Hi all, I’m still in a bit of a funny mood.
If you liked last week’s fiction you might like this one. If not, see you next week!
Enjoy!
“I’ve never seen it before,” I say.
“But you’ll admit it’s your hand?” says the policeman.
“I know what my hand looks like, officer. This isn’t it, it’s not even the right size!”
“Reviewing the evidence, which is to say, it’s attached to your arm, sir…”
“This isn’t my arm, you fool, I don’t have tattoos!”
“You have one right there on your biceps, sir. Who’s Trisha?”
“That’s not my arm,” I say. “My God, is there anyone else I can talk to?” Eventually, I get to see someone higher up the chain. Not because they believe me, but because I’m starting to scare the other prisoners. Although I don’t know what they’ve got to worry about. They aren’t the ones who woke up with body parts replaced. I mean, who would do such a thing?
“This way sir,” says the officer. He’s one of those big solid men. Unflappable, if you want to put a positive spin on it. Unimaginative. Not necessarily a bad thing in a police officer, I suppose. We sit in an interrogation room. Me, and the arm, leg and ears that don’t belong to me. It’s the ears I’m most worried about, as they might start working against me.
“What seems to be the trouble?” The policeman gives me an encouraging look, but I hear the other officer shift against the wall behind me. Any sudden moves and he’ll be only too happy to restrain me. I sit on my right arm, then wrap my left leg tightly around the leg which doesn’t belong to me. I don’t want them threatening the police and getting me in trouble.
“Officer,” I say. “I woke up this morning and somebody has taken my leg and arm and given me these in their place.” I nod towards my restrained limbs.
“And who do you think might have done such a thing, sir?”
He’s got me. Who would do such a thing. I don’t have any enemies.
“We get this a lot, sir,” he says. “Oh yes.” He leans back in his chair. I shift my weight. I think the arm that doesn’t belong to me might be suffering pins and needles and I don’t want to hurt the thing. I just want my own back. “People wake up, and it’s usually a Thursday, say. Like today. Say their legs, or their arms, or their eyes, or whatever doesn’t belong to them. And I always ask: ‘who do you think might have done it’ and what do they say?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Exactly, sir. ‘I don’t know.’ I’d love to help, if I could. I woke up feeling funny myself one morning so I understand. But you get used to it. The alternative would be for me to drag in the entire population, and ask them where they were last night, and whether they hold a grudge against you. The majority won’t even know you, and then I’ll have to describe you, sir. And go into your life story, until they get a feel for who you are as a person. Sir. And do you know what? It takes quite a while, and you’ll find that people who had never heard of you, and didn’t hold a grudge against you, sir… well, after a few weeks of hearing about you in this room, they pretty much all hate you sir. And we’ll still have no evidence. Would you like that, sir? Maybe we’ll even find out who stole your leg and arm, but the entire population of the country will hate your guts.”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying we won’t proceed, I’m saying maybe you’ll get used to the new arm and leg. This the new arm? Looks quite nice, sir, and if you ever meet a girl called Trisha, well, you’ve already got the tattoo. Some other poor bugger had the pain of that, and you’ll be the one to profit.”
He stood up and, although I wasn’t happy, it made a certain sense. My new arm, my false arm jumped out to grab his arm and they shook. It felt like an unusual shake, one of those hidden handshakes you hear about. Then he leaned in and whispered something. I’m sure it was important, but they weren’t my ears—they didn’t work for me—and I couldn’t hear it. He walked me to the door. He walked a little lopsided. I noticed a lot of people looked strange. It seemed to me that that man’s eyes were too wide for his face. That man’s mouth kept muttering, as if it wasn’t completely under control. That lady definitely had one shoulder higher than another. Behind the front desk, the lady had two shades of hair: brunette growing up under the blonde.
Outside, people stumbled along to work. Two young boys in school shirts and shorts, and surely those couldn’t be their real knees and elbows? So knobbly? A man in a tan suit had jowls too large for his thin face, and a pot belly that belonged to a much fatter man.
I’d be late myself, if I didn’t get a move on. The sun was hot and when I looked at it, it seemed to waver, as if just settling in. Almost right, but not quite.
