The Hand of Glory

Cold, so cold, too cold. I wear heavy boots, yet it feels as if I stand upon blocks of ice. The cold must have numbed my body. I try to look for something nearby but I find nothing, it is too dark to see anything. As I wave my hands around the cold, icy ground, my nose catches a whiff of this putrid smell, worse than that of a rotten egg. I try to lessen the burden on my nose by covering it with my hands yet the stench breaches the barrier. It smells terrible. The smell was so bad that it woke up all of my senses. My body was so numb before that I didn’t notice someone calling me. “Wake up kid.”The voice of the old man calling me, I try to speak but it hurts. Instead, I try to look for the source of the voice. Soon enough, I see the shadowy figure of the man resting against the wall.

“Are you awake?”His voice calls for my attention. He must have noticed my hand movements. I braved through the pain and raised my voice. “Where are we?”

“...”

I started to feel my legs again, shaking them so that the blood would flow. I struggle but manage to stand up, though the ceiling is low enough that my head naturally faces down. I realize that not just the ground, but the walls and the ceiling too are cold. Wherever I am, it is spacious enough to move but not enough to walk around. I try to dig my fingers into the walls but all I get are scratches on my hands. There seems to be no way out of here. The longer I stay, the more likely I am to die from the sheer cold, I must get out no matter what. I continue to dig into the walls until I manage to create a small carving, at the expense of my hands which are now bloodied. If I keep this on, I may be able to get out.

“There’s no point in trying, kid. You’ll use up all your energy before you could even get out of here.”

He has a point, no matter how much I dig, no light seems to emerge. Whether it be night or wherever I am is too far from any source of light. I sat back where I was a while ago. With nothing to do other than to wait for a possible daytime or for someone to save me, I close my eyes to feel my senses. I hear nothing. I taste nothing but my saliva. I see nothing. I feel cold. I smell something terrible. The stench, it’s still there. It seems to be my only companion in this damn ice box. Oh, what have I done to deserve this fate? No, that’s not it, I very well know what I’ve done, and if this is the punishment, then whoever is the punisher was most likely feeling gratuitous. This is truly my fate, to be cold and alone until I die, with no one but myself and the rancid smell befitting of my deeds. I close my eyes once more, huddle in the corner to keep myself warm, and slowly drift away into slumber.

“Wake up kid.”

These words ring through my ears. I had forgotten that someone else was in the vicinity with me, most likely since I could not see them at all.

“We have been here for 2 days now.”

For 2 days, I must have fallen asleep because I felt a bit energized. Though energized seems to be an exaggeration, since I still feel sluggish. I feel thirsty, so I lick the walls to see if any of the walls have melted, even if it is a bit. To my surprise, some droplets of water dripped from the corner. It wasn’t much but it was all I had. As I struggle to catch the water droplets to drink, I hear an unflattering rumble. I have come to a realization that I have not eaten anything during my stay here, or in other words I am hungry. I scavenge the floor to see if this icy prison left food for me. Unsurprisingly, nothing. I keep looking though, as the idea of finding something is more endearing than the idea of knowing there is nothing.

“You’re hungry aren’t you?”

I nod, forgetting the fact that we cannot see each other.

“Here.”

I heard something fall to the ground, I couldn’t see it properly so I leaned forward to grab whatever he threw. I grabbed it by the side, it was a bit tough but chewable. It was also cold to the touch like charcuterie, but that was not a problem at all.

I thank myself for not indulging my hunger immediately, instead touching the object as if to identify it. To my horror, it was an arm. I threw the amputated arm away from me, in disgust. “Where did you get this from??”

“Where else?”

“I am not eating that, that is disgusting.”

“You will only go hungry.”

“So be it.”

An arm? Who would eat that? For all the sins I’ve committed in my life, never would I resort to cannibalism. The thought of delighting myself, even just to survive by eating human flesh makes me vomit. I soon realize too where the putrid smell has been coming from. Rotting flesh.

I start to feel colder. So cold. I feel like my eyelids would shut forever if I ever close them again. I feel lightheaded, too much of this cold has made me weak. Cold, hungry, and sickly, such a pitiful state I am in. I try to remember something from my life, outside of this cold place, but find nothing savory to reminisce about. Nothing but nightmares come to mind. Nothing at all. Is there even a difference between the life I had and the life I have now? These memories only make me colder and colder. Too cold.

“Take the lighter in my left pocket.”

He speaks to me again. “Alright.”

The lighter was faint, but enough for me to warm up. The first sense of warmth in a long time. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this?”

“I remembered.”

I kept my hands near the lighter’s flame, almost burning myself, but that did not matter. I don’t care if I burn myself, it’s already better than freezing. I don’t know how long the lighter would last so I looked around for anything that would last long enough to burn. I found nothing.

I turn the lighter off, to save its fuel. I have used enough to keep myself warm for a while. Now with the ability to feel warm, I gained a renewed motivation to escape my plight. Slowly digging away. Each time I dig, I feel as if I am so close to an opening. My fingers bleed, nails bleed, hands full of scratches. It hurts, it’s cold, it sucks. But that didn’t bother me, as the thought of escaping overwhelmed me.

Digging

Clawing

Scraping

I see no end.

The arm is still there, lying motionless as to taunt my evergrowing hunger. Seducing me with its meaty form, filled to the brim with fats and juices. The putrid smell had already disappeared, instead, the smell of roasted chicken filled the air. The fingers looked as if they were teasing me, to devour them one by one. I slap myself to wake up from this delusion. My hunger has been going on for far too long. I look away from the chunk of flesh, yet its hold on me still lingers, grabbing me on the chin and forcing me to stare. The flesh, the meat, the food, it smells too good. I feel myself crawling towards it, salivating like a mutt. My heart tells me to stop, to look away, to escape, but my mind tells me to go, to gaze, to accept. It’s as if a tug of war is going on between my soul and my stomach, doing whatever necessary to win, pulling on a string that’s about to snap.

“Eat.”

I mustn’t.

“Eat.”I don’t want to.

“Eat.”I’d rather die.

That’s right, I’d rather die. Nothing makes sense in this life I lived, no sweet memories, just bitter nightmares, replaying eternally for the rest of my life. No good deeds, just sins, slowly piling up. There was nothing before, there will be nothing after, there will be nothing out there. Curling up into a ball of nothingness.“Then die.”…

…

…

It’s hot. So hot.

Too hot.

I feel a heat, too strong. It’s as if I were thrown into the flames of hell. That’s it, hell. This must be hell. I’m sweating, so much of it is dripping away. It’s so hot. I remove my coat, then my shoes, then my socks, then my jacket. It feels so hot.“Feast.”Feast. I must feast. I’m so hungry, but I can’t. I mustn’t. I shouldn’t.

“Feast.”…no.“Eat.”

…“Do you want to live?”

…I… want to live. The roasted chicken wing is in front of me, so savory, the smell fills my nostrils. It’s too good. I eat, and eat, and eat until nothing is left. Then more dishes appear, chicken legs, chicken breast, and chicken thigh, all roasted to perfection. Even with delicacies like chicken head and chicken feet, I feel bliss. I eat, feast, and devour, leaving nothing, not even bone. It tastes too good. To complete my meal, I take a sip of the red wine provided for me, drinking every last drop of it. It tastes too good. Then the dessert arrives, two peanut balls, so sweet and savory. It tastes too good. If this is what it means to live, then I’d rather live indeed.

Delicious.