Midas
Enzo, the avid water-drinker, miserably woke up at 6:25 A.M. every day, on his single bed in Belfast. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, dreading the moment he had to finally rise out of bed; work today was going to be tiring and he knew it. A carpenter, Enzo's occupation became more and more physically and emotionally taxing as he aged — at 43, he wasn't exactly old, but still not in his optimal shape. Lying face up in his bed, he let out a massive yawn before moving the covers out of the way and sitting up, feet on the ground. As usual, he rested his hand on his nightstand for support to stand up, but rather than a sturdy wooden block, he was met with a loud splash and the sight of a massive puddle of water on the floor; his alarm clock and ceramic water jug on the nightstand had fallen to the ground and shattered into pieces!
That's not normal.
Enzo blinked his black eyes twice. He pinched the side of his pallid arm. He slapped his freckled face and pushed his long, dull finger into his hand. He rubbed his eyes to get the gunk out of them and got out of bed, crouching by the puddle to inspect it. It appeared to be regular water, but how did it get there? There seemed to be no possible answer. Enzo kept a jug of water on his nightstand, so perhaps it came from there, but it didn't contain nearly this much water. Enzo stood up and walked towards his closet, planning on getting dressed before searching for an explanation. He reached for the buttons of his pyjama shirt and sploosh! Suddenly, his body, from the neck down, was drenched in cold water.
Did I do that?
Clearly, it would take Enzo more time to address the problem than he thought—why not call in sick to work? Still drenched and shivering, he walked into his living room and towards the coffee table where he kept his landline. Immediately upon picking up the handset transmitter from the rotary phone, he was shocked, betrayed by the electricity! His phone, right before his eyes, had become pure water!
It was clear, now, what the issue was.
Everything I touch turns to water!
Enzo's first resort, ironically, was to soothe himself with a cold drink of water (this part of his morning routine he skipped, on account of his jug tumbling to the ground). He made his way towards his leaking kitchen sink, not bothering to waste a precious cup. Positioning himself under the faucet's flow of water drops, he opened his mouth, waiting for the refreshing taste of aqua. Upon receiving the first drop, however, Enzo cowered in disgust at the chalky taste in the back of his throat. Repulsed, he spit out whatever was in his mouth onto the floor. What came out was not a drop of water, but rather, a speck of rapid-setting cement, already solidified into a pebble!
What now?
Enzo began to panic. Still shirtless, he kicked at his front door to destroy it, morphing it into water. He walked out and stood in front of his neighbor's apartment building (not wishing to knock, out of courtesy) and began yelling. Help, help! Please come out! Please come give me a glass of water! His neighbor, a 72-year-old woman by the name of Luciana, grouchily emerged, hair still in curlers, still wrapped in a bathrobe. As soon as Enzo explained himself, she brought her hands to her face in shock.
Are you alright? Do you need some help? What did the cement taste of? He ignored her questions, merely asking for her to feed him some water, as a mother does to a child. Luciana told him to wait and disappeared into her apartment, emerging seconds later with a glass of water, which she attempted to pour down Enzo's throat. He should have been gasping sighs of relief, but instead, he was gagging, retching, heaving out the patch of wet concrete that the water had birthed in his throat.
Heavens to Betsy!
It was clear, now, what the second issue was.
Water becomes cement in my throat!
Now distressed, only wishing for a glass of water to keep himself alive, Enzo muttered thank you to his neighbor and ran down the stairs. He instinctively held onto the railing and tripped, disoriented by its disappearance. In a rush, he continued running down the now slippery floor, three steps later taking an embarrassing tumble down the staircase. Rubbing his elbow in pain, he stood up quickly, careful not to turn the floor beneath him into a little lake. He twisted the doorknob instinctively and walked out past the curtain of water he created, running down Great Victoria Street in a bout of great anxiety and fear, hoping and praying to find something drinkable soon.
Help! Help! I need water!
His cries caught nothing but judgmental looks and subtle laughs from the audience of the city around him. Enzo continued running, now sobbing and crying heavy tears. He swallowed, throat feeling alarmingly dry. Enzo ran towards the familiar pond, hoping its larger size and dirty nature would save him. A duck stared at him. He scoffed at it and it turned away. Enzo crouched down, coming closer and closer to the edge of the water. Nervously, he approached the surface of the little pond, blowing away a small lilypad that rested atop. He could practically breathe in the pond through his nose. He stuck his tongue out and touched the top, again tasting the familiar chalky taste. The rest of the pond was still water, but as soon as it touched the tip of his tongue, it turned.
Cement.
He resorted to the hospital, not running this time, but walking, as it took too much energy from his dehydrated body. Once he reached the hospital a half hour later, he attempted to check in, turning both his given pen and the clipboard into water, spilling all over the front desk. He explained to them that it was an emergency, he needed water, but he couldn't drink it. A passing doctor agreed to take him in for consultation—Enzo refused to sit on the hospital bed, knowing it would liquify beneath him. Please sir, sit. You need to sit to be treated, said the doctor. Enzo explained his situation. The doctor chuckled and laughed, that's impossible! He jokingly patted Enzo's back, not expecting his own body, lab coat and all, to liquefy, leaving only a pair of glasses and a stethoscope in a puddle of water on the tiled floor.
Oh.
Enzo walked out of the hospital, vision blurry, black spots in his vision. He swallowed, struggling to produce any more saliva. He had stopped crying by then—his body was incapable of formulating any more tears. His head pounded and he yawned, wishing he had never gotten out of bed that morning. He began to walk back up the street, helplessly begging for some form of help; the passers-by dismissed his cries as those of a neurotic beggar. His mouth was parched; he was almost positive that the saliva had begun to turn to cement in his throat as well. Hearing police sirens behind him, he ran.
Misery, me…
The moisture in my body is turning to cement, too.
Three police cars pulled up in front of him. The sirens enveloped his ears, red-blue lights blinding his eyes. Six men exited from them, and soon enough, he was surrounded by cop cars, all yelling Hands up! Enzo wasn't confused. He knew they were there to arrest him for murdering the doctor, but it wasn't even his fault. There was no way to prove that, though, so from every angle, Enzo appeared guilty.
I know what to do.
He put his hands up, feigning weakness and vulnerability, eyes focused on the ground before him. As the police officers approached him, handcuffs ready, he stayed still, sweat beading on his forehead in little pools of cement. He wiped it off. They came closer, and as they approached, he stuck his wrists out to be bound. The handcuffs, cleanly, became water. Confused, one police officer stuck his hand out, grabbing his wrist; instantly, he dissolved into a pool of liquid, shattering like glass into droplets of water, just as the doctor had done not even an hour prior. The other officers panicked and began to shoot their guns. Their bullets were harmless, dissolving and splattering onto Enzo's chest as soon as they hit his body. Every cop that attempted to attack him immediately liquefied. There was nothing they could do.
I won.
He walked past the puddles on the street and past the empty cop cars, whistling a happy tune with what little breath he had left.
Just as he began to grow cocky at his powers, it came to him with the slow rattling sensation in the back of his throat. Parched, Enzo's eyes grew heavy and he dropped to the ground with a terrifying thunk that startled bystanders. Quickly, a crowd formed, and dozens of people gathered around him, calling for paramedics and doctors on the scene. No, let me die, he choked out, eyes already closing, there's no way to save me. With that, a silent mist approached him, and the cold enveloped his body. Vision focused on the sky above him, he left Earth and entered the comforting folds of darkness, cherishing the beauty of the world around him as he stepped out of its boundaries.
Cover Photo by Ana. Edited by Madison Case.