A Pound of Flesh

Tai

Tai forgets what the cold is like.

Well, that’s not quite exact. He knows what it feels like- the sharp prickle of unseen teeth over his skin. He just doesn’t quite remember why it should bother him, why the wind used to feel like jaws rather than a gentle kiss.

“You’re gonna get sick.” His mother scolds, forcing him into a stuffy coat, because they’re three days into winter and he’s yet to willingly wear anything more than a shirt. An who could blame him? He just forgets- and beside, he has much more freedom of movement this way!

“Your hands are warm.” Says Kari at his side, shivering. “Your everything is warm.” He is. He feels warm, in his belly. That’s fine by him- all the more reasons to hug his friends.

The heat doesn’t bother him much anymore, either. The cookie tray is hot in his palms, but not in a bad way.  Painlessly, he settles the tray on the table and cheerfully calls his family to see sweets, and his mother scream when she sees his bare hands.

It’s the one time he forgets the oven mitts. His hands are barely red, free of any injuries. He doesn’t bother using them ever again.

Time pass, and temperatures become more and more of a foreign concept to him. He can still tell hot from cold, the way one sees red from green on tv. He knows they’re here, but they don’t affect him. Joe say they still do, because there’s something annoying in his throat and lungs he never manages to get out, but whatever “thermoregulation disorder is” Tai is positive this is not his issue.

When Tai is twelve, he coughs in his hand, and lava starts dripping down his chin.

Oh.

(In the bunk bed bellow him, Kari dreams of sand between her toes.)

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