This town was jolly, trusting never a bad word for those entrusted to care for them. His poster was everywhere, a chubby little fella with his hands crossed, “daddy” or “granddad” depending on your age.
That day started with a celebration, bunting covered the square, bagels and tea were passed around, beaming smiles were on every face except mine. Then chubby leader took to the stage with respectful applause and holding it in his hand declared: “We now have bus cards, no need to carry money, it’s all in here!” thrusting it in the air, whoops and yippies ensued. They queued all day to get their shiny cards and slipped back home obediently, lights out at 10, tucked up by the almighty.
Old Aytekin woke up nice and early with his bus card next to his bed. Getting changed he thought something is missing, he then noticed his thighs weren’t there anymore. “Oh dear, that is unfortunate.” There was a noticeable gap between the waist and the knees and foot.
He could still walk so trotted out to the tea house, he steered the conversation. “Did any of you notice anything this morning?” “We all have bus cards now.” Smiles ringing round. “I mean anything missing?” “No.” “I have a problem with my thighs they…” “Hurt,” butted in a know-it-all. “Doctor Bademci is the man you need to see.” He sent a child to see if he was in. “Yes, you can go now.”
“Doctor, it’s my thighs.” “Yes, are they hurting?” “No.” He looked astonished. “I see.” “They are not there.” He inspected passing his hand through the gap. “Can you walk?” “Yes.” “Well, they will probably grow back, take some of these.” “But… But…” Too late he was at the door. “You haven’t said anything have you?” His eyes seemed to freeze in his face. “Never mind, never mind. Next.”
Don’t get me wrong, there followed some funny things. The local thug lost his fists, the town folk roared with laughter. “How you’re going to rob me know, with your teeth?” The drunkard lost his nose. “You stink of beer,” they would shout. “No, I don’t,” leading to belly splinting laughter. The local gossiper lost her ears and I lost my mouth. “The complainer.” Nobody thought that was funny, least of all me.
On the face of it nothing much had changed; travel outside of town was understandably restricted due to the happening, as they liked to call it. The visible ones had just minor missing limbs if any, but horror stories were rife, of people losing eyes and even their whole faces. The tea house was rife with gossip again. “Now how I see it, if you’re good and righteous…” nodding to the place of worship across the street, “and do what you’re told nothing will happen.” He swayed, his fat belly following. “My thighs still haven’t grown.” “Pray more then, you idiot.” Nervous laughter filled the air.
“Meydan! Meydan! Meydan!” The tannoy blared out. Meet in the square for the grand opening now. It filled up with a few notable exceptions. The chubby leader took to the podium arms crossed again. He addressed head-on the unfortunates. “Look brothers and sisters, look what we have done!” The crowd waved their pathetic bus passes. “But to those who cannot see our vision,” visually embracing the crowd, “they lose that right, you and we are the chosen ones.” Cheers rang in the air. “Now it is the grand opening of the Lux Hotel Complex.” (It covered the whole beach.) Flags waved in the air as he cut the ribbon. “Urm,” said a lonely voice. “Isn’t that bad for the environment, where are those protesters?” The doctor with the cold eyes and his white jacked entourage surrounded him. “You’ve said something, haven’t you?” He was whisked away, some say he literally disappeared.
As the weeks and months dragged on, those who had lost their faces completely disappeared. My articles for the local paper were rejected as not patriotic and for questioning. It is now October 29th.
Limbs have been disappearing at a rapid rate. My hand pushing this pen is receding, only some god ordained will is pushing it on I am almost at the end, my warning, come on damn you.
Don’t give in to stu….pid…idi…otl..y
The room went cold and settled into emptiness.
