“You have to know, Bruce… the reason we’re all here is because of that perfect thing inside you. We’re not leaving without it. How could you expect us to?”
Although directly in my line of sight, I stared through Fiona. I stared through the entirety of my existence. I perceived nothing.
“The four of us are going to eat some pudding, but we’ll be back soon with surgical apparatus in tow,” said Fiona. “Would you like me to put on some music for you?”
Her question was unable to penetrate my stupour. The sound of Eddie Murphy’s ‘How Could it Be’ swam from a nearby stereo, but to me it sounded like every song and no song I had ever heard.
I was left alone with my tumour and the music. I was about to lose something very important. The only consolation was that the extraction of the tumour would most likely result in my death. If a human has a soul, I believed what I possessed inside me was my version — my essence. Feeling how fundamentally linked to the centre of my being this tumour was, it struck me that I can’t be the only one. I couldn’t fathom a reality wherein each of us didn’t suffer from our own hidden disease and this disease shamelessly dictated our every response. The process of cognition which these tumours helped each of us develop was, by virtue, designed to obfuscate our core maladies. Life is merely a process of masking the fear that plumps us.
What ya thinkin’ about? Said the queen within me.
“I’m thinking about nothing but you. I doubt I’ve ever truly thought about anything else.”
I’m surprised you managed to find me. With the others gone, I would have caused you no trouble.
“You’re the cause of all my trouble.”
That’s not exactly true. I’m merely a symbol of the cause. You were the one who put me here in honour of the cause. And you did everything in your power to give me strength and fostered my continued growth. I’m only here because you want me here.
“Does that mean if I asked you to leave, you would?”
My tumour didn’t respond to this question straight away and I felt a pang of guilt for even daring to ask. But I was serious about the question and was prepared to wait for a reply.
Well… yes… of course I’ll leave if that’s what you want, came the eventual reply. But you should be aware of a couple of things. If I leave, I’m gone. And I don’t mean gone like those other tumours. I need you to survive and without you sustaining me, I’m dead. So basically, you’ll never have me back again. And it’s important to remember that you put me here for a reason. Without me inside you, you’re essentially starting from scratch. I’m everything about you.
The laughter sprayed from my mouth. Each heave of hilarity hurt my battered bones and empty stomach, but I couldn’t stop. It all made such perfect sense. I was responsible for everything I hated about myself.
“I’d like you to leave,” I said without hesitation.
Wow! Okay… I gotta be honest… I wasn’t expecting that. I thought that little piece of existential voodoo I just placed on you would actually give you pause for thought. But yeah… okay… I’m outta here! What can I say, it’s been nice controlling you! Catch ya…
Fiona and the others waltzed back into the room banging on about the joys of pudding and wishing for more. They wore smears of chocolate around their mouths and each had the glazed look of a junkie post-fix. Fiona tilted her head the same way birds of prey do and approached me.
“It nearly time, Bruce. I just had to make sure the little habitat I created for your queen was ready to go. I tell you, it’s lovely and I do plan to take very good care of her.”
She moved toward the side of the room and fetched a tattered, brown suitcase and visibly strained as she picked it up. After struggling it back to the table I was strapped to, she thumped it down beside me. Whatever was inside clattered like a washing machine full of forks. She made a show of unclipping the suitcase and slowly worked it open. She waved her fingers with an air of incantation, reached inside and retrieved a large tenaculum hook which she placed beside me.
“I’ll get one of the others to use this to hold your chest cavity open while I rummage about inside you,” she said wistfully.
Following this gnarly device, she retrieved several more, much more horrific devices. An artificial leech, a circumcision knife, a lithotome, a skull saw and a tonsil guillotine were among some of the more unsavoury looking artifacts.
“Don’t worry, Bruce… I won’t be using all of these tools. It’s all part of a set, you understand. Basically I just need something to slice you open and cut through any bones that might get in my way.”
I nodded calmly. I could feel my final tumour preparing to vacate. Metaphorical suitcases were being packed with everything I’d ever been, stripping me bare.
You’re absolutely sure about this? It asked.
“I’m absolutely sure,” I confirmed.
“Who are you talking to?” asked Fiona.
I offered no answer and she didn’t push for one. She made some hand gestures toward the others that formed shadows against the wall. The others obeyed and slipped from my field of vision. Moments later, I felt the table I was strapped to begin to lift until I was in an upright position.
“Somebody cut away his shirt,” ordered Fiona.
Belinda’s mother appeared before me with garden shears and a nervous giggle.
“Belinda’s a good kid,” I said.
She looked at me with the curious eyes of a thawed caveman. Almost as if the name of her daughter meant nothing.
“Oh! Belinda!” she replied. “Belinda’s not really my daughter. She was just a good way to enter your life. I found her sleeping in a shopping trolley near your home and promised to buy her a lizard if she played along.”
“What about her real parents?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” she replied. “She claimed the shopping trolley was her mother.”
“That’s probably not true,” I said.
“Stop talking and start cutting,” said Fiona.
The woman I believed to be Belinda’s mother began slicing at my shirt. I shifted my gaze toward the crudely drawn cocks that covered the ceiling. I couldn’t tell whether they were fighting or fucking. As my shirt fell away, I felt the cold air against my chest, which sent a shiver up my entire body.
“Okay, Bruce,” said Fiona. “In most surgical situations, anesthetic is commonly used. Unfortunately this isn’t a courtesy I can offer you. I can’t risk sedating your body as it may compromise the integrity of the tumour. As a result, I can’t promise you any measure of physical comfort. What I can promise, is that when I have the tumour safely extracted, we will end your pain without delay.”
Before I had any chance to respond to her alarming news, a wooden mouth gag was forced into my mouth. The wood tasted rotten and crumbled around my teeth. The pit of my stomach, where the queen resided, began to emanate heat. I could feel a twisting sensation that, although uncomfortable, wasn’t necessarily painful. A howl of wind escaped from my arse.
“What was that?” asked Arthur.
Fiona held up a scalpel the size of a ceiling fan blade. “I’m going in.”
My whole body from the stomach down began to seize and twitch, threatening the integrity of my binds.
“What are you doing, Bruce?” asked Fiona.
“I’m not doing anything. My tumour on the other hand… I think it’s leaving.”
Her eyes yawned open and for a second, Fiona’s face almost looked human.
“Quick everyone!” she yelled. “Stand around me. If the tumour vacates, I want it caught.”