Statuesque.
It happens a lot these days, and so I'm not really worried when I wake up and can't feel my right arm. What happens is that I get in bed and start reading with my head propped up on it. Invariably I fall asleep in this position, and awaken with my poor arm feeling like an elongated rubber sack full of flour.
And lo and behold, it has happened yet again this morning.
What is a little unusual is that today I can't tell what position my arm is in. Normally I have an idea, because I can still feel my shoulder. Not today though. It seems that the entire upper right side of my torso has gone numb as well.
After the handful of seconds it takes me to ponder all this, I realize my alarm as been screeching at me for god only knows how long.
First things first: I reach over and smack 3 fingers against the snooze button without even looking. Muscle memory from 2 years of peaceful sleep disrupted by that god-awful staccato.
I reach over to grab my deadened arm and shove it under the covers alongside my body; the procedure for restoring my circulation has been pretty well refined at this point.
Dead weight. As if my own arm somehow became disconnected from my body at some point while I was asleep.
There is definitely something different this time, though. As I'm moving my arm under the covers it feels more rigid than usual. Much, much more. Like there's sand in my joints.
I flop the covers back over myself and think about those horror stories I've heard about people who pass out drunk and cut off circulation to one of their arms for so long that they wake up with gangrene. Urban Legends, I'm sure. Or maybe just regular old bullshit.
My mind is still in startup, reviewing basic operational data:
-alarm unnecessary; no work today
-massive hunger will go unfilled; food reserves depleted
-bladder nearing capacity; usage of bathroom facilities becoming imperative.
I resolve to force myself out of bed as soon as I can feel my arm again. And that seems to be taking an awfully long time. The really strange part though, is that it still isn't registering temperature. Usually when I cover and straighten my arm the blood flows back into the deprived appendage and soon the temperature receptors register that
1)it is cold
and soon after that
2)the enviroment around it is warm
and this is in turn followed closely by the familiar pins and needles. But god dammit, none of this is happening, and now I'm starting to get scared for real.
When the snooze expires on my alarm and it begins shrieking at me once again my
arm is still dead. Opting to be proactive, I sit up to check out what's going on. This is harder than it may sound. Since I can't feel my arm, I can't use it to prop myself up, and just for further complication, I have to fight its weight to get upright.
After shutting off my alarm, I grab my unresponding limb and hold it up as I lurch upward, leaning toward my left.
Right away I notice something very, very wrong. My hand, which, last time I used it was fleshy and malleable has inexplicably turned dead white, and is totally rigid. I tap a knuckle against it, and hear a clink, just like you would hear if you tapped on a porcelain teapot, but lower; I guess my hand is solid. Also my fingerprints, and the shallow creases in my palm are gone, leaving a totally smooth surface.
Actually it isn't totally rigid: I can still move the joints in my fingers, but I have to do so with the fingers of my other hand, and the sound and sensation is similar to that of trying to draw a circle on a blackboard with a brand new piece of chalk.
As if this isn't enough to bear, I see lines of vibrant color
criss-crossing the solid white of what used to be my right hand; on the back of it, there is even a picture of a flower, illuminated in gold. Its like I now have a Flesh Arm and a Sculpture Arm.
I stare.
Frozen.
After a second I pull up the right sleeve of my sweatshirt; slowly, because I don't really want to see what's under there. As I suspect, bright lines of color wind around one another all the way to my elbow, which is all I can see of my arm beneath my bunched up sleeve. I can't help but run my finger along the designs, and marvel. Such bright colors against perfect white, like freshly fallen snow. It's as beautiful as it is unfathomable.
I rest my Sculpture Arm on my lap and peek down the front of my shirt. Sure enough, my entire shoulder and part of my side has been taken over by ceramic solidification. For a second I have no idea what to do.
But, oh yeah, then I remember I have to pee.
With great care, I curl my ceramic fingers into a claw (they won't quite make a fist) and bend my solid arm up at the elbow, and hold it still with my other hand as I swing my legs out and down to the red carpet on my floor. Steady. As I stand, I feel my Sculpture Arm creak; the moving parts have been preserved, although I can't imagine how. As I walk carefully to the bathroom the joints at my shoulder and elbow squeak slightly. I keep the arm pinned against me as well as I can, but it's remarkably heavy, and I feel my bicep starting to
tremble with the effort of holding it still.
I kick the bathroom door closed behind me, and wonder how the hell I'm going to accomplish what I need to do next. I stagger over and rest the elbow of my Sculpture Arm against the rim of the sink opposite the toilet. Only one way to do this I guess. I sneak a thumb down my sweatpants along my left hip and slide them down, and then carefully arrange myself on the toilet. That wasn't so bad, I guess.
After that's taken care of, I dangle my Sculpture Arm downward, stand and pull my sweatpants up in a single motion. Out of reflex I go to wash my hands, and actually catch myself washing my solidified hand. I turn the water off quickly, pleased that nobody could see doing something so ridiculous.
Okay, now the tricky part. How do I get back through the closed door? Keeping my Sculpture Arm steady at my side I approach cautiously. I let go and reach toward the door handle.
Just then I hear the phone ring.
And somehow, the sound erases my memory.
I yank the bathroom door open, bringing the edge into solid and decisive contact with my ornate forearm.
The sound isn't really like breaking glass, which is what I probably would have expected.
No, the sound of my porcelain arm shattering is a much duller cracking sound, without the prolonged scintillation of shattering glass.
Firmly in the grip of some unnameable feeling, I watch as my solid arm breaks in half and falls to the floor, landing with a muted thud on grungy peach colored bath mat.
Its not until its over and the fragments have settled that I realize that also falling from my arm were a series of dark green spheres. Dumbly, I look at them on the floor for a second, dusted over with striped white shards, and then look inside the jagged break below my elbow. Sure enough, there's another one in there. I reach in and pull it out, gouging my fingers on the sharp edges in the process. I hold it up to the light to get a better look.
Inside is a dark fluid which swirls and twists of its own will. I can't tell if there is something within, or if the fluid is somehow moving itself.
The whole thing is very, very strange.
It's more than a person can be reasonably expected to deal with before breakfast, that's for sure.
It happens a lot these days, and so I'm not really worried when I wake up and can't feel my right arm. What happens is that I get in bed and start reading with my head propped up on it. Invariably I fall asleep in this position, and awaken with my poor arm feeling like an elongated rubber sack full of flour.
And lo and behold, it has happened yet again this morning.
What is a little unusual is that today I can't tell what position my arm is in. Normally I have an idea, because I can still feel my shoulder. Not today though. It seems that the entire upper right side of my torso has gone numb as well.
After the handful of seconds it takes me to ponder all this, I realize my alarm as been screeching at me for god only knows how long.
First things first: I reach over and smack 3 fingers against the snooze button without even looking. Muscle memory from 2 years of peaceful sleep disrupted by that god-awful staccato.
I reach over to grab my deadened arm and shove it under the covers alongside my body; the procedure for restoring my circulation has been pretty well refined at this point.
Dead weight. As if my own arm somehow became disconnected from my body at some point while I was asleep.
There is definitely something different this time, though. As I'm moving my arm under the covers it feels more rigid than usual. Much, much more. Like there's sand in my joints.
I flop the covers back over myself and think about those horror stories I've heard about people who pass out drunk and cut off circulation to one of their arms for so long that they wake up with gangrene. Urban Legends, I'm sure. Or maybe just regular old bullshit.
My mind is still in startup, reviewing basic operational data:
-alarm unnecessary; no work today
-massive hunger will go unfilled; food reserves depleted
-bladder nearing capacity; usage of bathroom facilities becoming imperative.
I resolve to force myself out of bed as soon as I can feel my arm again. And that seems to be taking an awfully long time. The really strange part though, is that it still isn't registering temperature. Usually when I cover and straighten my arm the blood flows back into the deprived appendage and soon the temperature receptors register that
1)it is cold
and soon after that
2)the enviroment around it is warm
and this is in turn followed closely by the familiar pins and needles. But god dammit, none of this is happening, and now I'm starting to get scared for real.
When the snooze expires on my alarm and it begins shrieking at me once again my
arm is still dead. Opting to be proactive, I sit up to check out what's going on. This is harder than it may sound. Since I can't feel my arm, I can't use it to prop myself up, and just for further complication, I have to fight its weight to get upright.
After shutting off my alarm, I grab my unresponding limb and hold it up as I lurch upward, leaning toward my left.
Right away I notice something very, very wrong. My hand, which, last time I used it was fleshy and malleable has inexplicably turned dead white, and is totally rigid. I tap a knuckle against it, and hear a clink, just like you would hear if you tapped on a porcelain teapot, but lower; I guess my hand is solid. Also my fingerprints, and the shallow creases in my palm are gone, leaving a totally smooth surface.
Actually it isn't totally rigid: I can still move the joints in my fingers, but I have to do so with the fingers of my other hand, and the sound and sensation is similar to that of trying to draw a circle on a blackboard with a brand new piece of chalk.
As if this isn't enough to bear, I see lines of vibrant color
criss-crossing the solid white of what used to be my right hand; on the back of it, there is even a picture of a flower, illuminated in gold. Its like I now have a Flesh Arm and a Sculpture Arm.
I stare.
Frozen.
After a second I pull up the right sleeve of my sweatshirt; slowly, because I don't really want to see what's under there. As I suspect, bright lines of color wind around one another all the way to my elbow, which is all I can see of my arm beneath my bunched up sleeve. I can't help but run my finger along the designs, and marvel. Such bright colors against perfect white, like freshly fallen snow. It's as beautiful as it is unfathomable.
I rest my Sculpture Arm on my lap and peek down the front of my shirt. Sure enough, my entire shoulder and part of my side has been taken over by ceramic solidification. For a second I have no idea what to do.
But, oh yeah, then I remember I have to pee.
With great care, I curl my ceramic fingers into a claw (they won't quite make a fist) and bend my solid arm up at the elbow, and hold it still with my other hand as I swing my legs out and down to the red carpet on my floor. Steady. As I stand, I feel my Sculpture Arm creak; the moving parts have been preserved, although I can't imagine how. As I walk carefully to the bathroom the joints at my shoulder and elbow squeak slightly. I keep the arm pinned against me as well as I can, but it's remarkably heavy, and I feel my bicep starting to
tremble with the effort of holding it still.
I kick the bathroom door closed behind me, and wonder how the hell I'm going to accomplish what I need to do next. I stagger over and rest the elbow of my Sculpture Arm against the rim of the sink opposite the toilet. Only one way to do this I guess. I sneak a thumb down my sweatpants along my left hip and slide them down, and then carefully arrange myself on the toilet. That wasn't so bad, I guess.
After that's taken care of, I dangle my Sculpture Arm downward, stand and pull my sweatpants up in a single motion. Out of reflex I go to wash my hands, and actually catch myself washing my solidified hand. I turn the water off quickly, pleased that nobody could see doing something so ridiculous.
Okay, now the tricky part. How do I get back through the closed door? Keeping my Sculpture Arm steady at my side I approach cautiously. I let go and reach toward the door handle.
Just then I hear the phone ring.
And somehow, the sound erases my memory.
I yank the bathroom door open, bringing the edge into solid and decisive contact with my ornate forearm.
The sound isn't really like breaking glass, which is what I probably would have expected.
No, the sound of my porcelain arm shattering is a much duller cracking sound, without the prolonged scintillation of shattering glass.
Firmly in the grip of some unnameable feeling, I watch as my solid arm breaks in half and falls to the floor, landing with a muted thud on grungy peach colored bath mat.
Its not until its over and the fragments have settled that I realize that also falling from my arm were a series of dark green spheres. Dumbly, I look at them on the floor for a second, dusted over with striped white shards, and then look inside the jagged break below my elbow. Sure enough, there's another one in there. I reach in and pull it out, gouging my fingers on the sharp edges in the process. I hold it up to the light to get a better look.
Inside is a dark fluid which swirls and twists of its own will. I can't tell if there is something within, or if the fluid is somehow moving itself.
The whole thing is very, very strange.
It's more than a person can be reasonably expected to deal with before breakfast, that's for sure.