JR Mercier

My Atrophied Heart by JR Mercier

The world ended on a Tuesday. Maybe it’s the second time it ended on a Tuesday, I’m not sure. 

It was everything you’d imagine! Big mushroom clouds, plumes of smoke, dark skies, and weeks of sepia tones. Children’s toys lay tattered and bloody and artfully placed. 

I, of course, survived. But when the world ended, I didn’t have anywhere to go. The people who had taken me in were dead. 

So I walked. For hours, and then days, and then weeks. Sepia skies turned to grey tones and the bodies, which up to this point looked human, started to look like wax and very non-human. Sometimes I’d crouch down and inspect them. 

I’d lie down on the road, eyeing the grey sky through my hand, and pinch my flesh to make sure I was alive. No, not alive. A thing. I was a thing and with so many other dead things…

I stood up and continued my trek.

I walked around, lazily got food, and walked some more. It was on such a normal day that I found the house.

Between the grey smog of the ashy sky and dead ground, the house stood out like a big, wild heart. Deep, dark purple, something royal, with a wraparound porch and a swing. The windows were open and while no breeze was blowing, the curtains fluttered in the air. 

I crunched across the gravel, eyes wide as the beautiful mansions filled my vision, blocking out the grey skies above. 

I paused and looked down at the porch. I put a foot on the first step. 

And then I was inside, where the colours were just as beautiful and deep and dark, like a cave for a desperate animal seeking shelter. 

I explored the beautiful hallways and the bedrooms and the bathrooms and every other room. But at one point I paused and looked down at my dirty shoes. 

The hardwood floor was deep red. And it was sticky. 

I lifted a foot. There was a sucking sound and I saw red lines connecting my feet to the floor. I put my foot down and carried on exploring. It was nothing I couldn’t handle. 

I made my way through the house and finally found myself in the kitchen. A massive island waited and like every other room, you could see this was the type of house built for a family. Maybe not cosy – the place was too big – but still warm. Or at least warm coloured. 

The pantry was stocked and it didn’t take much snooping to realise the water ran and the lights worked. The house always had a pleasant breeze and when I ate something or removed a can of food from the cupboard, it would be back the next day. 

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I settled into my new home. I showered, ate, rested, and lazed around like a dog waiting for its owner to come home.  The sticky floor didn’t bother me much – I wasn’t moving around enough for it to be an issue –  but walking barefoot made me vomit. So I put my shoes on, no matter where I was in the house. 

Time carried on as it always does. The sky outside my home stayed the same and like a ghost, I haunted my paradise. 

On a normal Saturday, as it was always Saturday for me, I was lazing around, blankly gazing at the wall. I was breathing so slowly my heartbeat was sluggish.  

It was then that the first foot banged on my porch. 

I shot up from my couch, eyes to the front of the house. It couldn’t be. 

“Hello?” A voice called. “Anyone here?”

I sprang up, fixed my clothes, and rushed to the front of the house. Through the screen door, I saw a person. I rushed forward and jerked it open with a bright smile. 

“Hello!” I exclaimed, gesturing into my home. “Come in, come in.”

The woman who’d knocked walked in like she owned the place, her drab and dusty clothes gross on the clean walls and floors. 

She looked around, took off her tattered coat, and put it in my arms without looking. I instinctively grabbed it. 

“Nice place you got here.”

I beamed, smoothing the dirty coat over my arm. “Thank you! Do you-”

But she was already walking, my nervous steps sucking on the sticky floor behind her. The ground didn’t seem to grab her as it did me. “How did you keep this place safe?” she marvelled, running a dirty hand on the wallpaper. 

I opened my mouth but she paused and turned to me. She pointed to her feet. “Mind if I take off my shoes?”

“No, not at all!” I rushed forward, almost tripping over my shoes, and untied her shoelaces. “Make yourself at home.”

She gave me a soft pat on the head once her shoes were off, her eyes lines of mirth. “So kind.” I preened under her praise. 

She moved on again, and the silence pulled me along behind her. 

I spoke. “As for your earlier question, I stumbled across this place.”

“What, really?” 

“Really.”

“And you’ve been enjoying your time here?”

“I have food, hot water, and no children! What could be better!”

“Hahahahah!”

“Hahaha!” I laughed back at her. 

She finally finished her tour and plopped down on my couch. The one I spent my days in. 

She put her feet on the small table and looked up at me with mournful eyes. I leaned forward, expectant. “Darling, do you have any food for me?”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before I nodded, almost wild. “Yes! Just wait, and I’ll bring it for you.”

I rushed away on my sticky floor, leaving her to relax on my couch with her feet on my table. 

I was preparing food in the kitchen when there was another knock on the front door. 

“Mom?” 

I dropped the food and dashed down the hallway. The next dirty visitor was a young man. He looked at me. “Are you my mom?”

I opened the door, eyes wide. “I could be?”

He stepped in, hugging me so hard tears sprung to my eyes. It hurt. 

He pulled back, looked deep into my eyes, and then at the house around us. “This house looks sturdy.”

“Thank you! I built it myself.” I laughed and took him to the room with the woman. He sat down. 

“Darling, where is the food?” She asked me, eyes wide. 

“Can I have some too, mom?” He asked. 

I nodded and beamed down at my guests. “Just give me a few minutes.”

I rushed off but jerked to a stop. I looked down and frowned. Was the floor stickier?

“I’m so hungry!” The woman called mournfully. The man started to cry and moan. 

“I’ll bring it now!” I cried, rushing into the kitchen.

I threw together everything I could find before rushing back to them and putting the food in front of them. 

The woman looked at me. “Do you want to call me mom?”

I burst into tears. “Please!”

“You may.”

And then they ravenously fell upon the feast. I stepped back and watched in satisfaction as they gorged themselves on my food. 

“Do I smell food?” A deep voice asked. 

I spun with a yelp and felt something pull on my leg. It hurt. Trying to move like that on these floors would break my legs. 

In the living room doorway stood a burly man, his beard grey. The eyes he rested on me were dancing and hungry. “Sorry for intruding.”

“No worries!” I clapped my hands together and winced at the sound.

He settled down and nodded at the man and then the woman. “This is a beautiful house.”

My son nodded. 

It’s my house. 

The burly man looked up, smiling. “Could you bring more food?”

I laughed and pointed to the feast. “Won’t this be enough?”

The room went dark, the grey skies creeping in. They looked at me with expressionless faces. While they said nothing out loud, I could hear it all. 

The burly man stood up. “I think I’ll go somewhere more welcoming.”

“Please, stay.” I meant it to sound kindly. But it sounded exactly like what it was: begging. “I’ll bring more food.”

He shrugged. “Oh, alright. I’ll stay.” He sat back down and dug in. 

The grey sky retreated. I ran to the kitchen, heaped up another platter, and brought it back. 

Over the next few days, I ran between the kitchen and the door and the living room. More guests joined and I let them all in. I was a mother, a lover, and a friend. I was everything everyone needed.

What is my name? 

I was just putting more dishes in the kitchen, rubbing at my throbbing knees, when a shriek split the air. “Help! Somebody help!”

I ran to the front door, past the living room and the deafening chatter from within. I would have liked to get to the door faster, but the floor had become so sticky that every step felt like a battle. It hurt but I ripped open the door, my breath heavy. 

On the porch was a girl, small and bleeding. “Help!” She begged. She held a small bloody hand over her chest. I could see glistening meat between her fingers. 

I stumbled onto the porch and gripped her under the shoulders. I dragged her across the porch and heaved her over the threshold while she screamed, past the curious spectators and into the hallway that ran through the length of the house. 

I dropped to my knees next to the girl, panting, but vomited when my flesh touched the floor. 

“It hurts so much.” She was crying hysterically, wide eyes on me. I swallowed the vomit and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Please, sister, help me.”

I nodded and moved her hands away from her chest. A gaping hole stared at me. Inside rested a battered heart. I felt the living room party move toward us, looking down with sad eyes. They still ate. 

“Can you help me, sister?” She begged. 

“Poor girl.” Someone said. 

“Help her, mom.” said one of my children. 

“I think that would be nice.” Said the woman who felt like a mother.

“Give me your heart, sister.” The girl reached up to me. 

“That sounds like a great idea!” Someone said. 

I looked at all the faces around me. The sticky floor felt so heavy. “But then who will feed you?”

They all looked at me with dancing eyes. “You, of course. We could never manage without you.”

They caressed my head and I shuddered, tears behind my closed eyes. 

Without a word, I dug into my chest and tore out my heart. The floor drank my spilt blood as I held up my heart, triumphant. But they all shrunk away, even the dying girl. 

“Ew!” Someone screeched, pointing at my heart. “It’s atrophied!”

And without a word, they ran, snatching up the dying girl as she tried to crawl away from me, her organs dragging behind her. They grabbed food and made a wide circle around my bleeding body, my small dusty heart clutched in my hand. 

When my mother and son made their way to the door, I called for them. They paused and turned to me, cringing at the sight of my heart.  

“But I did everything you asked.” I cried. 

They looked at each other and then at me. He shrugged and she answered. “You could have said no.”

“You could help me.” I begged. I tried to crawl to them but it was hopeless. “Help me.”

It was my mother who answered. “I have a lot going on right now.” She winced. “Sorry.”

And then they were gone, rushing back into the grey world. 

The tears were a flood and my face was pulled in a mask of sorrow so stretched it hurt my mouth. I wept and wailed and tried to move. But every time, the sticky floor sucked at my feet and I could feel my joints pop with every movement. There was no escape.

So I lay there, just as before, my atrophied heart clutched in my hand, resting in a pile of vomit.