. His friend trying to comfort him chuckles saying “It’s a dog eat dog world”. Recieving a stern glance, the friend continues “well, it was her pup, she’s just recycling the meat”.