Divided and Conquer

“Which one of you wants to start?” A man says. The sound of his voice is muffled. Any other of these beings would find that challenging to understand. But not me. Muffled or not, I’ve spent enough time to distinguish language, tone and even vernacular of several varieties. Blending right in. Always alike, and common with all. That’s my mission.

I haven’t made any friends, but no enemies either. After ten of these so-called “years,” precious to so many, who can claim the same?

My speaker speaks now. Not for me, but louder than the first man. A man’s voice also. Less muffled, resounding and clear. He will speak only for me eventually. I am sure of it. But for now he speaks for himself, saying:

”I’d like to start, if no-one minds. Me and two others are sitting here today because of one act of generosity. All I can express right now is a new outlook on life, more than ever. They say life is short, and it is. But most people don’t truly appreciate that until it is too late. Well, I do appreciate. I was given a second chance at life. And I am grateful. My choices are going to be very different from now on. Thank you all for listening.”

I feel pressure as he sits back down, but he feels it too and adjusts himself in his seat and the pressure goes away.

Now a woman’s voice speaks, reverberating and booming similar to the last man:

”I understand what you are saying, but I can’t help but feel a little guilty. And I know that’s why we are all here. Survivors' guilt support group. But they say that the donor was missing and then homeless for a few years and may have had mental issues. What makes me feel off about it is that we might not know enough about him, was he in the right frame of mind when he asked to be a donor?”

The last guy that just spoke interrupts her, saying “You have to focus on any silver lining you can. That’s what has been helping me. I know it isn’t fair. My heart goes out to his family, but if he consented to be a donor, that’s the end of it. Even if it was late in life.”

Her heart speeds up, at first, but I slow it back down for her. She might take a little more work than him.

The third part of me speaks. Another man saying more or less the same. Speaking about gratitude, survivor’s guilt. Promises to take good care of his new set of lungs.

Others in the room talk about different reasons for their guilt, and an hour later everyone starts leaving, one at a time. No one suspects a thing here. I make my move. At a great cost of my strength and focus, I convince the heart owner to ask the other two for a quick drink. Non alcoholic? Yes, of course. Non-smoking? Absolutely. And not too many stairs either. The three of us leave together and begin walking across the street towards a cafe.

…

After my ship's discreet landing, I waited nearly a century for a host to fall in that well with me. He was a loud man with large eyes and an open mouth. My pod opened and I entered inside through his mouth and into his stomach and slowly copied and consumed him from the inside out. I did him a favor, really. He wouldn’t have crawled out of there without my help in a million years.

And from there in the forest I lived as him for just a few years, observing. Observing people swim, sleep, eat, talk, and even die. But my mission to observe and obtain control of new land and make a report home was overdue. I grew restless. I reasoned that if I found a way to spread out I could cover more area. I took matters into my own hands.

Most of me was destroyed in the vehicle accident not long ago. I hid my pain well as they cut out my Liver, Lungs, and Heart. The rest was destroyed. From just one person, soon I will make three. They will just take a little longer than the first man. Especially her.

…

The room is loud with chatter. It sounds like a loud cafe. She now sits down and starts talking.

”Guys, I know this sounds weird, but—“

I stop her. I know what she is getting at.

“Excuse me,” she says.

”Amy, are you okay?” The liver man says. He leans forward in his seat, and it hurts me. But then he straightens himself again and massages me, and I feel relief.

Amy, the heart woman, continues speaking.

“Yes, I’m fine. Have you guys ever heard of people with donated—“

I try harder. My squeeze is slightly longer. Change the subject, someone.

The lung man speaks now.

“Amy! You ok?” I feel like his eyes are making the same shape as the man in the well, so I let her go.

”I’m calling an ambulance. “ The liver man says.

“No! It’s ok it’s ok it’s ok.” Amy says, catching her breath. She is determined to speak. ”Have you ever heard of people getting organ transplants and getting old memories or even having dreams about the donor?”

”Yes,” the two men both answer at the same time.

Amy takes a sip of something hot. It feels nice and warm.

“Well, I know this sounds weird, but I think I have had them too.”

I want to squeeze her heart again but I don’t want people coming for her and separating us. I want them to keep contact with each other for now. I want my parts near each other.

Then they inevitably start talking about me. My plan is falling apart. I feel closest to the liver man, and he seems to know a lot about me. I want to block every hole and crevice of his liver and squeeze until he submits. I’m ready to punch myself right out of her chest. I want to slowly shrink and tie his lungs into a knot until he passes out. And why shouldn’t I? They were mine.

Then the lung man opens the window for her, and stands by it, inhaling the breeze. The three of them continue talking. He’s listening, nodding, and agreeing. He takes a short breath every time he speaks to add a detail to the picture they are painting together. A picture of me. As he takes in more fresh air, I deduct that his eyes are likely normal in size, and even relaxing. I regret that my own eyes were ruined in the car accident, and unfit for donation. Then I could be more certain.

With strenuous effort, I manage to make the liver man speak one sentence. This takes all my energy that I have left. I just can’t do it again.

”No one will believe you,” He says. But it doesn’t work out how I intended.

”Winston, I agree. No one will believe any of us.” The lung man says.

“Which is why it is up to us to do something. Right now.” Amy says.

“Only one problem. I don’t have a car to get there. DUI.” Winston, the liver man, says.

“I’m still not cleared to drive, because of my recovery,” Amy says.

“Well I doubt I’m clear either, but let’s take my car. If we get pulled over, let me do the talking. My brother is a cop,” the lung man says.

“Ok, so we leave tonight. In Charlie’s car.”

Winston the liver man takes the lead that night through the forest, carrying a rope over his shoulder. I want to resist, but I’m being kept busy with the water and snacks he is consuming. It is slowly giving me some energy back. It doesn’t occur to him to share with Charlie and Amy, so I make him. I want to resist Charlie the lung man, but he’s helping Amy, holding her arm. I can’t do anything about her now. If they call for help, the wrong people will find the well. Then I’m in big trouble, and so are they.

When they find the spot, they tie a rope and lower themselves down to the bottom of the well. All three of them stand in front of my tiny pod I arrived in so long ago. I can sense it, and it senses me back. Amy wipes a part of it off with her sleeve and I hear a ping sound and I know the red screen on the outside just lit up.

”What does it say, Charlie?” Amy asks.

”I don’t know. Can you read it, Winston?” Charlie says.

“Let me think,” Winston says.

I help him. For now.

“It says: Input Mission Update. Something like that.” Conscious that the pod senses me, I squeeze him. He flinches in pain, and grabs his side. But not before bumping his arm on the ship again.

”Are you ok?” Amy asks.

They are always asking each other that.

”Yes, I’m ok.”

”Winston, there’s more. Below. Look. Where your arm hit.” Charlie says.

Winston’s arm moves away from me as he wipes more dirt off. Without my help he hits twelve buttons quickly, and the screen goes blank. I sense a connection with it no longer.

“What did you do?” Amy asks.

”I basically said: Mission unsuccessful. No life or resources found. Now let’s get out of here before it blows. Ladies first.”

Amy’s heart thumps quickly as she climbs up the rope, followed by Charlie, who paces his breathing with each lift. But I squeeze Winston hard before he can start climbing and he falls on the wet ground. I don’t like the way he is responding to me anymore, and I can’t have him mixing with the other two.

”Grab the rope, Winston!” They yell down the well.

”Aaaa!” He yells back, his mouth wide open. “It’s hurting me! Just run ahead! Go! Get out of here!”

I let him go.

”Winston, wrap the rope around your foot and under your arm! We’ll pull you up!” Amy calls down. He still is holding me from the lingering pain, but follows her directions and wraps the rope around himself like she said. I can feel heat from the pod warming up, but they start pulling Winston upward, away from it. He is heavy, and is moving very slow.

”It’s too late! Drop me, and run!” He yells, as they heave him upwards, one slow foot at a time. I stretch wider for Charlie and he takes big breaths and pulls with all his might. I pound as hard as I can for Amy and she pulls as strong as Charlie. Winston starts moving up as fast as ever, getting close to the top.

The water in the bottom of the well starts to hiss and boil as the pod below starts to glow red, then orange in colour. A pillar of hot steam wades out of the top and Charlie starts to smell the rope burning. It tears and starts to slack. They reach into the fog and grab Winston’s hands and pull him out and help him to his feet and together they start running.

That's how it is done guys. My parts are well built and I am proud to be used by you.