The Station, Part 34

As for the good news—my hands and feet still itch nearly as bad as before. I haven’t had to stop to scratch my feet for some time now. That’s something of a relief.

There are some strange bumps on my hands where the itching began. Not on my smallest toes however. I don’t feel them anymore. I don’t know what to make of either of these two phenomena. The bumps on the sides of my hands don’t hurt, but are tender to the touch. And another thing I have noticed; my hands just look a little different. Thinner somehow. Or longer. That may just be my imagination at work. I have lost weight. And rather quickly at that. Not that I was anywhere obese, but any sign of the gut I once had is now gone. The flat stomach I that saw as a teenager is now back. I have a lot of exercise and a forced diet to thank for that. Fortunately, my clothing is programmed to conform to my body, but even that has it limits. For the first time I’ve been here, I have developed a concern for my weight loss. I really shouldn’t be losing any more weight at this point. It wouldn’t be healthy. And I can’t afford to be weakened by lack of nutrition. All the more reason to be heading for those mountains.

But my hands. They really bothering me. I keep looking at them like something’s going to happen to them if I don’t keep my eyes on them at all times. As if the next time I see them I won’t recognize them as my own. Why am I so concerned about this petty thing? I don’t know. But what I’m really looking at are the bumps. They are near perfect mirror images of each other. This is no random infection. This change has a purpose. I just know it. I’m afraid to know just what that purpose may be.

The bumps have gotten bigger. And yes, I was right. My hands have indeed gotten thinner. No, the hands are longer. The fingers are thinner relative to the palms. Just what the hell is this? And the bumps have, for lack of a better word, sprouted ting pink nubs. No swelling, no pain. Just the same tenderness as before. Definitely not an infection. And all of this has happened within a mere two hours. Wait a minute. I haven’t checked my feet either. What the hell’s been happening to them while I’ve been obsessing over the hands? I’m talking my foot coverings off. Oh hell. I don’t know whether I should scream or cry. My little toes are…shrinking. Receding back into my feet. They’re but withered remnants. At this rate, they’ll both be gone by the end of the day. Goddamn it all, what else? I know they’re just toes, but they’re my fucking toes! Yeah, it’s stupid. Why am I crying about this? I don’t care. Fuck you for thinking anything other than this is fucking scaring the shit out of me. The human body is not supposed to be doing what it’s doing right now! So fuck you of you don’t think that there is something profound about all of this!

I’ve just stopped walking for now. I just need to think. I need to process what is happening to me. I’m shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. It’s fucking pathetic really. I’m sitting here just wondering what else is going to start growing or fall off. I have eight toes. And as if something were making up for that loss, I’m soon going to have twelve fingers. It’s fucking hysterical, don’t you think? Twelve fingers! What else is am I going to get? If an ear falls off do I get and third testicle? Imagine the size of my nutsack then! Ha! I’d be Chief Bigballs! Get it? Hell, who needs two ears anyway?

And anyway, the skin immediately behind them has begun to itch. I want to cry.