Part 1 of 3
Cô ấy
I abhor living... I abhor the way that I live, and I abhor the way that life forces me to live. I can't even look at his face; it reminds me of our son too much. We were a family then, it was nice, and I was fulfilled. But then it was gone, it disappeared so quickly... I find no courage anymore, consumed by my own sorrow. The deep, dark corner of my mind ache constantly. It's so constant that I feel its warmth more than the warmth of my own husband.
Lately, I feel so much regret, and when he's around me, I feel it evermore deeply. But I can't leave him, I'm afraid that if he goes, I'll have no one left... I'm terrified of that thought. So scared that I can't say a word to him. There is a curtain that separates us now, and I can't seem to lift it. I know he's on the other side, but I'm unable to reach him.
We haven't shared the same bed in a long time. In the early days, I wept intensely, and I guess he just couldn't bear it. No one likes the sound of wailing in the night. So we see each other less, just once a day, at dinner. Back then, both of us were inches away from the unwillingness to live. We had no appetite, we had no joy, all we had was a fragile silence. I wanted him to open up because I couldn't. Perhaps he lost his liking for the food I cook. That's when I decided to make him talk. So I improved. The better the things I made, the more he consumed. In the beginning, he could only fathom a few strands of rau muống, but now he could gulp an entire pot of cá kho tộ. Still, all effort reduced to none. His mouth sewn shut. And I was left disappointed.
I have to cook better... I must.
After that, he ate even more intensely, a few plates of bò xào măng and bowls of rice are nothing to him. His body swelled up seismically. I eat a whole lot too. I get so tired between the cooking and the cleaning. Two people now share the portion of ten. But even then, he doesn't utter a single word. Even more disappointed, I stop cleaning the dishes. They all piled up in the corner, reeking of stench. The kitchen swamped with an ocean of garbage, I just couldn't care anymore. Even the dirty dishes are reused for the next dinner.
Useless, nothing I do works. So I weep even more, I weep when the night falls, the more I weep, the more I miss our child.
Up until now, I feel so bitter, I despair the way that he is, and it seems that the way he is resembles nothing of the foods I make. I despise him and his very existence. I resent this humiliating silence, you are an ungrateful person, you no longer love me, you use me until the very last seconds, are you still a man, or are you an animal? If you are an animal, I’ll feed you leftovers.
He eats even more, a lot more than before. It fatten him up even more. So much so that he's unable to sit on upright. His body bulges out, tearing the clothes apart, his ears grow longer and bigger, his skin turns pink, and out grow a tail from the back.
His body is so swollen now that he can't walk with his legs anymore. He crawls on all four. His face morphed beyond recognition; what's left of my husband are his eyes.
Only now, he sheds a tear, it rolls down his cheek. He finally opens his mouth, but there are no words, only the sound of snorting from deep in his throat.