The War

My life turned upside down the day I returned from my long trip. 

Interrogator: "Trip? What trip? Where did you go?"

Heh, I like to call it a trip. The general public calls it "the war". Anyways, like I said, it all started the day I returned from my trip. I was weary and the wounds of the war burned through my body. I walked patiently towards my home. The moment I turned to enter my street, I caught the familiar smell of my childhood. You are probably thinking that the street was crowded with people waiting to welcome their hero from the war. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The road was as empty as ever. Our house was the only house on the street. My father, being a rich man had bought off a whole street leading to his "mansion". That man liked luxury. But both my parents had died and I had that "mansion" all to myself. I reached my home to share the stories of the war to my only friend, my only companion, my doting, beautiful lover.

Interrogator: "You lived together? How long?"

Yes, we lived together. I can't say how long. I would say a pretty long time. On my first day back, I spoke to her in length about all my bravado. She listened dutifully like any lover would. Halfway through this conversation, I broke down and started crying profusely. Yes, she was my only friend and companion now. But that had not been the case always. I had gone to war with my best friend. He died during the war and I returned alone. The death of my friend hurt me more than any physical wound on my body and I told her the same thing. I felt she was very understanding. But that's where my suspicion started. She seemed a bit too understanding.

Interrogator: Could you tell me what you mean by "too understanding"? 

Sure, I just felt that she was sympathising about my friend way more than necessary. She seemed too sad. Before we knew it, both of us were wailing out loudly with nobody to console. 

Interrogator: Perhaps she was trying to assure you that she wanted to "share" your pain? 

I thought so too. That's why I shook off the initial suspicions that I had and continued talking about other things wary not to bring up my friend's name again. It worked well, at least for the first day.

Interrogator: Okay, go on. What happened on the following days? 

The next few days were a blur. I was mostly on painkillers to heal my injuries. I remember being awake only for one or two hours each day and that would go in talking to her about random things and about my life going forward. Once I started gaining some health, we became more animated in the discussion of our future. Scratch that. I think the right sentence is - I became more animated in the discussion of our future.

Interrogator: So you felt that she did not share your enthusiasm for the future?

Yes, she somehow didn't feel like the same lover she had been before the war. She was mostly silent and the few times she talked she was quite noncommittal.

Interrogator: And what did you feel was the reason for her lack of interest?

At first I didn't really think much of it. Now when I look back at it, I should have probably confronted her immediately. She wasn't very keen on discussing anything about our future. She behaved as if she had lost something very precious. 

After a few days, I became really suspicious. I started observing her very silently. I pretended to sleep during the day just to gauge her emotions. She used to lie by my chest to give me company like a sweet darling. But she was definitely present there only physically. Her mind was flying far away somewhere. Sometimes I could hear her sob. Sometimes I could hear whisper. And whenever she whispered there was only one name and it was my best friend's.

Interrogator: So you concluded that she had been having an affair with your friend before the war? 

Yes. It seemed pretty obvious to me. She had an affair. Now she was broken by his death. I decided to confront her one day. I took her into the kitchen and pushed her with a knife near her head. 

Interrogator: Was the knife necessary?

War makes us crazy, my friend. 

Interrogator: Okay, so what did you do after that? 

I asked her. 

"Were you going out with my friend behind my back?" 

She looked horrified. I was not sure if it was because she was appalled or if it was because she was caught. 

"NO! I was not," she replied. I felt her voice was weak. She was trembling. I was sure she was trembling because she was guilty. 

Interrogator: It could also be because there was a knife next to her head

Nah. She was definitely guilty. She looked straight into my eyes. 

"I would rather die than have you doubt me darling," she told me.

"Then die. Kill yourself. I don't need someone so promiscuous," I said coldly.

She looked at me for a second as if expecting me to tell her it was all a joke and pull her into a hug. But nope, I was not into all that nonsense. I wanted her dead. 

"Here is a knife. Stab yourself," I said. 

And she did. As a dutiful, faithful lover, she took the knife and stabbed herself. I shrieked with horror. The pain was unbearable. But there was also an unexplainable pleasure watching the scene unfold before my eyes. I was finally liberated. 

*********** 

The doctor stopped the audio recording and sighed for a moment. It was horrifying every time he heard it. He turned back to see his students. They looked confused.

"But sir, I thought you were going to make us hear your best mental case," said one of the nerds with the geeky glasses. 

The doctor nodded.

"This is the best case I have," the doctor replied scanning his students. Not a single student had figured out what he was talking about. 

"A maniac who couldn't trust anyone? Big deal," replied one student. 

"Nope, that was not his issue," said the doctor.

"Well, maybe he enjoyed watching death?" one of them suggested hopefully. 

The doctor shook his head. He waited for a moment to ensure there were no other answers. He smiled.

"This patient," he paused for dramatic effect, "suffers from Alien Hand Syndrome."

"WHAT?!" There were multiple gasps from the class. 

"So that means, wait, what does that mean?" Asked one of the students. 

"It means he was in a mental state which made him believe his hands had a mind of their own. He felt they could think for themselves and talk to him," said the doctor. He looked around to ensure they appreciated the severity of the patient's situation.

"Do you hear the lover he so passionately talks about? That was his left hand," said the doctor. 

Some of the students shrieked in horror. Some of them just sat dumbfounded unable to believe the doctor's words. One of the boys in the first row looked extremely sick and disgusted.

"DAMN! It seems as if the war really traumatised him doc. Did they find out if the stress of the war affected his mind?" The nerd asked. 

The doctor looked at the nerd sombrely. 

"Well, before I mention that to you, I must mention that this patient also suffers from..." 

"He suffers from something else too?" 

"Yes. Apotemnophilia."

Except for the nerd with geeky glasses, everybody looked stumped. The nerd however almost jumped out of his desk.

"NO WAY!" He shouted. 

The doctor smiled.

"I am glad you are able to appreciate the patient's situation," he said.

"Wait. This has multiple consequences. Oh my god," said the nerd.

"Yes. And for the rest of you who seem to have trailed off, apotemnophilia is a condition in which the patient has a desire to cut off his limbs. He experiences a deep pleasure in cutting off his own limbs. He enjoys it," said the doctor.

The doctor paused for a moment before continuing. 

"This combined with the Alien Hand Syndrome gave him this clear cut agenda to cut off his left hand by portraying it as his lover who had been having an affair. Making her 'kill herself' gave him the perfect pleasure," said the doctor. 

"And the war? That friend he lost?" The nerd asked. 

"There was no war. He made it up."

"What about the friend then?"

"He made up a whole war in his mind and killed his 'friend'. His friend was his most trusted companion and his most useful tool - his right hand"