The Tumours Made Me Interesting

by Matthew Revert

  “You’re awake, Bruce.”

  I surrendered to the day and opened my eyes. Fiona was sitting at my bedside. She had a stethoscope pressed against me. She looked stunning. This woman didn’t go to sleep at night… she carefully packaged herself away. She looked just like a doll.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Go back to sleep if you like. I’m here this morning for several reasons.” She held up a carton of cigarettes. “I’ve brought these for you. Figured you’d nearly be out of that packet I gave you.” I nodded like a hungry dog. “Would you like one?” I nodded again and watched Fiona retrieve a cigarette, place it in my mouth and light the beautiful bastard. “I also wanted to check on your little babies – hence the stethoscope. They sound so healthy, Bruce. They’re beating like hearts. I want to dive inside you. It takes an immense ability to grow tumours of such… vitality.”

  Fiona had a way of making me feel so proud of my situation. In less than 24 hours I’d gone from feeling sorry for myself to feeling good about myself. I had the best fucking tumours.

  “Oh, by the way,” Fiona continued. “I’d like to introduce you to some friends, today. They’re good people. You’ll like them.”

  I groaned like a moody teen. “I don’t wanna.”

  “And afterward, perhaps we can go back to my place.”

  She arched an eyebrow suggestively and brushed a hand over her breast. I was visibly aroused. Fiona glanced at my cock and smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?”

  I sat up and brushed a plume of dandruff from my hair. I had been cooking a fart all night and I was too tired to concern myself with social etiquette. It flew from my arse like a gas dragon and circled the bedroom.

  “I can see the gas,” remarked Fiona in awe. “It’s like a revolting rainbow!”

  “My flatulence has been growing more intense by the day,” I bragged.

  She pressed her lips against my forehead and said, “You’re beautiful.”

  The flatulent rainbow slowly dissipated. I stroked my stomach in appreciation. Fiona was pinching her nose shut, but that slight, alluring smile still remained. The sunlight spilled through the window. It was going to be a good day.

  Fiona wasn’t very forthcoming with information about the ‘friends’ of hers I was meeting. I sat in the passenger seat and watched her watching the road ahead. The radio was switched to throat.fm – all throat singing, all the time. The vocal contortions filled the car, soothing my insides and quieting my brain. The slightest hint of breeze crept through the driver window and caught Fiona’s hair. She was growing more beguiling by the minute. Her skirt appeared to be growing shorter each time I looked, but I’m willing to pass this off as an optimistic hallucination. More than anything else, though, it was her skin. I could see my fuzzy reflection in the pristine smooth, porcelain white of her thighs. Hers was a body better suited to polishing than washing. I imagined the slightest impact breaking her shell and revealing the hollow space within.

  The suburb we were in was unfamiliar to me. The sky in this part of town had a slight green hue. All the houses were made of cardboard and threatened to topple whenever a gust of wind licked them. Groups of men in pink golf shirts, and carrying rifles, shot at each other from opposite sides of the road. Whenever a bullet tore through Fiona’s car, I flinched. She didn’t even seem to register the potentially deadly interruptions. What if a bullet broke that skin?

  “Are we nearly there?” I eventually asked.

  “Be patient, dear. Not long to go now.”

  Her use of the word ‘dear’ intoxicated me. Her everything intoxicated me. A bullet shattered a back window, but I remained calm. The golf men didn’t appear to be after anyone but each other. For some reason, this thought consoled me. Being a casualty of another’s fight sat better than being the target.

  One of the cardboard houses flipped over and blew onto the road. Fiona gently applied the brake and waited.

  “What do we do?”

  “We ride it out. The wind usually takes care of it. If not, there’s a lovely group of council workers who’ll remove it.”

  “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Of course you can. It’s good for the upholstery.”

  She was holding a lighter to my mouth before the cigarette was even out of the pack. I bobbed my head toward the flame and sucked my life away.

  “You sure like it when I smoke,” I said. I was just filling the silence that existed between us, not really looking for or expecting a conversation to develop.

  “Men look astoundingly attractive while smoking. I don’t care what the zeitgeist claims, it is cool to smoke.”

  Through the haze I watched as six magpies lifted the cardboard obstruction from our path. In a display of barely controlled coordination, they awkwardly flew away.

  “Are they the council workers?” I asked snidely.

  “Yes,” she responded without emotion. “There was a lady at your home who claimed to be dead. What’s that about?”

  “I hit her in the head with a plate. She just thinks she’s dead.”

  “Fair enough…. We’re nearly there. You may want to remove your pants.”

  I had already worked my pants halfway down my thighs before I thought to ask why. The thought never evolved into verbalisation. I just sat bereft of pants, feeling the warm leather car seat cling to my arse. The car turned into a driveway and the throat singing was turned off. The absence of sound unnerved me. A man in a sailor uniform and brandishing flags stepped in front of the car and communicated to Fiona in semaphore. She responded with a series of finger movements and he stepped aside. His eyes were glued to mine as we cruised past him.

  “Who the hell’s that?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Every day,” she replied. “Now keep quiet. I’ll tell you when you can talk. There’s a certain protocol that must be followed here.”

  I bowed my head and focused on my flaccid penis. It looked how I felt. We were in a garage. It was made of cardboard but still felt like an inescapable prison. Fiona motioned for me to stay seated. She left me alone and vanished through a doorway. I jammed three cigarettes between my lips and sucked them for dear life, willing my anxiety away. I’ve never liked being introduced to new people. Without pants, I could only assume it would be worse. Ash crumbled from the cigarettes and powdered on my legs, which were jittering restlessly.

  Fiona opened the passenger door. “Follow me and keep quiet.”

  I watched the swivel of her arse as she led the way. Each cheek was a perfect peach I wanted to sink my teeth into. I remembered that I was about to meet new people and stopped my perverted stare. First impressions usually flounder when erections are involved.

  We came to a narrow corridor that slanted downward, leading us underground. The ceiling height gradually decreased, forcing us to our hands and knees. I felt like an unprepared spelunker. I could hear the faint hum of heaters pumping stifling warmth into the corridor. It was impossible not to stare at Fiona’s arse. It was inches from my face, begging me to indulge. She crawled confidently forward, saying nothing, just turning her head occasionally to make sure I was following

  Fiona’s knuckles wrapped upon a steel door. Thank fuck for that, I thought. My knees were throbbing in pain and I wanted to extend my legs. A bald Asian man greeted Fiona with a wet kiss. A flash of jealousy blinded me and a strange urge to beat the man nearly took control. He helped Fiona to her feet and left me alone.

  “This is him?” asked the man, eyeing me up and down.

  He was an odd looking sort. Each eye had four pupils that churned like a tumble drier and didn’t blink. His eyebrows were below each eye like little beards.

  “This is him,” confirmed Fiona. “Is everyone here?”

  The man nodded then slid his fingers into my mouth, prying my lips apart. He was examining my teeth and sniffing my breath like it was wine. “He really doesn’t look like
anything special.”

  “You’ll see.”

  Fiona gave me a reassuring look and took my hand. The Asian man scoffed and left us alone. We entered a small red door marked “specimen”. I gulped a wad of accumulated saliva while pondering what I was walking into.

  “You’re going to shine, my dear,” Fiona said to me. “When this is all over, you’ll be venerated by these people. Don’t worry about anything. Just try and relax.”

  I nodded, trying my best to feel reassured. She punched a number into a keypad and the door sprung open. I followed her through.

  I was standing on a spot-lit stage. The lights burned the outer layer of my eyes away and if it hadn’t been for Fiona’s measured demeanor, I’d have bailed on the whole thing. Before me sat a barely visible crowd of 20 or so people. They were whispering amongst themselves like hissing snakes. I could feel their judgmental stares painting me yellow. Fiona approached a podium and, with a swipe of her hand, hushed the audience.

  “Your patience is much appreciated,” she said. “I can assure you that what I have to show you will be worth your time. I’d like to introduce you to Bruce Hammond Miles. Mr. Miles came to my attention a few days ago. An acquaintance of mine, familiar with the particular concerns of our group, presented me with a tumour retrieved from Mr. Miles’ bowel. I will show you the tumour shortly but before I do, I’d like to provide you with some background information.”

  What background information could she possibly know about me? I barely even knew anything about myself. I wasn’t interesting enough to have ‘background’. I was intrigued.

  “Bruce Hammond Miles. 34 years of age. Born 9th of August, 1976 to Werner and Lucile Miles in Mimbleton, New Dankshire. Marital status of parents: separated. Werner Hemlock Miles was carried away by a falcon when Bruce was 11. He has since remained absent from Bruce’s life. His mother…”

  “Show us the fucking tumour!” came an impatient voice from the audience. This was met with applause.

  “Very well,” replied Fiona. “The point I was trying to make concerned the mediocrity present in the life of Mr. Miles. It adds credence to my hypothesis that the best diseases originate, more often than not, from broken beginnings.”

  She approached a small table draped in red satin. A curtain behind us began to rise, revealing a large screen. With both hands, she dramatically ripped away the satin. My excavated tumour was now on full display. It was housed in a small glass box and still wore the refuse from Fiona’s handbag. My tumour filled the screen behind me and the audience fell silent. I’ve never been good at deciphering silence. They were either in awe of my growth or uninterested.

  A man with a totem pole head stood up and slowly clapped. He was joined by someone else in the shadows. The clapping picked up speed as others joined in. Within an hour, the whole crowd was applauding with fervor. It was the most energising experience of my life. I felt like I finally had a purpose, like I was the recipient of a prestigious award.

  Fiona raised both hands and implored for silence. “The tumour on display, in and of itself is an immaculate conception. There is no doubt. But the singular sphere of biology is the tip of the iceberg. Within the body of Mr. Miles lie many more similar tumours. In fact, I believe it reasonable to assume that the tumours currently inside him are of an even higher quality. Ultimately, that’s what we’re here to find out.’

  The applause exploded, cracking my eardrums in little pink puffs. I didn’t know what else to do so I curtseyed, mashing my testicles between my thighs. They ate it up. I swanned about the stage like a diva, flashing my cosmetically poor teeth and star jumping. When I attempted an ill-fated version of the Charleston, Fiona put a merciful stop to it. With a hand on either shoulder, she guided me to the back of the stage.

  A child dressed in wooden clothes wheeled out a gurney covered in sleeping cats.

  “Your attention,” said Fiona. The room fell immediately quiet. “This is the most exciting portion of the demonstration for me personally. Let’s take a look inside and see what else we find. Mr Miles, if you would lay yourself down on the gurney, it would be most appreciated.’

  She urged me with her eyes and I responded accordingly. I brushed aside the cats, many of whom scampered away, and lay down as instructed.

  “If you could roll to your side with your face toward the audience,”

  I waved as I did it, eliciting slight laughter from several of those watching.

  “I will be performing a routine colonoscopy that should uncover beauty of the purest form. Imagery from within Mr. Miles will be visible on the screen behind me. A recording will be made available to all of you in this room and those on the mailing list. Pricing will be determined based on the quality of the colonoscopy. Any of you found to be in possession of external recording devices will have their membership revoked and their youngest child sold to prostitution. Piracy is not a victimless crime and will not be tolerated.”

  Fiona was holding a long, flexible device with steam valves running along its length. The thought of her sliding that thing inside me inspired both excitement and fear.

  “If I can have your silence, we can begin.”

  I nibbled at my bottom lip and listened to her resonant footsteps behind me. I could feel the air stir as she moved and the anticipation sent chills. Then her hand slapped my arse cheek and pushed it upward, granting easier access to my hole. Fiona’s endoscopic device tickled and scraped suggestively. She was toying with me, right there in front of all those people. I loved it. It slid inside me with a squish and I felt mucous drip out of me. I closed my eyes and thought about board games.

  Curiosity got the better of me. My eyes were soon open again and my neck craned painfully to see the screen. I had to know what I looked like inside. The walls of my bowel were mapped in graffiti, some of it rather fetching. Small chandeliers swung from the roof, lighting the way. To my dismay, advertising also lined my bowel walls. Was no place sacred? The endoscope pushed further, through rivers of fecal muck and thick blood and hissed as it released scorching steam. I winced, but allowed it to continue. I had to see them. I had to understand why I was so special.

  “We’re nearly there,” whispered Fiona.

  She arrived at a U bend littered with miniature, discarded furniture and moth wings. The endoscope slid past and there they were: my tumours.

  A collective gasp rose from the audience and splashed against the ceiling. Fiona’s body twitched and a small, enamored moan escaped her lips. My tumours were clustered together majestically – more than I could count. Perhaps it was just an illusion brought about by the endoscope, but they looked so large and perfect. Each appeared to be breathing and rotating like fleshy planets. Here in their putrid little ecosystem, they thrived and absorbed the secretions around them.

  “I’m going to go deeper,” said Fiona.

  The tumours gathered around the endoscope as if trying to feed on it. It pushed forward, uncovering more tumours of even higher quality. I could hear some people in the audience crying exalted thank yous to no one in particular. The endoscope arrived at a tumour much larger than the rest. It was covered in a rich netting of veins and spindly protrusions. Right in its centre was something no one would have expected – an unblinking, coal-black eye.

  “Oh my lord,” said Fiona. “It’s more amazing than I expected. It’s a guardian! This means, Bruce… that you have a queen inside you!” She let go of the endoscope and collapsed to the ground in spasms of euphoria. An opening below the tumour’s eye began to appear – just a slimy slit at first. It continued to grow and yawn open. Worm-like creatures wriggled from the opening, seeking escape. There was something inside me, beyond what I was seeing… something that resided at the deepest part of me. This was the something that gave birth to everything. The guardian tumour bit down on the endoscope, severing the connection and painting the screen above with busy static.

  The audience members rushed the stage in a blur of excitement and crowded my body, desperate to touch me
. Their sweaty hands groped and fondled every part of my body. I felt violated, but most of all, I felt like royalty. My body had never been given so much physical attention. It was a tactile explosion. It wasn’t arousing, but it felt pleasant. After struggling to her post-euphoric feet, Fiona began swiping at the crowd with a broom.

  “Get back!” she yelled. “He needs space to breathe. Leave him alone.”

  They bit and hissed like animals before eventually retreating. My body was pocked in bruises and claw marks. A small slither of foreskin was missing and the endoscope was still lodged inside me.

  “I’m sorry about that, Bruce. You have to understand, they’ve been looking for someone like you their entire lives.”

  She ripped out the mashed endoscope in one abrupt movement, bringing a gush of muck with it.

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘someone like me’? What am I? Why do you people care so much?”

  “Tonight, Bruce. You’ll come to my house and we’ll talk. I have so much to tell you. For now, we need to get some formalities out of the way. Is there anything you need?”

  I didn’t have to think too hard before saying, “A cigarette”. I was choking on smoke in no time.

  I was standing in a plush-carpeted function room. Thousands of fly paper strips hung from the ceiling, layers of dust their only captives. I was still naked from the waist down, but somehow this didn’t concern me anymore. It wasn’t that I had all of a sudden grown comfortable with my body… it’s was more that I was comfortable by how comfortable everyone around me was with my body. It was a curious thing. Fiona’s ‘friends’ were lined up before me in an orderly queue. Len’s ‘Steal My Sunshine’ played from invisible speakers on a maddening loop.

  One by one they approached me, spending considerable time running their hands over my body, rewarding it with more attention. They whispered words I couldn’t discern, like they were purging sins. I remained silent, unsure what to say. My instinct told me that silence was the correct course of action. Fiona oversaw the proceedings, making sure no one lingered too long. Anyone in danger of passing their allotted time was stabbed in the shoulder with a quill. Only two people suffered this fate and they didn’t seem too concerned.