a story
Ach! I can feel the ropes under my skin. Tight, so tight! Tender knots tied under my shoulder blades. If I could only pry beneath these bony plates - the relief! Man was to be made of blood and bone, so why did the Lord choose to fill me with hemp? Dr. Schneider, the fool, tried to convince me I had “neuro-muscular pain”. Bah! Rope doesn’t appear on X-Ray. I told him as much, but he wouldn’t listen. Imagine, lecturing me on the fundamentals of electromagnetic radiation. I’ve studied under the great Dr. Hofmann, graduated first in class from Heidelberg, been cited thousands of times. Yet I was “recommended” to be locked up in this institution. Dr. Schneider must’ve seen my papers, he must’ve been jealous and chosen to strike while I was weak. The talentless, vengeful, idiotic - ahhhh!...
I mustn’t get too excited. The twine weaves between my ribs. With every breath, I feel frayed ends rub against bruised cartilage. But not for much longer...
Six months - has it only been six months since that scalding shower? As I bathed under the usual trickle one night, I began to hear a faint whine. Suddenly, steam filled the room and I was blasted by an excruciating spray. My neck and back were burned raw for days. I would curse my dolt of a landlord, Mr. Weinger, but were it not for his incompetent plumbing I might’ve never discovered the rope. Every morning I ripped off newly formed scabs to drain the pus beneath. On the fifth day, as I performed my ritual of scraping and cleaning, I felt a tremor at the base of my skull. There, beneath the blood, was the unmistakable tip of a rope. I grasped it, tugged softly, and felt the pull burrow deep beneath my skin. Lightheaded, I stumbled to my chambers and collapsed.
I slept feverishly for three days. When I awoke, my sheets were encrusted with stiff blood. I touched the back of my neck and lo, there was nothing but smooth skin, the insidious rope healed below. It couldn’t hide though - I had felt it, I knew it was there! And with that knowledge, I started to notice it everywhere.
It began as a tension in my neck, a soft pressure that brought headaches and insomnia. Slowly, the soreness creeped it’s way down my spine and into my shoulder blades. I tried practicing aerobics, hoping to make the cords more compliant. But as I stretched one side, the other simply became more twisted. There wasn’t just one rope burrowed beneath my skin, but a hopelessly tangled web.
After the third month, knots began to form around my nerves and blood vessels. My fingertips, numb and weak, could no longer hold a chalk to a slate. I was delirious with exhaustion, irate from the pain. My supervisor bid me time away from research to seek professional help. And in my searching, I came to discover the utter ineptitude of medicine. So called “specialists” laughed at me. They told me the pain was in my mind, that I was lazy and simply wanting to be away from work. They prescribed me opium, a tincture, a blessing, or a confession. If I needed a confession, it would only be for wishing hell upon each of them.
Worst of all, not one soul believed in the rope. Despite the fact that I could describe it in great detail, I was only ever met with coughs and averted gazes. I brought a bundle of twine to help explain my predicament to a particularly dense herbalist. She thought I was going to tie her up, and called the police on me. Imagine, me! A respected member of the Munich Physical Society. The police warned me not to return, as if I’d waste more time on that bat.
The pain grew unbearable. I could not sit without my feet growing numb, my knotted jaws making every bite a misery. So I started searching for surgeons who would remove the rope. That’s how I met Dr. Schneider, the fraud. When he refused my surgery, I knew that he needed to see the rope. I withdrew the pocket knife I had brought, placed it over my forearm, and - as I had imagined so many times before - sliced down its length. I shouted for Dr. Schneider to come look as I pushed tendons aside, hunting for the cunning twine. But I had not considered the effects of blood loss. The world turned red, then dark, then completely black.
I awoke in the stony cell of an institution, and have remained here since. Travesty. Should man not have the right to his own body, and the pursuit of better health? Should he not be permitted to take whatever steps are necessary to live a dignified life? I am of sound mind - better than sound, brilliant! A mind brought low by a rare malady, left to suffer alone, imprisoned in this wretched place.
The nurses here are lazy. They did not mind when I asked for an extra water glass, nor notice when I only returned one after my meal. I feared that I lacked the strength to break it against these cool concrete walls. But sure enough, the shards lie before me. And with them, liberation.
Have you ever pulled a single torn thread, only to watch it all unravel? I need only cut in just the right place and the rope will release me. My hands are shaking, but my mind is calm. Now I place the broken glass behind my neck and stretch back, stretching twine which binds my arms, shoulders, and spine. I pull the shard down, quickly down, down towards the rope beneath my skin, and
for E.A. Poe
