Cravings

The moment I started craving noodles instead of rice should’ve been a sign. Then I developed a

craving for motherboards and hard drives, silicon wafers and films. “Do we need to plug you into

an outlet now too?” you asked, half-joking until we found a power extension cord and hooked

me up so I wouldn’t die. We prepared the CPUs hot, then cooled them with molten salt even

though sodium made my feet bloat. I waddled like a roly-poly doll, rocking back and forth,

expending energy without covering distance. “Where do you need to go?” you asked. I said

nowhere, and you said exactly before serving up a plate of mono-crystal ingot. We agreed

indulging cravings was better than winding up with a miscarriage, although you harbored doubts:

“you sure it’s mine? I’m not raising a computer.” I said, “yes, I’m certain, but if you don’t want

it, we can cut the power.” Send the extra parts to E-Waste deposits. You caution me not to use

the toilet in case the budding mass plops out like a rock. The plumbing system can’t handle metal

on metal. “What if we use a wrench,” I wondered. “Or a screwdriver to pry it out.” “That’s

barbaric,” you replied. I shrugged and placed a hand to my stomach and licked the salt from my

lips. I figured you were looking for the easy way out. With my other hand, I held yours—a

metallic cool, and guided it to my heart so you could feel the quiet when the alternating current

disconnected.

If I go too long without eating

I feel like someone has dropped an ax through my head even though hypoglycemia can easily be

treated by a wedge of orange, a cube of ice sugar, a single sphere of lychee. We gave up our

memories, organs, bones, and marrow for one sack of sugar—maybe we could’ve gotten two

sacks with more aggressive haggling. But we shouldn’t be greedy. I am the one who initiates

bargains in alleyways, one hand swinging my heart from the aorta, the other holding a bag of

chayotes. I reign in grande jetés in case I spring away like a grasshopper. I trick myself into

having more energy than I’m supposed to: move my limbs to the curves of the plains rather than

huddling with the others to trap particles in, block their escape. I pretend my head is a container

of marbles, each flowing past each other as rivers meet the ocean. Sugar grows more valuable by

the day. Our bloodstream dilutes exponentially: without platelets or muscle fiber or epithelium,

balloon sacks of humans who rely solely on diffusion, taking and taking and taking. It’s only a

matter of time until we become water people, unmoving and unblinking, jellyfish of the air. I am

told I can’t see the water yet since I can still press my feet into soil, absorb shock through my

ankles, rock my splitting head in my hands. The pain is supposed to be fast, and then you spill

over. Wait for the remainder to evaporate.

Lucy Zhang writes, codes, and watches anime. Her work has appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Fireside Magazine, Wigleaf, and elsewhere. Find her on Twitter @Dango_Ramen.