He sees the world through bubbles and glass. Breathes air rationed through a mask cupped to his face. His limbs, when he did have them, have always been bound by wires from sources he couldn’t see.
“He’s just fully grown his right leg, Mrs. West,” the familiar garbled voice of a man says. “But his right eye is ready for harvesting.”
A woman’s exclamations of joy fill the room.
But nobody ever tosses a word of gratitude to him—
The human freakshow stuck in a vat of fluid, regrowing and losing body parts to fill up the incompleteness of strangers.
*Inspired by the prompt flawed from The Daily Post.