Care
I attempted here to write a story where the gender of the main two characters could be whatever the reader wanted them to be.
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It is warm here.
I am sitting on a cushion.
There is a cushion behind my back.
They are warm.
I feel sore.
There is an aching in my shoulder.
It hurts when I think about it.
It hurts a little less when I think. Not in my arm, just in general.
I do not want to know what happened. If I know what happened, it will hurt more. I will not be able to think anymore.
****
It is warm here.
I am naked. There is cool air blowing over my short fur. I am leaning slightly back in the warm, soft seat. I think it is fabric, but it might be leather. It feels smooth as my hand moves across it.
I know I have been truncated. My legs are missing below the knees. My left arm is missing after the shoulder. The stumps ache dully.
I do not want to know what happened. I want to be able to think. I keep my hand away from the stumps.
I touch my tail instead. It is long, and the fur on it is very long. It is soft.
I can move a little in the seat, but not too much. It is deep, and leaned back. There is a soft lip all the way around it. I feel very weak. I also feel tired. I roll onto my side.
****
It is warm here.
It is warm in my little seat, but there is cool air rustling my short fur. The stumps of my truncated limbs do not ache as much.
I can hear a steady rhythm from behind my cushion. I can also hear a fan, or a machine that circulates air, but it isn't very close to me, or it is very quiet.
I reach out, over the lip of my cushion. The wall is made of metal behind me. I lean forward, and there is only empty space over the front lip of the cushion. I am suspended in space. My seat is attached to a wall at the back.
It is warm, but the air is circulated.
It is quiet.
My explorations have exhausted me. I am afraid to try to crawl out of my seat, and am not sure I would be strong enough to drag my body over the lip anyway. I will go to sleep instead.
****
I am warm, and I do not ache.
I want to sleep, but something has happened. I heard a sound, a soft, pneumatic hiss, and then a click.
Now I hear steps moving close to me. They are quiet steps, in some kind of soft shoe, but I can still hear them.
because it is quiet here.
The steps have stopped near the front of my seat. I can hear slow, steady breathing. I move, trying to sit up. It speaks, (Shit! Damn, these things are creepy. What the fuck kind of person wants something like this anyway?) but I can't understand the words.
I feel a big hand push me gently back into the seat. It is wearing a thick, smooth glove. It smells like plastic, but there is also a hint of a dry, organic smell. Like hair.
I try to say something, but a kind of choking noise comes out instead. Something has been truncated in my throat. I do not think about it. I do not want to know what happened. I want to be able to think.
I smell something else. It smells like fruit and a little like milk. A rubber spoon is pushed very gently against my nose. Whatever smells like fruit and milk is on it. I open my mouth and taste the fruity, milky mush. I like the flavor. Before now, I didn't think about being hungry.
Whenever I open my mouth, another spoon of mush is put in it. I eat as much as I want. It is very wet, and tastes very good.
There are more Big Words I can't understand (Fuck, this thing is gross. Will you hurry up and finish eating? At least it didn't spill any of this shit), and then the steps recede, and the door closes again.
I try to wait, to see if something will happen. My mind starts to wander.
Pneumatic...
Plastic...
I try not to think about it. I feel so tired.
****
I am suddenly awake.
There are several people in the room with me. I smell them. There is a strong smell of antiseptic and starch, but not from all of them. At least one smells like deodorant and shampoo, hair or fur and clean skin. Their Big Words wash over me and I do not understand them. I try to figure out how many there are.
(...think we can put it on the floor yet?)
This voice is feminine and clipped.
(Bacterial mixture is right. Nutrient intake is pretty exactly balanced with the energy use.)
This voice is relaxed and deep.
(There is no sign at all of any sort of memory problems or self harm issues. Surgeries and treatments all look totally fine. The neural scarring has been exceptionally effective. Its behaviors every day are almost identical, like it forgets everything that happened the day before.)
This voice is feminine as well, breathy. It is smooth. It sounds happy.
(Is that a problem? It isn't supposed to be completely burned out.)
The first voice again. I think this one smells like shampoo and clean.
(Oh, no. Not a problem. It seems to mostly remember new stimuli and environemental changes. Capacity for learning should be fine.)
The last voice again. I think this one smells like antiseptic. I reach out toward her. Her voice is soothing.
(Well, I wouldn't say fine)
The second voice. He laughs after speaking. Antiseptic as well, but not as thorough as the breathy voice. He still has a smell of fur and skin.
(You know what I mean. Anyway, it should be fine for voice recognition and stuff like that. The post op meds don't help with memory and crap like that either. It should be fine. See? Its moving around, looks pretty active.)
Breathy. I want to touch her.
(Well, whatever. The more of these that go on the floor instead of in the incinerator, the better.)
Clipped.
I feel a big hand gently rubbing my head, idly playing with my ears. I push my forehead against the palm, reach up and hold the wrist with my weak little arm. There is a unique, organic scent, even under all of that sterility. The blunted ends of claws and rough finger and palm pads muss with my fur. I do not bother listening to the words anymore. Nothing matters but this contact.
After a time, the conversation seems to be over. I feel myself being lifted, held gently up to a soft bosom. There is stiff fabric against my cheek and side. Then, we are moving.
I hear the hiss and click of the doors as we pass. I hear the steady breathing and heartbeat of my bearer, the slow, rhythmic motion of her steps. There are many voices here. Voices all around me, all talking in Big Words. All kinds of smells. Mostly people and cleaners, but other smells too. Coffee, cigarettes, deodorants, smells and noise and wind when people pass and wind from overhead vents or fans.
I am not afraid. I feel calm, safe. I am held. I am touching someone who pets me as she walks. Safe.
I am being set down again, in another seat. This one is in a noisy room, full of smells. Almost as many voices and smells as the whole long walk to get here.
I almost resist as my carrier moves away, but it seems like I have been awake for a very long time, and even with all of the noise, I feel very tired.
****
I wake up and rub my ey... face. Big Words are being spoken very near me.
(Oh no, they don't get any bigger than this. Its really the perfect way to deal with this sort of person anyway. They don't remember anything, and you get a unique pet.)
A male voice, fast and forceful. He smells like cigarettes and cologne.
(Well, I'm just not sure. Weren't they dangerous?)
A nervous voice. I can't tell exactly what gender. It is standing too far away, and there are far too many smells for me to single it out.
(How can something like this be dangerous? The best part is, you can do whatever you want to it! It isn't even considered to be a person anymore. Really, its the ultimate status symbol.)
(I don't know, I can't decide if it is gross or cute. If it still had eyes...)
(Well, all part of the process, unfortunately)
I stop paying attention.
It continues to be very busy around me. I can hear the cologne voice move closer and further away. I can smell or hear other Big People move close to me, move away.
At one point, everything becomes very quiet and I am fed.
I hear other sounds, like the sound I made that I try not to think about, coming from either side of me.
I am not alone here.
Soon, it is noisy again.
More of the same, more of the same, until I am tired of all of the noise and movement and smells, and I only want to sleep.
****
Things become blurry.
From the time I wake, until I sleep again, it is the same.
There is noise, and talking, and my own people
(whatever we are)
mewling.
The Big People approach, and sometimes touch me, or I reach out to them.
Often they recoil.
Same
same
same.
I still do not think about my truncations, about the references that I have, that float around in my head without a context.
I do not want to feel that pain.
But all of this sameness,
How can I help but think about these things?
Just out of boredom?
I wish I could sleep more.
****
A Big hand is stroking my back.
I am holding my own tail, curled in a ball.
The Big People are speaking very quietly, and it is very quiet around me.
I feel very tired.
I have not been asleep for long.
I smell antiseptic from nearby, but not from the hand.
It is very dry, with slender fingers.
It only smells like skin, like fur. There is no other scent but the Person's scent.
Its whispers are throaty, talking to the male who smells like antiseptic and whispers back.
(Have you made your decision?)
Antiseptic.
(Last question, how long?)
Throaty.
(Oh, they can last for up to eight or nine years.)
Antiseptic, relaxed.
(Reasonably?)
Throaty whispers, sounding calm. I am glad its hand is on me. Moving slowly, making me feel calm. I pretend to still sleep. Their words, quiet whispers instead of the normal loud talking, seem to flow in with each other. Normally, the smelly one who is next to me all the time is forceful, and the one he or she is speaking to is usually resisting.
(Well, three to five years. Its really pretty variable. All the procedures, you understand, don't exactly invite longevity in the subjects.)
Not these two. They are just talking quietly together. Nothing important.
The throaty whisperer makes a little noncommittal noise, and its slow pets become barest barest touches. As I am drifting off to sleep once more, I reach out, grasping its slender wrist with my weak fingers. Soft. Its fur is soft.
The whisperer's hand becomes very still, but does not pull away. I hear a low, long sigh, followed by more Big Words.
(Fine. Buying it now. Food, whatever else.)
Its other hand slides underneath my body, and I feel myself lifted gently into the air.
The hands are long and bony. Each finger is dexterous and strong.
I am being moved, swaying from side to side as the whisperer walks. I am not held to its bosom, but out, in front of it. A long, silky sleeve is draped over me from the arm that I am holding.
The Big People begin talking again, but I am too tired and contented to care.
****
I am thinking about my life.
There is bliss here, and contentment.
I am kept in a deep, soft bed. If I reach all the way up with my arm, I still only feel pillow.
When I wake up, Throaty Whispers lifts me up with its, long, slender fingers. I have only learned a few things about my bliss, my Keeper. It wears long silk robes with many layers, and a silk mask over its narrow muzzle.
We go out into the garden where I am fed. The garden is my favorite. I am set on a mossy stone.
All around me there are such smells! Flowers and damp earth, water, cool, crisp air. There are such sounds! The little stream that runs through bubbles and seems to laugh. The insects chitter and buzz around me. The wind rustles through the grass, plays with the leaves on the trees. Sometimes, I hear birds singing.
Even what I feel is amazing. The textures of the moss and grass, the water, the smooth stones and the earth itself.
After I am fed, I am moved to various places around the garden as my Keeper writes. Sometimes I can hear that soothing voice speak to others. Whatever they talk about isn't important to me.
When it is raining, we go out onto the porch that I imagine surrounds the garden. I love to hear the rain pour down around me and smell its unique smell. I love to hear it drip from the leaves after the storm has spent its energy, and hear the small living things reemerge into the world.
Contentment.
We return inside after some time. It is cool, and the floors are mostly wooden, and the house is elevated on posts. I know because we have to go down several stairs to enter the garden. This makes it easy to hear the heavy footsteps of my Keeper's servants as they move around the house.
My Bliss writes and sips its strong tea for most of the day. It takes many calls, and sometimes receives guests. I am always there. Always a part of my bliss. Sometimes they touch me, but sometimes I hear discomfort at my presence in their voices. I am indifferent in either case. I am awash in contentedness.
Wherever we go inside the house, there is always a cushion to set me on, near my Keeper's side. I stay very still, as long as I can hold on to my Keeper's finger, or maybe just a handful of silk robe.
I usually sleep for parts of the day.
I am placed in by deep bed again later on, or I fall asleep and just wake up there the next morning.
Sometimes, my Bliss puts different things in my hand, and repeats the same Big Words.
It is hard for me. There is a pain, when I try to understand the Big Words, and part of me does not want to learn what they say around me. Words cannot improve my perfect happiness. Confusion. All that would bring is confusion. There is also a fear inside of me, that thinking too much will give me a worse pain, and make it hard for me to understand things, to ruin more of my thinking. Even this abstraction makes a kind of pain for me.
Even still, if this is what my Bliss wants for me, if this simple thing is all my Bliss wants in exchange for the contentment and perfection of my life, then I do not care. It is a small thing for me to try.
****
It is difficult, but I learn more every day. Most of what the Big People say is irrelevant to me. Either I do not know what their words mean, or even this knowledge does not help me to understand what they say. What they say is never important anyway- only my Keeper holds my attention.
I understand that not everyone understands my Bliss the way I do. Some of the fear and discomfort I had assumed is not for me, but for my Bliss.
I have been given a name, Murrah. Even though I have just one name, my Keeper has many. When the servants announce my Keeper, they say "Shafaquat al-Gamal ar-Rashidi," but almost everyone calls it "al-Gamal." There is one man, though, a man named "Amir al-Azhar" or just "Amir" or "Your Grace" who calls my Bliss just "Shafaquat." His voice is high, and he smells like spices and cologne. Everyone is afraid of him.
Everyone here swims in a thick sea of fear and discomfort, but I am immune to it.
They fear my Bliss, they fear Your Grace, they fear me as well. I can hear it even when I do not understand their words in the tone of their voices, in the way they shuffle and pray that their attempts at silence are successful.
What must it be like to so strongly fear those around you?
I had never noticed all the fear before because the fear cannot touch me. Why would I fear my Bliss? How could I fear myself? Even Your Grace holds no fear for me. My Bliss is not afraid of him, only deferring and cautious. If my Bliss is not afraid, I have no reason to fear.
****
My life progresses and I learn more and more. Even though the days are much the same, I do not feel boredom because instead my life is as it should be. Although I do not need Big Words, I learn them. I know now that the servants must bow to me and make deference, just as they do to my Bliss. I know they are repulsed by me, but their fear makes them bow and whisper. I have learned to wave my arm imperiously when I hear them bow. Some of my Bliss's guests find my high class amusing, but they are warned to be most respectful, and their mirth becomes mixed with confusion. My Bliss never laughs. They cannot tell just how serious they are meant to take me.
My Bliss enjoys my classy gestures and the fact that I point my face at those who speak. I fold my hand in my lap and nod my head solemnly. I have learned that my face holds power: Whoever I look at becomes instantly offput and uneasy. They are stripped of their suave lies or slick demeanor. It makes it more difficult for them to cause trouble for my Bliss.
I know that my Bliss also makes everyone uncomfortable. I do not know what they fear, but I feel good to know that I enhance that power; that I am an extension of my Bliss and that I bring my keeper happiness. This power, this discomfort is what my keeper uses to grow wealthy and strong. It is a weapon and a shield that is wielded with the utmost skill. Even without my presence, I know that my Bliss was very rarely lied to. When they speak of the compassion and understanding of al-Gamal, I think they mean exactly the opposite.
I hear other people rave and shout and threaten their servants, even strike them. They create their fear crudely. My Bliss always speaks in the same calm throaty whisper and says only what is necessary. Every word and gesture, just my keeper's presence, instills fear. It is a delicate, skillfully wielded scalpel of fear that incises the very soul of those on whom it is used instead of merely bruising their skin.
Although learning the Big Words has made my life more complicated, it also allows me to be of use to my Bliss, and so I do not regret learning or wish for the simpler days of my ocean of contentedness.
****
"Murrah."
I wake and know I have not been asleep for long. I hear silks rustle, feel myself lifted by long, delicate hands.
We move quietly through the halls. I hear crickets chirping in the garden outside.
A door is closed behind us. The window is open, the cool night air rustles my fur. I am laid on a huge, soft bed.
I hear the slithery sounds of silk rapidly sliding over silk.
"Reach up."
There is something strange in my Bliss's voice. Something heavy.
I cautiously reach toward that voice.
I feel warm breath. My fingers touch the rough skin of a nose. The breathing catches.
The face is lowered down to me, inviting me to explore it with my hand.
I move my hand down the front of a long muzzle. The fur is thin and silky. Like the mask.
I feel the corner of a lip. It is barely damp from hot exhalations. I move my hand along it.
There is a split running up the side of the muzzle. I can feel gums and damp teeth. I continue, up and over the muzzle, down its length.
There are hairless knots of scar tissue. The skin is thin when I press down. I feel bone. I feel teeth through the thin, sunken skin of the cheeks.
More twisted knots of scar. Little whorls of smooth, bald flesh.
My Bliss leans further toward me. I feel the thicker fur off the sides of the cheek and around the neck. I catch the end of a scar and follow it down and around.
It loops over the whole front of the neck, almost down to the collarbone.
I continue to reverantly explore this new terrain. I knew my Bliss was made for me; this holy asymetrical vista of shapes and textures.
I touch and press, trace scars and gently pet fur. My ears buzz with the drop of ambrosia laid on the spirit of my tongue. I have never felt something so engaging.
"Now, Murrah, you know. This is why I am masked. This is why I am al-Gamal, which means 'The Beautiful.' I have taken my deformed face, my skeletal body, my mangled throat. These things are my birthright. I have taken them, and made them into my weapon. I have wielded them against this world and carved wealth from its bleeding flanks. At first I hoped that wealth and power could change a look of horror to something else when my mask is lifted, but in this world it simply is not possible.
But then, Murrah, I found in you a kindred spirit. In these past three years I have welded my soul to yours."
The voice cracks. My Bliss has already spoken for too long; I know it becomes painful.
"You have been given language to hear these words, and love me nonetheless."
The last syllables are a strained croak, but this does not matter to me. How could I do otherwise?
I lift up my tiny broken face, my empty eyes, my useless mouth. I press my lips against those uneven lips above me and feel a hot tongue inside my mouth.
As our breath mixes I try to lift myself up and wine as I fail. My skin tingles and heat washed through me like a heartbeat, like a tide.
I feel the soft fur and smooth skin, the twisted flesh and bone of my Bliss press down against my body.
Heat washes over me and the breath of my Bliss comes out in rough gasps. Our mouths still locked together, long fingers grip the back of my head, hold me up to the sacred body of my Bliss.
I buzz and tingle, I feel a heat radiating from us.
I am dizzy, I mewl into that mouth attached to mine. I thrash my hips against the air.
Then we are pressed together there as well. Locked together in sweat and buzzing nerves, slippery genitals rubbing against one another, our faces separate as our random thrashing joins us there.
Those bony fingers push my face against skin barely covering bony ribs. I find a nipple and cling to it, hear the harsh rasping growl of pleasure, grip the other with my tiny hand.
We jerk and moan and howl with scarred and quiet voices as the cool wind and the crickets and the night sublimate into the electric pleasure of our bodies.
Until everything is consumed in a wet, white flash.
I cannot speak, but we do not need words.
We are united in beauty.