The Body Thief

Unlike the standard seventeen-year-old girl, Hera had strings tied in her fingers. She was but a puppet controlled by the words of Mother Tere, the head nun of the orphanage she was staying in. Even if she did choose to disregard the will of this puppeteer, she would not only face her wrath but also the anger of her co-orphans who likewise had to suffer the consequences of her mistake. That’d be because the orphanage operates on a grouping basis.

The mistake of one was weighed to all members of the group.

With that in mind, Hera was to be seen folding her blanket at four in the morning. It was an hour early before their call time. Breathing heavily, she stretched the thin fabric while keeping a lookout at the opposite double-decker bunker where two girls slept. Assured they were still asleep, she turned and looked up at the orphan lying on top of her bed. Since the girl remained unmoving, Hera poured her attention to her blanket. It assumed the tint of royal-purple, quite alike to Hera’s waist-length hair. 

She once had brunette hair, but the day after she was brought to the orphanage, she dyed it purple.

It was an act of self-renewal, an act she knew the only way out of her past. 

Sitting back on her bed, placing her blanket on the pillow, she stared at the calendar hanging on the wall in front of the bed, directly opposite to the wooden-made jalousie. The thirtieth of May was the only day without X marks. She wanted to mark it like she always did, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. 

It was today that she’d been brought here. A decade or so it’s been; yet, she could still feel the void dominating her entire system. She couldn’t blame herself for feeling a little lonely despite the number of orphans staying with her. They have always made her feel as though they have had a better life compared to her, especially at how it was easy for them to smile, to laugh, to interact with everyone. 

But Hera’s life was cursed the moment she became conscious of the world.

When she was six, she was forced to help her farmer of a father to lead their carabao to the field and smoothen the ground. While her father planted grains, she would go to the neighboring city to sell some flowers in the streets. And if her profit wasn’t enough for their food, she would go to any eatery to wash dishes. Though the owner was wary of her age, she pleaded for them to take her even just for the night, and the owner would eventually hire her. But because she was only a child, she was given twenty pesos for her service.

If she was lucky, they would hand her some food remains. 

Such life wasn’t something she ever dreamed to get back from, which was why she loathed the orange paint of their room’s wall. It reminded her of the tent she used to live in, of the tent that had witnessed her tears, her screams of hunger. 

When one of the girls stirred, she took it as a clue to grab some clothes in the cabinet beside their bed. Not that she hated them, but she never once had the interest of interacting with them. Though some tried befriending her, they always ended up staying away from her once they realized she wouldn’t open her mouth for them. 

Outside her room was yet another door where about four more orphans slept. Its distance to her room was only five big steps away. Without giving the plaque, hanging right at the door’s middle part, any attention, she made her way to the narrow path made by the two-facing room. Along the way, she met two more rooms that were also facing one another, 

In totality, sixteen orphans were living in this small house with her; along with one caregiver, they composed one group with the caregiver as the leader.

Past the small lane was a ladder with three wooden staircases. It was descending to the sitting room where two sofas were facing each other, an ancient-looking table in the middle of them. A vase with intricate patterns was sitting on top of it, together with a red table-mat. 

‘Orange and red, huh! The orphanage really love making my life harder,’ thought Z, clenching her fist at the edge of her clothes. 

The color red reminded her so much of the blood she spilled while working for her family and the look of judgment she had to endure from people who assumed they knew everything about her. It was too much. However deep she buried those miseries, it crawled its way up, never desiring to be forgotten. 

Shaking her head, she made her way to the comfort room, hoping that the water would lift some of the weights weighing her down. But even as she put the dipper on her head, the cold water making her shiver, the big lump on her throat and the squirming of her stomach remained. 

“Well, shit!” said Hera, her smoky voice sounding so sharp as it echoed. “I hate this day already!” 

Fuming still, she wrapped up her bath and took her time to brush her hair. Apart from purple, she was also crazy enough to color some strands gray so that when they intercepted, the dominant color would outshine the other. 

She then pushed aside some strands of her hair, hesitating at first because she never wanted any of her features to be exposed. Luckily, there was no mirror present in the comfort room, so she was left picturing out what she looked like. Otherwise, she would end up cursing herself. 

It was when she turned ten when she stopped meeting a pair of scissors. She did this primarily to conceal the horizontal scar from her left bony cheek up to her wide forehead. That same scar blinded her right eye and made merciful eyes stare in her direction. 

For three long years, Hera met different ophthalmologists to fix her left eye, but it was too late to be cured. The only way for her right eye to see again was for her to undergone an operation. But because it cost hundreds of thousand, Hera insisted not to get treated. 

The second reason why she had to have long hair was to hide what her left eye had become. She didn’t know what had triggered it. She just woke up one day with her once brown eyes already purple. Not only did the color change but a golden web-like pattern weaved itself in her cornea. 

Ever since, no one had seen her bare face. 

Giving her plain T-shirt and shorts one final look, she went out to be greeted by their caregiver, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, A-15! You’re up so early, as always. Have you had a nice dream?” 

Hera’s lips started shaking, her cheeks burning red. Right. She almost forgot that no one would be calling her name around here. She was no more than A-15, a silly nickname imposed on every orphan to make it easier to remember their identity.

The fifteen more orphans residing together with her were called A-1 to A-16, respectively. 

Before she could lose her grip on her emotion, she nodded.

“You always cover you beautiful face, you know that? Let everyone see you. You deserve more than what you’re restricting yourself from.” She smiled one more time, a dimple manifesting right at the bottom of her cheeks. 

A prick of pain clenched Hera’s heart. ‘I wonder what it would feel to be like you, to experience a life more than fate had offered me. I bet it’s going to be fun but also impossible. How I wish!’

“Are you okay, A-15? You seemed so quiet?” The caregiver tried to rub the top of her head, but Hera was quick to move back. 

‘I’ve always been quiet, so what’s strange about that?’ she thought, finding it a lot easier to have her mind’s mouth speak rather than her actual lips. 

Just then, a bell chimed outside. Hera didn’t know if it was the vibration that’s causing her heart to beat fast or the fact that the sign of life, other than her and the caregiver, was starting to be apparent in the room. 

She balled her fist when the other orphans went out of their rooms, yawning and scratching their eyes as they pat their belly. Biting her lips, she made sure to let her hair fall to her face. 

The orphans first did some morning rituals. As the caregiver started greeting them, Hera made her slip, tiptoeing out of her line of vision. Once inside her room, she sat on the bed, her breathing rather fast. She clenched her hands on the bed’s edge, biting her lips so hard. 

Why couldn’t she forget the innocent look the orphans had? Why couldn’t she be like them? She bet they have such a wondrous life for them to act that way. Why then was she the only one suffering? Was she, perhaps, an evil person in her past life for her to be subjected to this accursed fate? 

With her mind buzzing with questions, she lied on the bed with her hands as a pillow. She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Whoever was responsible for my misery, it certainly wasn’t me but the Gods who were cruel enough to subject me to a life where happiness cannot prosper. Such insolence!’  She turned, blowing some air on her forehead. ‘But do Gods truly exist? I doubt that they do, but if they are, then they’re a dick for all the things they’ve made me experience!’ 

A knock on the door disrupted her thoughts. “A-15, we’re already being summoned to the Hall. It’s time for your breakfast.”

Despite the heaviness still weighing deep inside her, Hera followed the caregiver to the sitting room. The orphans were still there, either standing or sitting. They were talking from one another and Hera had a hunch that she was partly their subject. Considering, of course, the fact that they stopped talking when she arrived. 

“Today, you’d be in charge with the dishes. Make no mistakes, okay? I don’t like hearing other caregivers talking that I’m not disciplining you the way they do.” 

The orphans nodded, looking away from Hera whose brows furrowed. 

“That’s so sweet.” The caregiver smiled, flashing her big front teeth. Now, let’s line up and be organized as we go there, hmm?”

Hera immediately stood in front of the door, giving the others no choice but to form a line at her back. She didn’t want to be swarmed in the middle or in the last because she didn’t want to hear more talking about her being mute. Of course, it’s an utter lie. She could speak if she wanted to, but she preferred to keep her voice for herself. It was the only thing she could do without being told. Though she tolerated such a rumor, she still had lingering defensive feelings about being the subject of gossip. 

Outside their quarter, about nine more lines were proceeding toward the straight direction of the narrowed street, which led to the Dining Area. Hera looked over her shoulder and found the high-arching gate with the banner embossed with, ‘Tere’s Villa.’ From where she stood, it looked as though it was embraced by the sky-blue horizon, the round moon still apparent despite the rays of the sun starting to rise in its opposite direction. 

The orphan girl behind her glared at her, pushing her forward. She was slowing their procession down, making them the last one in the other’s line. She merely bowed before looking straight ahead, ignoring the clenching in the pit of her stomach. 

Wooden signs painted with arrows alternately punctuated most of the street’s corners. They passed right through it, Hera looking uninterestedly at the five houses, with its slanted roof, facing yet another five houses. All of them were painted with Mother Tere’s round face, a wide smile on her lips. 

After about five minutes, they arrived at their destination. Ten long tables were lined in rows in the Hall, second-hand plates and other utensils resting on it. Hera was glad to sit on her usual stool, sighing as the sensational smell of the porridge wafted in the air. Her stomach groaned, so she thumped her hands on it, as though telling it to wait a while longer. 

She didn’t have to wait, though, because right after they sat, the volunteers started serving their breakfast. The volunteers were wearing a plain T-shirt paired with jeans, both of which were embroidered with the same picture Hera had seen painted outside the walls of the quarters. 

Since volunteers were only invited on Mondays and Thursdays, Hera was suddenly reminded that it was Monday. Of all the days, she hated Mondays because she would’ve to force herself to attend their classes even though she was barely learning anything.

Pouting, she mentally counted the days she had to spend at the school and was disappointed that she still needed to wait until the end of March the year after this year. 

‘Right. The classes has just started.’ She glared at the spoon but was appalled at the reflection she’d seen from it. It’s as if she’s staring at a real-life Sadako. But unlike that hideous monster, she had such silky purple hair. 

Shaking her head, she scooped some porridge, placing it carefully on her plate. A smile curved her lips and she found herself humming. It was a deep, mournful lullaby she’d heard from somewhere. Despite its low rhythm, she didn’t know why she felt that it’s befitting to hum when she was feeling an extreme emotion.

“Will you stop that?” the same girl who glared at her earlier said, slamming her spoon at her plate. The force she exerted was so strong the plate ended up splitting into two. 

Hera blinked. They were starting to get so much attention, so she bowed, closing her eyes, a clenching sensation now rubbed in her stomach, her mind being a little weird. She imagined herself grabbing a fork and stabbing it at the annoying girl. Fortunately, a volunteer came, bursting her thoughts earlier. 

“What’s happened?” The girl-volunteer who looked like she’s at the same age as Hera had her brows furrowed, her lips pouting a little. “Is someone hurt?”

The annoying girl pointed to Hera. “She’s being extra scary! I want her out of our table!”

“A-16, you know that’s bad!”

“But she’s humming a crazy tone as though she’s singing to a corpse. It’s creepy!”

‘A corpse? How absurd!’ thought Hera, itching more than ever to cut the annoying girl’s tongue. ‘It’s a happy song, you annoying little shit!’

“Is this true—” The volunteer leaned closer to Hera to have a better look at the name engraved on the left side of her shirt. “—A-15?” 

Hera merely nodded. ‘Go away, You!’

The volunteer just sighed, standing straight. “I’m sorry to hear it. A-15, consider your other roommates. Don’t just hum a weird tone, okay? And you, A-16, you can’t close your doors to people who’s being themselves.”

“Y-yes, Big Sister. I’m sorry!” The annoying girl looked down. 

“Don’t say sorry to me. Apologize to A-15, and you do the same, A-15.”

“Sorry!” said the annoying girl a little stiffly.

Hera bowed again, confusing the volunteer. 

“Won’t you say sorry, A-15?”

But instead of answering, Hera just bowed at her, her palms connected as she raised it.

“Y-You won’t?” The volunteer girl was appalled. 

“She’s mute,” supplied the annoying girl, feeling a little superior. 

If glares could kill, she would’ve died with the intensity of Hera’s gaze. She never liked being treated inferior but under the gaze of a volunteer who could swiftly report to Mother Tere, she couldn’t do anything but keep her silence. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She had always loved porridge, so she never really thought the time would come she’d lose interest in eating it. She already lost her appetite with two irksome bees buzzing around her. 

“But both of you will still be punished with the ruckus you’ve made. You’ve disturbed the others.” She looked up, but the others were quick to pretend they were busy eating. 

‘I thought as much.’ She glared for the last time at the annoying girl who was now slumping on the table before forcing herself to eat the cold porridge.