Spring 2024 - Recrudescence

“Stitches

O’Malley in the infirmary; that’s what she’s there for after all. We straightened up, plucked up, and ran outside. We even fought with one another to show that we were as strong as ever, pounding flesh with closed fists, which also helped us release what we had boiling inside. It goes without saying that Imogen, in those moments, didn’t come anywhere near us; she was off alone, the pig, smiling and silent as if nothing mattered to her. Saturday finally came. We had study hall in the morning, but we spent nearly the whole hour looking out the window (studying was, of course, a pretext; many of us read novels or wrote in our journals). We went to lunch when the time came, and when we finished, went outside as if daylight itself pulled us towards the swimming hole. Walking down the hallway, we looked behind us to see if Imogen was there. She was, she came, and so something worried at our hearts, each of us separately, because if Imogen walked with us, some part of her must still be like us. We got to the bottom of the hill and turned towards the swimming hole. We thought that maybe Imogen had been one of us before, but wasn’t now (remember that, at Polar, it was difficult to separate the present, past, and future). Warmed by the sun, we arrived at the swimming hole. First, we all occupied ourselves with undressing and admiring how the sun penetrated our skin. We approached the water, stepped in, dunked our heads, and came back up, as we always did. The water seemed warmer to us than usual. We had already all gotten in when we noticed that Imogen hadn’t. We looked over to terraferma and saw her walking towards us. Here she came, smiling, her skin shining as if she were covered in scales, the pig. You’ll have to excuse us, but the bitch! There she came as if she were superior to the rest of us—which she was. How can we tell you what happened next? Truthfully, when we saw her, we all threw ourselves onto her—some from above, others from below. Don’t imagine that we’d planned it like that; it 177