THE THREE LIVES OF CHRISTINA THE ASTONISHING (#28)

As Told by the Holy Woman in Her Own Words
A Hundred or So Years after the End of the World

I sat down heavily and plunged my arm in the pail of water, where it disappeared in a cloud of hissing steam. When I drew it out again, charred flesh hung in shreds from my arm bone, provoking more screams. “Eat it!” a rough voice called out from the back, followed by some laughter and foot stomping. In confusion I looked over at Travis, standing on the side with his arms crossed. Making a “Don’t mind them!” face, he mimed a cutting motion on his arm.

There was nothing for it but to go on. I picked up a butcher knife with my good hand. What to cut? The other arm was still smoldering. I looked down at my feet, shod in thin cowhide sandals from Sequoia that were now worn to shreds. I kicked them off, bent over, and positioned the knife over the joint of my left big toe. It sliced through the flesh like butter, but the bone was a different story, especially since I was using just one hand and feeling faint from the double assault I’d made on my indestructible mortal body. I sawed and sawed, splattering myself all over with blood, but couldn’t make a dent.

Travis saw my problem. A moment later he was at my side with a small object that made the crowd shriek its approval. It was one of those hand tools from before the Great Miasma, now operated by priceless EverReds. The blade rotated so magically fast it was a blur. At first I thought the crowd’s excitement was merely over the novelty of a miraculously preserved artifact, but then I saw they were anticipating the use it would be put to. The doubts I’d been having were steadily growing, but I promptly applied the whirling little blade to my big toe, lopping it off as neatly as a ripe fruit. Blood gushed from the stump to deafening cheers.

By now, though, I was forced to realize I’d been put to uses I’d never dreamed of in Sequoia. Vile uses.  Abruptly I stood up. With my broken leg and amputated toe, my burned left arm hanging useless by my side, I limped off the platform to a chorus of boos.

Martin was busy counting a great pile of tiny gold coins out of sight of the crowd. As I passed him, he looked up angrily. “Where do you think you’re going?”

In the only menacing motion I’d ever made in my life, I raised up my good arm. He shrank back into the shadows.

I left by the alley and turned onto the main street. As I passed by the front of this building, I spotted what he’d kept me from seeing before: a big new sign reading “Midnite Freak Show TONITE!!!” Underneath it were the faded words “Fillmore Auditorium” in old and thinly stenciled lettering.

Bones knitting, big toe sprouting, blackened flesh turning pink, I walked alone into the night.

(to be continued tomorrow)