An Iron And Calcium Deficiency

The emptiness, the absence of weight on my chest. The discomfort of being free, not used to normalcy.

The void is of a heart and overlapping it, is that of a diamond, over which rests a fairly new pair of lungs, all stuck in an open cage. How did the heart fit through the diamond gap is the first question in my mind; for I know, in a wild assumption of thoughts, how they easily left behind a void.

At times I’ve noticed the hollowness in my chest, more so off late. It all dawns on me only when I’ve lost touch with the heaviness of my skin and flesh and brought forth naked, to see what remains. I assume it is supposed to be a process of enlightenment, to reveal to myself what crouches in the corner of the emptiness, one that provides a sense of peace. To be stripped of all I am made of, to see silly shaped holes? They yell – or, yes, at me; blaming me for the hand that reached in through the bars of the calcium cage. They dust off the fingerprints on the sides.

“ I swear, I don’t know how they got there”.

“A thief”.

My punishment? They have stripped me of all I hold dear.

“It will remain this way.”

And so, I am held captive once again, with the added monstrosity of knowledge; upon the path to quest for the pieces. Maybe tracing back the drops of blood from the wounds over the years will lead me.

Stepping over the splatters of blood, I look down at my feet. I realize how hard it is to walk without the flesh I held so dear. Its comforting warmth would guide me and my skin would provide me with an identity. Their absence lets the blood flow on out of the cage that surround the heart shaped, diamond shaped void. I cannot recognise the path I walk on. I leave behind a larger trail, only in the opposite direction to that of the stale blood I follow. The crossroads, in these treacherous zones, hitch a ride with me to the top. A weight, or more so, a self-imposed burden. Their presence brings to notice the several trapeziums, ovoids, triangles and septagons I had, hiding under the shelter of calcium. A part of me, whatever remains, hopes to lose it all rather than return to accusations of theft and loss. Since I am burdened with each new crossroad I encounter, I learn to be kind to them.

“What’s your name?” I ask, as he squeezes between the 24 others crowding upon my spine.

“A 400 meter race”.

I remember him, but before I slip into nostalgia, he pokes at the trapezium shaped void hiding under my palm. The sting wakes me up and the remnants of my body walk on, following the red, iron drops. I drag my feet towards them, one after another as the red trail follows.

“Look up”.

My posture is such that a gentle path seems to be steep. Those pests on my spine are to blame.

“And what’s your name?” I ask him, in a manner of succumbing to my fate.

“Today”

“Don’t you act so ominous”

“I am the last of your pests, a matter of cosmological concern”

“Last?” I ask, straightening my spine. There’s nothing new on the path. I can see the trail behind me, mirrored ahead, but I don’t exist on the other side. And yet the matter of most concern ceases to be my own existence. I frantically yell at the crossroads –

“Where is the peak, the goal, the pieces, the place you all wanted to go?”

“We just wanted to be with you”, they respond, in a horror striking chorus.

“What?”

I’m confused, yet simultaneously I remember to blink, I must have forgotten to do it on my way here. Within that split second, I glitch back to the beginning, the pests still on my spine, the path remains stained red and my recently hydrated eyes stare at my skin and flesh. The proof of conviction stares back.

I try to breathe, but the holes in my lungs are too wide. As this desperate effort ends, the accusations begin, of theft and of lies. They roar about the missing trapeziums and ovoids, the triangles and the septagons; as though they only noticed these holes when I did. The scenario I feared to the extent of giving myself up for, is translating into reality. Pointing at the grand flesh and skin, I am shamed for polluting myself with the current course of events. They threaten to never give my skin and flesh back to me. A conditional clause that states a retrieval and fulfilment of all the voids hiding underneath my bones.

“It’s impossible” I cry out.

They talk over my words and pleads. The missing pieces seem to define me, not my existence in their reality. Me, I, Myself. Trapeziums, ovoids, triangles and septagons. Will they ever return to the case of the stolen heart and the lost diamond? Or was it the lost heart and the stolen diamond?

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Postscript

The above piece occured to me in the midst of a crisis of sorts. The story follows a version of me stripped of my flesh, which binds me to, and explores the depths of my 'real' self. The most prominent voids I first find are of my heart, buried inside my ribs. One must follow a skeleton, on its journey to find the missing pieces of itself. I stumble across crossroads, and these are nothing but my defining experiences, my canon events if you will. Talking to the crossroads, you will find their nuances amusing, they join me in finding the unknown that will satisfy the emptiness. I follow the blood along the path of my memories, exposing each void, until I meet the present. The present is the last of my burdens, I begin to question the purpose of the journey, and before I can process any of it, I am back to where I started.

I consider this to be one of my best metaphorical pieces. I hope my readers can appreciate the same. Perhaps I will continue to write like this, if I get the opportunity to have a similar out of body experience. Until then, thanks for reading!

:p