Who doesn't get nervous before oral presentations? I mean seriously, we've been doing these since high school and every single time someone steps forward to deliver their speech, they either mumble their words, don't speak loud enough, make awkwardly long eye contacts, or stick their hands in and out of their pockets as they try to remember what they have to say. I had a guy in my class who had to do them one on one with the teacher since he was suffering from staggering anxiety and would faint if he even tried. 

... and university is basically the same. Except we all get to pretend we're grown ups, and that some of us are just clearly hungover from the night before to deliver a proper presentation. I've been working on mine all night, though. My partner Sophia and me are going first this morning and we should be able to answer the age-old burning question : Is global warming extending the red fox's territory Northward and is this threatening his cousin the arctic fox?

I'm already in class when Sophia sits next to me. She's a nice girl and working with her is always a pleasure. We're on the same page most of the time.

She hands me her usb key. "Here! I put the final details in while having breakfast."

I thank her and put the drive in my laptop before draggin the presentation on my desktop. I quickly scroll through it.

"Alrighty-o", I say, trying to lighten up my own mood. "I've always hated going first. At least the teacher is supposed to be more indulgent if we mess up."

"Relaaaaaax", she says. "Everything will be fiiiine. Unless you break a leg on stage I don't seen how things can go wrong."


She's right, like always, but that doesn't mean I'm not getting nervous myself. It's not like people will notice, anyway. Plus, I'm getting used to it more and more now. We high five for good luck and I notice my right pinky is already gone. I rub my hands together and absently count my fingers. Thumb, index, middle fing... Well, more like ending finger. So that's seven in total, which isn't too bad. I can remember a spanish presentation in highschool when I was already in a wheelchair when leaving my house in the morning. I wasn't able to hold a fork until dinner when I got back from school and could only manage to walk again the next morning. 

The bright side is, my arms are usually the first to vanish AND to grow back. I should at least be able to walk up to the front of the class before we start the presentation.

"ELLE!!"

My heart skips a beat and I jump on my chair, quickly turning around to meet Tommy's bearded face.

I try to shrug him off. "For god's sake Tommy, not now."

"Sorry, didn't mean to be rude." He strokes his beard and looks over his shoulder. Is he blushing? "It's just that, me and the boys are metting up tonight at Jo's place to hang out and have a couple beers and I was wondering if you'd like to join us." 

He sniffs and pinches his nose, his eyes locked into mine. This is so sudden I don't know what to say. I can feel cold sweat forming on my back.

"I... uh...", I swallow. "Probably... yeah.. Um... I guess I could... Swing around?"

He lightens up, then quickly represses it and aims for a strait look. "Great then, I'll text later for deets?"

I smile and say I'll be waiting. When I answer his thumbs up, I can see his eyes flinch for a fraction of a second. I turn back around and try to act natural, grabbing my cell phone to check the time. Shit, only two fingers left on my right hand. That's not too bad, that means I should still have...

Sophia interrupts my thoughts when she whispers in my ear: "Did you really just do what I think you did?"

I look down to see that my left arm ends right below my wrist. Moving my fingers is impossible now on this side, which means I simply presented my stump to him. You gotta wonder who looked stupider. The guy giving a thumbs up to a girl that has none, or the later, too stupid to aknowledge the shape of her own body. I feel humiliated. I lay my head on the remains of my hand and sigh. Sophia pats me on the back :

"Don't worry about it, girl. It wasn't that bad. Plus, he's super into you. There's no way this will set him off."

I force a smile to thank her but still fidget in my chair, fingers on my stump. Meanwhile, Professor Peters has arrived and is trying to get our attention. Good luck with that before it's actually 8h30.

He shouts to cover our voices: "Class starts in 5 precisely, Elle and Sophia go first", he then sets his things on the desk and starts shuffling through his papers.


I check my phone one last time before the class starts and open up Facebook. I have new likes on the profile picture I set yesterday, a photograph of me dressed up as a pirate at last week's Halloween party, sitting crossed legged in the staircase leading to my appartment. My pants are teared below the knees, same goes for the sleeves of my shirt. I remember holding on to a plastic hook all night with my left hand, but it now seems to be made out of metal and fits my wrist perfectly, which noticeably shortens the length of my arm on the picture. My other hand, stylishly reaching for the cigarette between my lips, is just as wide as my wrist and only has two fingers.

I lock my phone and set it on vibrate before putting it back in my backpack. While I'm folded in half, I reach for my calf to relieve a weird itch only to feel the hard surface of plastic under my pants. I sigh again and mentally probe the sensations I'm receiving from below my waist. A prosthetic already? Indeed, my toes are nowhere to be felt and metal rods can be seen coming out of my pants instead of my usually pale flesh. My calves fit into a moulded cavity in my prosthetic, which then connects to an articulated foot via my metallic lower leg. Superb.


"Here, before i forget."


I pinch my fingers together to remove Sophia's USB key and hand it back to her. When I set it before her, the door slams shut and I jump again. This time, I can clearly see my remaining fingers blink back into my body, leaving my palm empty. When Professor Peters calls us at the front, I get up and reach the podium at the front of the classroom, arms folded to secure my laptop against my chest. When I walk, I pay attention to my feet to be sure they land in a position where they articulate correctly so I don't fall face first. After setting up the whole thing on the screen, I join my stumps together and wait for silence. To the class, the courageous and smart disabled student that is myself is simply about to start speaking. To me, I just can't stop fucking shrinking because I'm getting more and more nervous. My arms are still unnoticeably getting shorter by the second when I reach for my laptop and hit the space bar to get the show going.

Like always, I can see that people's expression are different when I'm the one to speak in class. They usually look bored, barely interested enough in the subjet to dare make eye contact with the orator before them, scrolling on their phone or "taking notes" on their laptop. Now, almost everyone is looking up, faking interest in what we have to say. Some do seem to read my PowerPoint presentation, but I know most of them are waiting for me to make a move, point this or that way, or move closer to the screen to clarify something to take a good at my body. People can do such things with the flick of a finger, but I need the entirety of my arms if I want to clarify a figure or call attention to a spot on a graph. I know they can't resist, they're curious. It's not every day you can inspect such a specimen, but this hardly helps me get better at all. 

After completing the introduction and stating interrogations we had about our subject, I hand the lead over to my partner, pointing my elbowless arms and my body her way. When I face the classroom again, several people seem to drop their gaze.


"Thank you, Elle. Now, we've dove deeper into the experiment's methods and samplings to see if they met the standards that we are..."


She goes on for several minutes, grabbing a stick to point at higher elements on the big screen to her left. Meanwhile, I'm still drawing lots of attention everytime I pull my face 5 inches away from the screen when I need to change slides. As she starts talking about results, I try to open her notebook to read my part one last time but my round stumps can't grab the cover properly. Even bringing them together makes this task excruciatingly difficult. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, remembering how I can redirect energy through my body and transfer flesh from one limb to the other in times of transformation. I empty my mind and keep track on Sophia's speech while I slowly feel the process reversing in my left arm.

When I can feel a finger, I open my eyes again. Something is different, though. My friend's voice is coming from further away now and the teachers desk seems higher. I'm holding on to what feels like a piece of plastic and know it's used to activate the slideshow remotely. Also, I'm sitting in an electric wheelchair, conveniently set on the other side of the teachers' desk on the raised platform. I see a wooden ramp sitting not too far to my right. Unsurprisingly, my legs are gone, and my single regrown arm is short and twisted. Shoulder, bicep, elbow, and forearm follow one after the other to form a crooked limb that is so short it barely reaches the sides of my left breast. A lone finger, just as wide as the whole arm, sticks out of my stump and folds back on it to hold the remote. Well, fuck reading notes, I guess. Anyways, Sophia's done. I feel like my entire body had to contracts when I click the remote and my arm curls up like a tentacle.

There's not much I can do now except hold on to that remote for dear life and try not to wiggle too much on my seat, although every couple seconds, I feel the urge to flap my arm like a fin. Trapped in such a limited body, even such a small motion secures me. When I'm done, we get applaused and then go back to our seats. Sophia pushes me to the right of the class to two unoccupied front row seats where our stuff is now lying around. I notice that my phone is back on my desk and lean in to check Facebook again. More likes. Comments on my looks, on that night's alcohol levels... I'm no longer dressed as a pirate, though. Instead, I am wearing a bright pink shirt that covers me from shoulders to hips that a face drawn on the front. Simple dots for eyes and a dumb-looking mouth. Was I... Was I a Ditto?! Yikes. I agreed to that? Great way to make a convincing cosplay: the limbless and useless goo-Pokémon! Anyway, it will probably have changed back by the end of the class. I can already feel my thighs growing at snail's pace against the seat of my wheelchair. 

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Closing the door of my appartment behind me, I let my backpack drop to the floor and head to the kitchen where my roommate Dylan is busy cooking dinner. He greets me and asks how my presentation went.

"Pretty good actually", I answer, taking my socks off, "plus, we went first so that's always a win."

"Yeah, true. Good thing we don't have much of those in chemistry. I'm so bad at it." He chuckles and pops a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"Like that time you peed yourself in front of the whole class in second grade? Haha!"


I jokingly punch his shoulder from behind without too much effect. My legs are complete again, but my right hand still only bears 3 fingers, which makes for a puny little fist. He doesn't even budge and I shrug.

I turn to the fridge to make myself a sandwich, putting my deformed arm around the cold jar of mayonnaise while grabbing a neat pile of the other ingredients I need with my other hand and set everything down on the counter. I fix my grasp on the jar and twist it open using both arms, then delicately unwrap my left to avoid making a mess and let it rest on my side again. Its lack of dexterity downrates it to uselessness in the list of potential limb shapes. On the other side, my hand has to stretch across Tupperwares to open them, often bending the lids to ridiculous shapes. Thumb underneath a corner, fingers applying counterweight on the opposite side, I struggle for each new ingredient I want. Dylan thinks nothing of this. For all I know, he doesn't want to offer any help by fear of mocking me.

And I knew this would happen. Redirecting seems to extend the new limb's resistance to morphing back to a natural shape. Last month, I grew back a complete hand directly on my elbow because my hands and feet went missing right before an exam I wasn't expecially prepared for, and I wanted to be able to write my answers with fingers, at least. Well my arm stayed this way for a week. That means my little arm friend will be there at Tommy's tonight... Fuck. 

When my food is ready, I put everything back where it belongs and sit at the kitchen table to eat. Dylan joins me shortly after with a steaming hot plate of scrambled eggs and toasts. I take a quick look at my Facebook yet again and see I'm back into a pirate costume. I sigh and put my phone aside. We eat in silence and I take another look at my hand. Usually, it would've grown back all the way, but something tells me that tonight's hanging out is lingering high enough in my mind to keep it in this form. 


"Dylan can I ask you something?" I ask after swallowing my last bite.

"Sure, what's up?" He scoops more eggs into his mouth and raises his gaze to meet mine.

"You know how good I am with guys, right? Well there this dude, Tommy, who invited me tonight for some beers with his friends.."

"Yeah, what about it?"

I inhale and exhale slowly. "Well... I always feel like I'm acting stupid around buys, or that people judge me for what I am, if that doesn't sound too cliché."

"What do you mean they judge you?"

I roll my eyes and raise my short arm. He pauses and looks for words. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again.

"See?" I sigh again and let myself slump against the back of my chair.


He groans and sets his fork down. Then, he extends his hands to grab mine and gently examines it. I feel so tiny compared to his muscular frame. My hand is ridiculously small compared to his.


"Stop thinking about boys like they're movie stars looking for their Beyonce's, ok? When you start understanding that, things will be a lot easier for you."

"It's not just that", I say, frowing. "It's not that simple." I tug lightly on my hand but he doesn't let go.

"I know it's not, but it's a great first step, don't you think?"


I bite my lower lip and feel myself getting more anxious about this whole situation. My body tenses under what I know I might do or say. I bring my left arm to my mouth where I retrieve a strand of hair and let it fall back against my cheek. I'm not looking but, according to my senses, I've started losing fingers again.


"Ok Dylan, I've decided to tell you something."

His face melts and he mumbles an excuse, asks if he said something wrong.

"You're fine, Dylan. You're the best. But I feel like, of all the people in the world, you'll believe me and I need this right now, ok?" He nods. "I know we're both studying science and that observation is proof and all, but I swear to God I'm not crazy."

"Sure Elle, whatever you say. What is it?"

I swallow. "There's no way for me to lighten this up, so I'll just say it."

He lets go of the solitary finger sprouting from my wrist and I bring my arms together. I click my nails against each other, breathing faster than before, looking for the perfect words...

"When I get nervous my limbs start disappearing."


A long silence ensues. Dylan's face questions me. He frowns, looks down to my hands and arms, seems to be scanning his own mind for memories. My hand vanishes again, the stillness in the air feeding my anxiety.


"But how..."

"I don't know, Dylan." I spit. "It just... does."

"I've known you my whole life... Like this. Elementary school, high school, you got bullied because of it, and.. and there's a ton of pictures that shows you like you are now..."

"Everything changes... gets rewritten. Pictures, people's memories, my clothes, the shapes of my gloves in winter, the height of the furniture in my room, the sports I'm practicing, events I attend, crutches, wheelchairs, and disabled transportation pop into existence in every possible situations... I can get up and dress myself just fine one morning and in the evening there's a nany here until 8pm that wipes my butt and bathes me but you forget about her the moment I grow some arms back."

He extends a hand again. "Can you show me?" His voice is soothing, comforting. I can see he's not too sure about it but still wants to trust me seeing how it seems to destroy me.

"I already did." My eyes start watering. "I had a right hand not even 2 minutes ago."

My voice cracks and when I cover my face, he gets up and walks around the table to hug me. My wet cheeks press against his chest and he keeps me close while I sob. This has to hit him as well. Every moment of our lives we've spent together is moduled by the way I look from one day to another.

"Can I try something?" he asks, reaching in his pocket to get his phone. "What if we record it?"

"I've already tried so many times, Dylan. But okay."

"You say it's when you get nervous, right? So, how about you just relax and breathe deeply. Stop thinking about everything that stresses you out."

"Yeah, right." 

I shut everything out and do as he says. My arm gradually swells as I chase away stressful emotions. After 5 long minutes, I can feel my 3 fingered hand again and open my eyes to see him still holding his phone towards me. He still looks as puzzled as before.

"Did it work?" he kindly asks, not sure what he was supposed to expect. 

I bring my arms closer together and explain to him what I managed to grow back while he was filming. His jaw drops. He leans over the table and we watch the video together. At the start, we still say the same things. He wants to tape it, relax, breathe, etc, etc. But I already look the way I do now. It's a 5 minutes long video of me breathing with my hand resting on my lap without anything interesting at all happening. He fidgets in his chair, looking for his words.

"So, your normal state is being... uh... being complete?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "But how do I know what to believe? I want to, I really do, but i'm not sure...", he begins, but I interrupt him abruptly.

"Everytime you see or think or speak about me and the way you know me, you have to remember what I said and assume it's not true. When all my limbs are fully grown, assume they most probably weren't sometimes in the last 12 hours. Later when I'm at Tommy's, chances are I'm going to turn into a limbless pile of flesh considering how frightened I'm going to get and you're going to remember having an altered version of this conversation with your poor handicapped roommate that doesn't have any legs to stand on or fingers to pleasure herself. The video you just took will have become a 5 minutes long footage of me trying not to fall down the chair I'm sitting on because of how narrow my hips will have become. Always presume I'm supposed to be a perfectly normal-looking human being even if you don't want to hurt my feelings, or even if for the entirety of your existence I never could do a single thing by myself."

Wow, that's a bomb. I'm not sure even him can recover from that. He rubs his nose then crosses his arms. He looks at me dead in the eye and finally says:

"Okay. I'll do it."

The rest of the afternoon mainly consists of us talking. About body changes, events that occur or not depending on the state I'm in, how it feels to do this or that. I explain how I can sometimes regrow limbs into wicked shapes but how it fucks my already weird body even more. I nod when he asks about my left arm and he reaches to feel it. It's 6 inches in length at most from shoulder to nail. I can control it alright but it feels so stiff, like it's been built with rusted hinges that I can't quite extend all the way. See, I tell him, this one is a first for me so you probably know it more than I do. He answers that he was always afraid to be mean and never risked it.

"At least your right side is fine." I raise my eyebrows and grin to make him realize what he said. "...for now?"

My right hand is indeed back on track along with 5 functionning fingers, but he doesn't know they just grew back. I guess he'll need some time to adjust.

"And you never know which limb vanishes first either?"

"Nope." I sigh. "It's usually my fingers and my hands, but sometimes my feet disappear along with them, some other times I still have all of my toes while my arms are completely gone. Today, everything kind of all melted away in unison which is pretty much the worst that can happen. Growing this little guy", I whip my armlet around, "consumed everything above my other elbow and knees."

Dylan shifts on the couch. He seems uncomfortable now. I get up and walk towards my room.

"Anyways, I'll let you digest this whole thing for now. I need to take a nap before my big night tonight."

"Good luck then", he says from the living room. "Hope you can get a full hand back before your date."


I stop midway to my room and raise my hand again. A thumb and two pointer fingers. I groan all the way back to my room, close the door behind me, and throw myself on the bed face first. For a few minutes, I feel like biting my fingers off. Why can't I just stay the same for a while? Limbs or not doesn't really matter, it's the whole idea of constantly being deconstructed and rebuilt that fucks me over. My left arm might be useless, but at least it's....

Still. Incomplete, but still.

Oh no. I think I have an idea.

But for that to work, I need to get nervous.

I sit in lotus position on my bed and close my eyes, my hand in my lap, and start rummaging stressful thoughts in my brain. Tommy, the presentation, an exam next week, talking to Dylan, the creeping wait until my nany gets here, the helpless feeling of being moved around the bathroom or to have my intimate parts cleaned by stranger's hands and to just sit through it and thank her over and over again. I let everything rush through to me and quickly feel the changes in my body. Three of my limbs are retracting at lightning speed so I have to act fast. 

I decide to sacrifice my left leg for the greater good. Drawing flesh from it, I focus on my right arm where my wrist became empty once again. I sculpt a narrow palm about two inches wide and extend it just like a regular hand would. From there, I picture myself as I was on Dylan's video and grow back the same three fingers up to the nails. It's not perfect, but considering the remaining flesh available on my left thigh, it will have to do. Meanwhile, my right leg had stopped shrinking halfway through the calf, my body being too busy to care about it. I can feel it burgeon into an ankle, which then articulates with a regrowing sole and foot but, before I can wiggle any toes, the process stops. I open my eyes and frantically reach for my left hip only to meet with an absence of limb. My femur no longer exists, along with the muscles usually being attached to it, which makes my pelvis round and smooth to the touch. I turn back to the first half of my foot. Well, it was worth the try I guess. Leaning on my desk right in front of me is a wooden crutch rigged with padded cushions and, resting on said desk, is a silicon mold of the second half of my foot along with toes. I reach for it and fit it tightly in place. I stand up brieftly and I am surprised by the stability it provides me.

Sitting down again, I take it off and lay on my back, trying to think about stressful situations. I can feel my stomach turn, but there are no signs of retraction in my limbs. My plan worked, which means I can go to Tommy's in relative peace, but I'm not too sure if my left leg will recuperate after such an extensive body reconstruction, though. It'll probably come back to normal along with everything else in a few weeks considering how badly I modified my body this time.


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