Dead Reality...a short story by Schanuha

by Schanuha* (2001)

Lying on the cold metal table, I feel a chill go
through my spine. There seems to be a permanent
coldness in the dissection hall made worse by the
stink of formalin. It never escapes me; I seem to be
drenched in the smell of the dead, suspended somewhere
between life and death.

The worst part comes during afternoons when I am taken
out and callow students to stare and cut me open. They
stare at me with vacant glassy eyes. I see no feelings
in them. I send out a silent plea: hey I am supposed
to be the one who is dead and devoid of feelings, not
you guys. But to no avail, they seem not to hear
anything.

Their scalpels deftly slice through my skin, exposing
me inch by inch. They smile they laugh, I am just like
a dummy to them, well, I guess I would be, after all,
I am dead. But I wonder if it ever occurs that I was
once like them. I had feelings, dreams, and hopes.
There were people who loved me, someone had held the
hand they have cut with such precision, those feet had
roamed around Katmandu, and those eyes had seen so
much. I never ceased to get over my wonder of the
beauty of this world.

But with death, everything comes to a halt. You are no
longer one of them. You become alien. You no longer
are entitled to the same privileges. They probe, poke
even slap or drill holes on you. They peel you off
layer-by-layer, going to the core of you, not leaving
even a single iota of you unexposed, the only thing
they seem to miss out are your feelings.

My heart cries out (that too, would be in someone's
cold hands pretty soon!) how cruel is all this. The
injustice of me having to lie here, its not the fact
that I am here that bothers me, just that I am being
sliced up by a group of people who seems to be more
dead than me. They seem to have left their feelings at
the entrance of the dissection hall. (So much for my
hopes of witnessing blooming romances!!) I wish I
could let go of my stupid feelings and be like them,
but I can't seem to. Sometimes I want to shake them
and bring them to reality (well my kind of reality at
least, I guess you can call it dead reality), show
them that I too had feelings once upon a
time.

(*Schanuha is a Maldives medical student overseas)

FEEDBACK

Email me your feedback on this story. I will forward it to Schanuha and also upload it here.

@ "A unique piece of work. Must compliment you on your originality as well as the novel selection of topic. Brings to my mind tales such as the Frankenstein. Dreadfully and grossly frightening, I must say. Maybe you ought to have made it a bit longer and given more details, which I am sure you are capable of, maybe something like the atmosphere in the dissection hall before they bring out the cadavers. And also, maybe you should have put more emphasis on the human side of the dead, what he did and what he was when he was alive, his life and his family and his quiet joys and silent sorrows, you know, make him/her all the more real. There are lots of unanswered questions here, but if you had wanted it to be left thus, then you have done very well. Is this a not-so-subtle attempt at bringing out a message? Really enjoyed reading and hope to see more of your work soon. Best of luck."--Amir, 4 Dec 2003

@ "An interesting piece of work. The point of view is a brave attempt at saying something different -- I give credit for that. The whole concept of the story is quite original. I haven't read anyone who played with emotions and feelings in that sense. A refreshing read for the mind that is clogged too much with the obvious empathies that go on. Such work can only be fictious; however, it is tantalizing in a philosophical way as well. However, when I read it I got the feeling that the emotions and the expression got a bit muddled along the way. The controversial poke at the students of dissection was well versed, but I felt there was an underlying tension -- one that could not be placed, whether it was regret, remorse, contentment, violation or pity. It felt like a mix of these emotions, each pulling in a different direction. Overall I would say it was an excellent venture into the unknown. The expression was quite good, so was the emotion. The only flaw I saw was this confusion. Thumbs up and hope to read more of your work."--Ahmed Shaheem Razee, Maldives, 27 May 2003

@ "A very interesting idea executed in less than impressive fashion. It is under-written and the content sounds too soft than the title promises. It could have been fleshed out to a better effect. Good attempt though."--Sharif Ali, Malaysia, 18 March 2003

@ "A timely slap in the arse to those thick, odious, and insensitive types delivered by a thinking corpse: clearly a unique concept that Schanuha works on with a cold, clinical deftness. Refreshing also because the dead protagonist, however preachy in his/her remorse against the living, is not above certain voyeuristic tendencies, indicating that even corpses are (or were)
only human! Makes you think that s/he was probably an inhabitant of the seedier areas of Katmandu than a monk in some remote foothill village."--Ali Rasheed, Maldives, 20 Feb 2003

@ "Marvelous, I would say. Schanu has not only proved herself an excellent med student, but also an incredible writer. Undoubtedly fictitious though it feels like real. A true masterpiece. Reminds me of Patricia Cornwell. You' ve got the talent, Schanu. Keep going.Hope to see more in future."--Nasru Ali, 2 Feb 2003

@ "Brrr! LET ME OUTTA HERE!"--Hursheed, Maldives, 1 Feb 2003