One fine Monday morning, I woke up and couldn't find my
right arm. It was not on the pillow, under the blanket, nor behind my back. It
wasn't everywhere. I glanced at my feet, wondering if they were intact. Thank
God, they were.
It was 7.30 am. One and a half hour before I should go to
work. I still got time to find my other arm, but I needed help, so I asked you
to come out.
"Where the heck you put it? You fed it to a hyena or
something?" You were frustrated. Your hair was as messy as mine, we both always
look terrible in every morning.
"I can't remember. I'm sure it was here." I
pointed at my right shoulder, showing you a spot where my right arm should be. Now,
it's just a 10-centimeters-long bone, covered by a thin layer of skin. It was
like a cut from a neat-freak, that was operated during my deep sleep last night.
"Help me find it," I said.
You rolled your eyes, seemed uninteresred. "Can't we
just have a breakfast? I'm so hungry, I could die." You knew I hated complain
and it wasn't take you too long to restate your offer. "Let's find it on
nearby soto seller. You have soto for breakfast every morning,
maybe it made you forgot to bring back your arm."
I noticed your stupid idea, but I agreed anyway. "Make
sense." We left to have a breakfast and to find my right arm.
to be continued
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