He tried to sleep face up, face down, butt up or sitting down, nursing his cheeks and shaking his head, bearing the surges of unforgiving pain. “It huuuuurts . . . fuuuuuck! Fuuuuuck. Ahhhhh . . . fuuuuuck,” he cursed the pain in his mouth. Sometimes in yelps, sometimes in hushed squeaks like those of a mouse.
After several days—the fifteenth since the torture first appeared as a simple throb—he decided to put an end to his suffering. His hands were shaking as he took the hammer from the back room. But with a sigh of relief he breathed his last. Four days later one of his neighbors, a little boy who loved the old man’s lewd, vermilion fairytales, found him sprawled on the floor with maggots crawling over his forehead.
A group of villagers ditched his body in a ravine behind the hills. Whispers were heard and fear began to spread. People worried that he might turn into a ghoul. A long time ago, a man had killed himself and then turned into a giant rat gnome. One woman, however, was brave enough to enter the house to do some cleaning, including getting rid of the fallen teeth and small red pools of congealed blood. She put them in a black plastic bag and tossed them in the garbage bin. Except for a mangy white cat with a black spot on its forehead, no one knew that in the middle of the night all those bits of teeth and skull and blood in the black plastic bag would turn into a creature that had never existed before. The starving cat scraped the plastic bag and tore it apart. The insides spread out and merged with a used condom, kale roots, dark soil, four cigarette butts, and a piece of carrot.
The carrot was there because yesterday it had fallen from the shattered, scarlet skies. The base was rotten so it could not be used to complement a bowl of baby soup that was cooked by the witches in an abandoned attic. The four cigarette butts came from four different lips: a lowly clerk; a pregnant prostitute; a mentally disabled person who was forced by a gang of thugs to smoke and later masturbate with the aid of Afitson hot balm; and a beautiful girl with rotten teeth. The kale roots were thrown by an old woman who lived fifteen blocks away—a housekeeper who was told to cook a vegetable dish sprinkled with just enough arsenic for the lunch of a young lady’s stepson. And lastly, the yellowish, used condom filled with thick liquid was stacked at the corner of the garbage bin. It was tossed just a half hour ago by a motorcycle taxi driver who had just satisfied his throbbing penis inside a transvestite’s arsehole in the dimness of a narrow and muddy alley.
*
The round moon shone its foul light on the damp and putrid-smelling town as the night sighed silently. Its gleam fell dead on the garden of rooftops black with grime. The wind blew rhythmically and ominously, shaking walls and doors. People turned over and over in their sleep. There were neither sweet dreams nor wet dreams. All they had was a dream of a hideous creature creeping away in the dark. Its steps were unsteady as it climbed the stairs inside a dim house. Its voice stuttered, a silent cry that constantly floated and sank in its throat, faint, but just enough to wake a blind old woman from her bright sleep, until she sat on her cold, creaking bed.
“Who’s there?” asked the woman, whose name was Osirrah. She felt someone was at the threshold of her door, yet the only answer she got was merely a sob in the shadows. The creature wanted to say something, but it didn’t have a mouth to speak even if it wanted to, although it had an eye at each end of the two cigarette butts that were its hands. It walked forward and the two cigarette butts that were its legs tripped on something; it hurts, said its simple mind.
“Oh do be careful. There’s a nail over there,” said the old woman.
Ah, the creature got an idea—a simple one, of course. It thrust the upper part of its carrot body forward until it was embedded on the head of the nail that jutted out from the wooden floor. It lifted its body, and from the gaping hole that was formed, out came a loud cry. The woman hurriedly—albeit slowly, considering her age—got out of her bed and approached the source of the scream. Her unused eyes had made her ears so sensitive she could hear where the creature was. At first she thought whoever that crying person was, they must’ve been sitting down or squatting or lying facedown or lying on their back. The creature’s body was short, you see, as short as an average carrot. After holding the vegetable roots that were its hair, the teeth that were its jagged back, and its mucous condom shirt, the old lady realized that she was facing something from her recent dream.
Yes, she could see in her dreams, because she wasn’t born blind. She still kept the images of things she had seen before she turned fifteen, when she tripped on a slippery floor and her eyes were sliced by shards of glass. Ancient images often blended with her imaginings, showcasing stories that usually began with melting walls and ended with drips of white foam. Now one of the creatures from her dreams had materialized in this tangible world. She took the creature in her hands, shook it, and said, “Ssh, ssh, don’t cry, dear. I’m here. Your mother is near. I never knew my dream would come true for me. You’re a boy born from the quiet-world, so I shall name you Floccinaucinihilipilificatius, or Flocci for short.”
*
Blind granny Osirrah had a thirty-year-old daughter called September. People were convinced September had a mental illness because she always laughed. Even when she was asleep, she would still guffaw, loudly or softly. To her, the world was a cheerful and happy place so her mouth, eyes, and body language wouldn’t show any other expressions but different kinds of smiles, giggles or laughter. Although she was not supposed to like the children who always jeered and threw things at her while she was on the streets or shopping, she was still happy when pebbles tore her cheeks while the children shouted, “Crazy Ember, Crazy Ember!”
September laughed uproariously until tears streamed down her face when she first saw Flocci. Osirrah and Flocci eventually joined in. Osirrah then said, “This is Flocci, September. He is staying with us. I will educate him and you have to treat him with care just as I have never raised my voice at you, been angry at you, or hurt you the tiniest bit. All these times you’ve been lonely without any siblings and friends, so consider him like your own brother. Live together in harmony, even after I’m gone.”
September’s eyes shone brightly. She took Flocci from her mother’s side and brought it to the dishwasher’s basin. She turned on the tap, and cheerfully she bathed Flocci, who shrieked lovingly and laughed with her. The vegetable roots that were its hair were trimmed tidily and the teeth on its back were washed with a toothbrush and toothpaste. That day and the following days passed peacefully and comfortably for Flocci under the care and love of both women, mother and daughter. Until one day Osirrah suffered a terrible back pain.
Osirrah was agonized by a terrible pain in her back, as a pair of bones the size of a thumb started to protrude from under her shoulder blades. Her shrieks were heard all day—mornings, afternoons, and evenings. She couldn’t sleep. September and Flocci waited by her bedside without knowing what to do. September laughed all the time while Flocci wailed and shed tears of blood. Screams, laughter, and cries echoed in the castle-like manor, on the outskirt of the rotten, crowded town. In this town, any kind of noise needed not be questioned or exaggerated. So no one noticed, except for her two children, that Osirrah was slowly losing her voice. But the two bones on her back kept on growing—growing to the size of a hand span, then to the size of an arm, and white feathers began to grow from them two. Flocci and September realized that their mother would soon leave them.
Because Osirrah once told the following story:
I am not a human; I am an angel who endured trials in the earthly realms as the daughter of Ilya, the Athenian prostitute. I am a holy spirit sent into a rocky womb fertilized by a contemptuous sperm. When I was born, the people were amazed by my shining body. They said this child must be the incarnation of the Sun God, and when I was five, a song rang in my ears: Light and darkness should not mingle, seek not for truth in the sham leaves. The time has come for the sun and the moon to defeat the clouds, for dawn to defeat dark, and for the pool of light to wash away all the filth. Call them into your shining path, o chosen one.
I was chosen as a reformer, my children, and that song kept on coming to me. However, as I approached my teenage years and brownish blood flowed swiftly for the first time from my crotch, my light quickly dimmed in a matter of days. I also realized that from that time on, my heart would be tarnished every time I witnessed something despicable in that prostitution den. My mother and her friends began to teach me how to beautify myself and to shake my hips to tease the men. When I refused and told them about the way of light, they laughed and insulted me. My skin darkened, the song stopped sounding. In my fears I left, I escaped for days and months and years, across lands and seas, chasing the border line that separated evening and morn, until I became so exhausted that I fell asleep before the door of our present house.
That’s right. This house. A handsome man opened the door for me. Obviously he was attracted to my beauty, therefore he asked me to come in. And when I turned fifteen, I married him. It’s just that on my wedding night, as my virginal blood flowed, I passed out and I heard a faint whisper in my ears: The light should not dash away and leave its wick, but if it that happen, so be it. In exchange for that, let your sight be taken away from its nest and let the cocoon of your wings leave its branch; you may get them back as your body approaches death.
*
“Flocci,” called Osirrah with a hoarse voice, her eyes blinking. “September,” she called out again. A terrible pain cut across her eyeballs as she witnessed both her children sobbing and laughing. Her wings had stretched tall enough to reach the ceiling. And as if they had been moved by a mighty power, the pair of wings flapped. Everything inside the room was tossed by the sudden gust of wind, including Flocci and September, who were now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, totally bewildered. Osirrah’s body flared up, consumed like a branch on fire. A ray of light hung in the air as the fire dwindled away. The roof of the house exploded, leaving debris all over, as the ray of light flew into the dark, cloudy night with unlimited speed. Flocci shouted, calling its mother’s name. September shrieked, intent on following the ray of light. She ran and smashed the window. Her body crashed into the ground and scattered like jelly. Suddenly, green buds sprouted in the place where she fell.
Soon enough every September, a certain plant would blossom and produce red flowers. The flower looks like gaping lips, reminding everyone who looks at it of large, open-mouthed laughter. Flocci never got to see the flower. It left the house and headed to town. Its hands were lifted skyward, searching for Osirrah, but the piercing, light drizzle caused its pair of eyes to hiss. It went through alleys and met people who screamed when they saw it. “Mother?” it wailed when it found an old woman. “What’s that?” replied the woman, who then called others nearby.
“What is that thing? It can talk.”
“Catch it, catch it!”
“Step on it, step on it!”
“Kill it, kill it!”
Together the mob caught it.
“What should we do with this bizarre carrot?”
“Slice it into pieces. It must be a damned creature.”
“Douse it with acid, and put it in a museum.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have a museum.”
“We can make one.”
They agreed to keep Flocci in a museum. For a whole month they worked hard to build a small museum in the middle of a field, where they would keep Flocci’s dead body. But during that whole month, the people also began to think of ways to exploit Flocci for financial gain. Wouldn’t it be better if they didn’t kill this little creature, but just stored it in a glass box instead? Put a hole in the top, in case it needs to breathe. Anyone who wants to take a look will have to pay. Maybe this little creature can be taught how to sing or dance, so as to entertain the spectators. Send out an announcement to neighboring towns, neighboring islands, neighboring countries, might as well notify the furthest continent. Money would flow in and could be managed for the sake of common prosperity, with local government officials getting the biggest cut, of course.
And thus Flocci was imprisoned in a square-shaped glass box. They provided it with water to drink and bean soup to eat. In the following year the museum’s caretaker made a larger glass box, as large as a cupboard, its edges gilded with gold. Now they provided it with milk and smoked meat. Each year its cage was enlarged, and better food and drink were provided for it. It seemed like the whole world was intent on seeing the talking carrot monster, although Flocci itself wanted to be free and soar up into the heavens. It had expressed this many times, with its tiny voice and limited words. But who could grant such a wish?
“Oh, shut it,” said the Mayor. “You should be grateful that you could live a life this comfortable. Is it not enough that we treat you royally as our sign of gratitude for making all of us rich?”
“I want to be united with my mother,” begged Flocci, for the umpteenth time.
“What kind of mother would give birth to an abomination like you?”
What else could be done about it? Flocci was resigned to its fate as an exhibition piece. However, at the end of its fifth year of imprisonment, a great furor occurred. A ghost hovered low above the museum. People ran away in fear, especially because the ghost was holding a hammer in its right hand. The ghost continued to fly toward where Flocci was being held. Upon its arrival, the ghost lifted the hammer up high and smashed the glass box, leaving shards of broken glass. Then the ghost took Flocci by the hand and carried it to the top of the hill in the north.
“I can only carry you this far,” said the ghost as it landed.
“You must carry me higher,” begged Flocci. “My mother is up there.”
“Don’t worry, son. The air shall help you,” and poof!—the ghost disappeared.
Flocci felt the wind blowing above its head. It looked up and saw small particles of dust floating in the air. They intertwined and formed a rope that went up to the sky. Flocci made a small leap and caught it. Up it climbed and crept, day by day. As soon as it thought it was close enough to reach the furthest end, the dust particles would lengthen the rope and the journey went on. With the memory of its mother seared in its mind, Flocci perseveringly pierced a hole through the shield of the atmosphere. It no longer counted how many times the sun had come and passed it by, because after all it was already too far away from the earth. Past the moon it went, greeting planets, reaching a cosmos of the deserted and the voiceless.
Nevertheless, in a seemingly eternal moment between two heartbeats, Flocci slowly began to grasp that it didn’t understand what it really was, what it was doing, or why it felt both hot and frozen at the same time. The blood in its body thinned and it grew weaker. Its ascent got slower and slower until it finally halted. Its grip loosened and the braid of dust particles disintegrated and disappeared. A never-ending silence ensued. Flocci drifted in the vacuum of space for an immeasurable period of time. In a great emptiness. Almost forever.
*
Floccinaucinihilipilificatius set ablaze the last ember that still remained in its eyes. It heard something. It caught that buzz, as if a waterfall came crashing down into its parched self. Oh, it saw a bright light. No, it was not only bright; it was dazzling. A fireball came thundering toward it, growing larger and larger until it realized that the glaring giant ball was a comet. It was immediately blinded as the light took it into its gently burning embrace. It recognized this as a feeling called love. Flocci muttered to itself that this wasn’t a dream. This was the meeting it had been expecting for a long while. It was tucked in its mother’s embrace, a ray of light that had been transformed into Comet Osirrah with its tail of a hundred light years. Melt, melt, my son, melt into your mother’s love. A love that flies eternally in its quest.
It let itself be consumed by the fire, leaving a speck of light that no longer had to search for anything. It dissolved and became a core for its mother. Together they moved across the seventy arcs of heaven. The angels threw red flower petals toward them, blessing them on such a momentous encounter between the heavens and the earth. And for a brief moment the heavenly realms paved a way to the earthly realms and a group of angels allowed everyone with a light in their soul to set themselves ablaze so that they could fly and tail the largest comet in the universe.
Since that very moment, Flocci and Osirrah have been shining happily ever after.
