An Arm and a Leg

They stare at me.

It’s unsettling, their gazes. I walk slowly through the small dilapidated town, my eyes focused on the dirt road, glancing up occasionally to see if their eyes remain transfixed on my image.

They still are. All of them.

Even more unsettling are their bodies.

Every single villager retains only three limbs. Two arms and a leg or one arm and two legs. Something missing from every one of them.

When I first arrived here, to this strange place––when my car broke down after hours upon hours of driving aimlessly––I saw a woman with one arm. Not unusual. But then, there was a man… and then a child… and then a baby… all with only three limbs.

And, still, they stare.

So, yes. It’s all very unsettling.

“Breathe. Breathe.” I repeat the word softly to myself, pushing my hair away from my face and brushing sweat from my brow. I see a young boy leaning against a stained fence, crossing his arms. He reaches up and whispers something to an older woman standing next to him. She must be his mother; they have a peculiar likeness. Something in their noses. She stares at me with hard blue eyes, using her one arm to hold her son beside her. The boy’s face is smothered in dirt and grime, and he’s missing a leg. I quickly turn away, back to the path that leads to what looks like an abandoned gas station.

At least, I’m praying that it is not abandoned. Or else I may never be able to leave.

I approach the building. There seems to be only one pump outside the station, and it looks rusted and dirty. But, perhaps, promising. I walk through the doors, a bell jangling as I do, to find the owner––or, hopefully, a single soul in this town that won’t stare at me with unsettling eyes.

To my relief, the man behind the counter smiles at me. And, to my further surprise, both his arms are stuck to his shoulders––and both his legs are visible. He has dark salt-and-pepper hair and a five o’clock shadow. One of his ears is pierced with a small diamond. And around his neck sits a thick necklace with a pendant of a cross, though I can’t be sure of the shape; it seems to be broken. The left side of the cross is missing. 

I exhale deeply, my heart finally slowing. “Um. Hello. Hi. I’m sorry to bother you. My car broke down, about a quarter of a mile away.”

“Oh, dear,” he says, shaking his head in dismay. His voice is deep, but oddly cheerful. “That’s not good. Especially out here, in the middle of this rubbish. I’m surprised you even made it this far.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I have no idea how I’m going to get back to… never mind. Would you know anyone––or would you, perhaps––want to take a look at it? I’m no good with this type of stuff, unfortunately. I know, I know––it’s bad. I should’ve spent more time taking care of it. You just never think bad things are going to happen to you until they do, you know?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I know. I’d be happy to take a look.”

“Really? Wow. Thank you so much!” I smile at him. “You have no idea how helpful that would be. I might actually be able to get home, now.”

“You very well might,” he says, grinning. “Just stay here, okay?”

“Oh,” I say in surprise. “You… you don’t want me to come with you? I probably should, to see what you’re doing. And learn from you.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “You’re welcome to come, or you’re welcome to relax here, in the air conditioning. It might be the only working air conditioning east of the Big Bang.”

I knit my eyebrows together. “The Big Bang?”

“Oh, yes. It’s what we country folks call what happened over on the west coast. That explosion.”

“Ah. The nuclear attack.”

“Yup. Lucky we missed it.” He gestures to the food rack, which is full of chips and steamed buns and sandwiches. “Have a hotdog. It’s on me.” He smiles, showing a hint of a golden tooth I didn’t notice before.

“Oh… really?” I hesitate, looking back at the sliver of my car visible through the glass doors.

But, it is cool and refreshing in here… and the food smells wonderful… my stomach gurgles angrily…

“My pleasure. Really.”

“Alright.” I smile at him. “If you insist.”

“I do. Here, drink this––it’s some water, to go with the hotdog.”

“Thank you. Seriously. You’re so generous. I didn’t know if generosity could even be found in this world anymore.” I take a sip. The water is cold and refreshing against my throat, and I groan in delight. “Wow. This is wonderful. This is… is…”

The edges of my vision begin to blur.

The room grows dark.

I am cold.

Freezing.

Everything fades to nothingness.

///

There’s a smell.

Wake up.

It’s strong. Something… something flowery... and sweet...

Wake up.

I slowly open my eyes.

My wrists hurt. I notice the pain immediately. I try to stretch them as I open my eyes, but they’re unmoving, immobile––tied to the back of… back of what?

Ah. I’m seated in a wooden chair. My hands are tied behind me.

It is dark as I open my eyes. At first, it’s blurry. But, slowly, my vision clears. The darkness is pervasive, even as my eyes grow accustomed to the scene around me.

I'm sitting on a chair in a small bedroom. There's a cot in the corner, with a thick blanket ruffled on clean white sheets. A warm light overhead flickers gently; I'm surprised to see working electricity. A large desk sits in the corner with beautiful, dark wood. There's a vase full of large white lilies sitting atop the surface. And sitting at the desk in a cushioned chair is the man from the gas station. He's scribbling something in what looks like a journal, his legs crossed casually. His diamond earring glints in the light.

Slowly, I try to wiggle my hands.

"I wouldn't do that. Not unless you want your hands."

I freeze.

The man glances up from his journal, meeting my eyes. He smiles. "Better."

I open my mouth, summoning the courage to scream for any soul that might save me.

"I wouldn't do that, either." The man leans back in his chair, fiddling with the pencil in his hands. "No use. They're loyal to me. The villagers."

My mouth shuts with a snap.

He looks at me. Measures me. "What's your name?"

I say nothing.

He sighs. "Look. We can do this the hard way, or the easy way." He moves quicker than I can comprehend; suddenly, there's a long, silver dagger in his hands. The hilt is elaborate, with a red jewel at the base. "I'm going to ask you again. What's your name?"

"What's yours?" I ask. My voice sounds much smaller than I anticipated––a squeak. I clear my throat. "I think I probably deserve to know, being tied up to your chair and all."

"A sense of humor. My type of girl." He smiles crookedly. "I go by many names here. They're quite a lot to keep track of."

"Then tell me one."

"Alright." He leans forward, setting the knife down on the desk. He rests his elbows on his knees. "All."

I stare at him. "All what?"

"No. That is my name. One of them, anyways. All."

"All."

"Yes. I am All. I am everything. I simply, am." He leans back, stretching his arms before him. "I am All and All is everything."

"You think you're a god. You're their... their leader."

"No." He flashes another smile. "They think I am God. They think I am the only God."

"How?" I shake my head, trying to make sense of everything while also trying to calm my trembling hands wrapped behind me. "How did you... brainwash them?"

"I prefer the word 'love', if we're being honest here. People will do anything once they find something––some person or some community––to be loyal to. Humans desire to be included, to be loved, to be accepted. It is their purpose."

"That's quite a stretch."

"Is it?" He cocks his head. "I have known humans to do treacherous, unspeakable things. To themselves and to others. All to be included, to be appreciated. Especially now. When there is nothing in the world––when there is death and terror all around us––humans will do anything to continue living."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" He holds up his cross. The broken necklace. "The radiation from the nuclear blast resulted in hundreds of thousands of deformities in the forthcoming generation. A nuclear blast set off by our own people. By civil war. A human war. That is treacherous, is it not?" He drops the necklace against his neck. "As I built my community, I simply treated those who experienced the most harm. They're alive because of me."

I stare at him, realization slowly dawning upon me. "You cut off their limbs. That's why all the villagers only have three limbs."

"I cut off their mutated limbs. And I treated them. The people here––those I have saved––are all those who had deformed limbs caused by the radiation. They were weak, and sick, and helpless. I made them strong, and healthy, and loved. I would never result to taking a healthy limb for the sake of leadership." He wrinkles his nose. "That would be... barbaric, for lack of a better word. And I am no barbarian." He scoffs as he says the word.

"You're crazy."

"Perhaps. If saving lives and bringing them to a place of peace and harmony is crazy, then so be it."

"You brought them to lead them. To dictate them. You said it yourself; they think you're a god. The God."

He shrugs. "I didn't suggest it. They did. As time went on, as I built my community, they began to pray for me. The prayed for me to find others and to save their families. So I did. And so they began to pray to me, rather than for me. I gave them hope. I gave them life." He looks at me. "And I can give you life."

Rage. I feel rage. "No. I will not be part of this little... this cult. Is that why you tied me up? To convince me? You think threatening my life is going to make me stay here? If you're the God you think you are, you would let me go. I already have a life. Let me get back to it."

He sighs. "I didn't tie you up to threaten your life. And I never would have hurt you. Actually, if you wiggle your hands, you can easily undo the rope. I didn't even tie it on tight."

I quickly wiggle my hands. The rope falls free. I stare at my wrists, massaging them. I tense my legs, ready to sprint to the door and wrench it open; the man seems to sense my desire.

He gestures to the door. "You are free to go. But, I ask that you simply listen to what I have to say. Can you do that?"

I snort. But, to my surprise, I can't seem to move. I can't make myself walk away. I just sit there, massaging my wrists over and over again, staring at the door. Finally, I stiffly turn toward him. He smiles.

"I apologize for this, I suppose, lack of hospitality. The drink I gave you was a very mild sedative. It actually put you to sleep for a good several hours. I thought you may have needed it." He shrugs. I scowl, unsure of how to respond. He continues. "I have had visitors threaten my people, threaten me. They do not understand what I have accomplished here. So, I had to presume you a threat. Can you really blame me?"

I look away. My muscles tense. My eyes flicker to the door.

"That car you have. It's quite worn down. You've driven, what, hundreds of miles? Thousands? Where are you traveling to?"

Finally, I meet his gaze. He's looking at me curiously, the knife still on the desk. He sees me looking at the knife, grabs it, and tosses it to me.

I gasp, releasing a shriek. I throw my hands across my face to shield me from the blade. To my surprise, I feel something thunk against my arm and then fall to my lap. I open my eyes. It's the knife. It's... plastic.

"See? Harmless." He holds up his hands. "Now. Back to your car. Where are you headed?"

"I..." words fail me. "I was just driving. Home."

"You don't have a home."

"You don't know anything." I blurt the words and look away. "I have a home."

"Destroyed by the radiation, I presume."

I say nothing.

"Ah. I see," he says softly. He suddenly scoots forward, until his face is mere inches away. I recoil, but can't move far; instead, I look to the bed, ignoring his gaze. "You could have a family here. Peace. You no longer have to drive without purpose, moving through this destroyed world with no end in sight. You can stay here."

I snort, finally turning back to him. "So, what? You'd just untie me and let me live peacefully in this perfect little village? Praying to you? Worshipping you? Treating you like some deity?"

"Yes, I would," he says simply. "Although you certainly don't have to worship me. That is up to you. But I think that, over time, you will come to understand me. Maybe even to appreciate me."

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. He sits in his chair, hands folded in his lap.

"You have been traveling a long while," he says quietly. "Perhaps longer than some of my people have been alive. I can see that you are exhausted. So, I ask that you simply rest. This room is not much, but it is a place to think. You are welcome to leave. But if you want to stop running, to stop traveling, to stop hiding––to rest and to find peace––you are welcome to stay here."

He stands up, smiles at me, and opens the door. He closes it softly behind him before I can say anything.

I stare at the door for a long while. I rise to my feet. And I walk to the bed, collapse on the covers, and fall asleep.