Enigma

“If you’re to save me it’s too late.”

Prometheus knelt on the stairs of the alter church, his cheeks stained with salty tears as he gazed upon a girl who smelled like the rain. 

Pen knelt beside him. “I’m not here to save you.” She whispered. “I’m dead.” 

Prometheus studied Pen, her wet clothes clung to her small,fragile frame making her look like she was drowning and in some ways, Pen was drowning but in the depths of her mind. 

Finally, he said “lucky you.”

The church that was abandoned in the midst of the woods smelled like mildew and rot and looked like the insides of a dead carcass. Silence draped over them like a cozy fall blanket as they took each other in, a mutual understanding between them both. 

Prometheus didn’t question the blood on her shirt nor did Pen make a remark about his frown that wouldn’t leave his youthful face. It was something of a permanent scowl like an old scar.

Pen could feel herself decomposing on the alter next to Prometheus. Prometheus who was full of life and didn’t want to be. She was a rotting thing that wanted to be alive. To have air in her lungs. And feel the sun on her skin again. This was when they came to an agreement. 

A sickening thought came across their minds as they indulged in each other’s vices. 

“You need new parts,” he said dragging a knife across his own palm just to show her how easy it was to bleed. “You’re falling apart, right? Let me help.” 

Prometheus would tear himself apart for this stranger. And she, she allowed him to. Prometheus didn’t want his body anymore and so she took him apart. 

They started small at first. 

A piece of skin. A little patch from his arm, sewn crudely over a place on her arm where she swore the flesh was rotting. It hurt. God it hurt. But pain was proof. Pain ,want she was still real. And able to redeem hers back to life. 

“You look better already.” Prometheus said, grinning through gritted teeth as he tightened the makeshift stitches with his trembling fingers. 

She laughed or made something similar to it, he thinks for it sounded wild while he basked in the sound. Cutting another piece of flesh off his body, he attached it to her# carefully threading the needle through her. In and out. 

As weeks blurred their conversations grew heavier with anticipation as they sought out to perform amateur surgeries. 

Today they prepared themselves in an old shack filled with knives, planting tools such as shovels and sharp objects alike. 

“I’m thinking a piece if liver or maybe even a kidney.” Prometheus suggested. 

Prometheus moved with purpose, wiping every surface they would come in contact with antibacterial wipes as Pen decided what organ she’d like to replace. “A piece of your liver.” She finally decided. 

“Good choice.” He said. “It’s funny I always wanted to be an organ donor.” 

If Pen had a heartbeat she would have felt heart palpitations by now but she looked dead as a corpse. “How do we do this?” 

He guided her to lay down on the metal table while rambling on about the procedure as she took she’d shirt off. “Ready?” He asked, she nodded desperately. 

Taking a scalpel in hand he first made an incision on Pen’s lower abdomen. The next incision he made was on himself, carving deep enough to get to his liver as he then cut a piece of the organ. Prometheus acted fast as he separated Pen’ flesh wide open enough to place his hands into her, threading through the new piece of liver into her body. 

Pen watched in awe as he sewed her shut, commenting that “Flesh cuts like a piece of meat.” 

Prometheus gasped as pain exploded across his abdomen, sweat slicking his forehead. He was losing consciousness fast. “I need you to help sew me up.” Slipping on his words. 

Pen maneuvered her body to angle it just right to use her arms, stitching him back together as he collapsed onto her. She held onto her donor, encouraging him as he came to. 

“I want your kidney next.” Pen said, releasing him from her hold and waited for his response. 

His jagged breathing filled the shack as he said, “I think we need someone to help us.” Then quickly explained he needs a third party to sew them both back together. Pen panicked. “No one will help us!” And rambled on the dangers and risk of someone to find out what they were doing. 

“What if I pass mid-surgery?” Prometheus argued. “We’ll find someone, don’t worry.” 

Pen remained silent, praying for Prometheus to be right. She couldn’t risk losing him or another donor. “How do you feel?” He finally asked. “I think it’s working.” She answered.

Later that night, Prometheus lay in bed, his breath jagged and rough, bleeding internally. 

His liver was shutting down and he had much more of himself to give. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not when he was helping her. 

“I don’t want you to die.” Pen said, caressing his hair as he shivered under the covers. 

Prometheus smiled. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming a part of you. That was the deal, right?” 

She nodded, her a grimace. “What can I do?”

“I think we need to cut me back open to see the liver.” Prometheus said, as Pen reluctantly agreed. 

Pen plucked the stitches from his lower abdomen, slipped her fingers inside his wet bleeding body as he screamed and screamed, begging for mercy. Pen did not cry as a response but gritted her teeth. She would not lose another donor.