C4 antho - Chamber Four
C4 antho - Chamber Four C4 antho - Chamber Four
~224~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology realized what was happening, as soon as they figured out that the kids had been rounded up. “Malmoud―that old man―he was the one. He was the one who did it. Did you go in the tent? Did you see what was in there? Christ, I never should have let you go with him. Somebody―I don’t know who, must’ve been one of the IRC workers―somebody put out a dispatch, I don’t even know who to. That plane that landed, it was two human rights defenders, Americans. None of us knew what to do. We were yelling, we were all scared, panicked. That’s when I got to the tent and saw you on the ground. I picked you up, ran you back to the Jeep. Christ, I never even knew I was that strong.” It wasn’t until she was on a plane, flying out of Nairobi, that Betsy cried. Then one morning Betsy woke up, stepped down from bed, and her legs gave out beneath her. Her bones pulled her straight to the hardwood floor. First her elbow smacked, then her hip thudded. A wavering cry escaped her throat and for a second she couldn’t figure out what it was. When she realized it had been her cry, a cold rush of fear coursed through her entire body. Her fingertips tingled. She soldier-crawled her way to the bathroom, sat against the tub, looked at her feet. Her vision was blurry. It took a few seconds before things came into focus. Sunlight poured in through the small window next to the toilet, formed slanted columns, illuminated bits of dust that twirled and danced in the air. The skin of her toes had turned black. It looked like her skin had shrunk over the bones in her foot. Her toenails were a wan pink. The cuticles had turned orange, like they’d been stained with iodine. The bridge of her foot was beet-red, covered in open sores that glistened white in the sunlight.
Helping Hands ~225~ Betsy’s heart pounded as she inspected her feet. She thought of words like gangrene, necrotic, fetid. She looked at her hands. Her palms were covered in sores. The skin on her fingers was so black it was shiny, almost blue. How had I not noticed that? How could I have not noticed that my hands turned black? She was too tired to do anything. She was too tired to crawl back into the bedroom, to lift herself up to the phone, too tired to dial the numbers, to explain who she was, where she was, what was wrong. Betsy felt fuzzy warmth swirl behind her eyes. She was tired. She shut her eyes and fell asleep. Paul will find me, she thought. Paul will find me and Paul will help. * * * * She was in a white bed. The bed’s frame was metal and painted white. The white sheets were tucked tightly over her body, but her body was not there. Her arms were tucked beneath the sheets but her arms were not there. Her legs and feet did not push against the sheet. She was flat. She was back in the Sahara, surrounded by the lunar sands. The sky was black. There were no stars. There was moonlight on everything but there was no moon. At the foot of the bed was a giant mosquito. It was perched on the ornate footboard, all six of its massive, pipecleaner legs holding the footboard like a buzzard holds the branch of a tree. Its legs bent out at its sides at severe angles. Its body expanded and contracted as it took in and released air. The mosquito tilted its head as it looked at Betsy. Its sucker hung straight down like a vacuum cleaner attachment.
- Page 173 and 174: On Castles ~173~ century. I went to
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Helping Hands ~225~<br />
Betsy’s heart pounded as she inspected her feet. She<br />
thought of words like gangrene, necrotic, fetid.<br />
She looked at her hands. Her palms were covered in<br />
sores. The skin on her fingers was so black it was shiny, almost<br />
blue. How had I not noticed that? How could I have<br />
not noticed that my hands turned black?<br />
She was too tired to do anything. She was too tired to<br />
crawl back into the bedroom, to lift herself up to the phone,<br />
too tired to dial the numbers, to explain who she was, where<br />
she was, what was wrong.<br />
Betsy felt fuzzy warmth swirl behind her eyes. She was<br />
tired. She shut her eyes and fell asleep. Paul will find me, she<br />
thought. Paul will find me and Paul will help.<br />
* * * *<br />
She was in a white bed. The bed’s frame was metal and<br />
painted white. The white sheets were tucked tightly over her<br />
body, but her body was not there. Her arms were tucked beneath<br />
the sheets but her arms were not there. Her legs and<br />
feet did not push against the sheet. She was flat.<br />
She was back in the Sahara, surrounded by the lunar<br />
sands. The sky was black. There were no stars. There was<br />
moonlight on everything but there was no moon.<br />
At the foot of the bed was a giant mosquito. It was<br />
perched on the ornate footboard, all six of its massive, pipecleaner<br />
legs holding the footboard like a buzzard holds the<br />
branch of a tree. Its legs bent out at its sides at severe angles.<br />
Its body expanded and contracted as it took in and released<br />
air.<br />
The mosquito tilted its head as it looked at Betsy. Its<br />
sucker hung straight down like a vacuum cleaner attachment.
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