The Stories of the Sufferers

Giveaway

Mumtaz folded her donations and placed them into a Target bag. She's moving from her home, Minnesota, to her future home in Canada. The extra property will be a hassle during the move. She reminisced the story behind a few of the clothes she will be giving away to Goodwill. The sweatshirt her friend gave her, the skirt she got from the Somali mall, Karmel, and the plain old grey t-shirt her mother bought from a dingy shop. The elderly store-keeper begged her mom to buy it. She always thought of the shirt as weird. The first and only time she wore it, she felt a burn in the midst of her back.

"Mumtaz!" Her mother yelled from downstairs. "Come down! We don't have enough time to go to Goodwill, come back, and haul the truck!"

"Okay, I'm going to come down!" Mumtaz yelled back.

Mumtaz glanced back at her abnormal shirt. No more wondering if I'm crazy or if the shirt really is supernatural, she thought.

***

Five weeks after Mumtaz settled into Quebec, Rosa drove to the local thrift store in St. Paul, in search of casual shirts to convert into stylish tees. She brushed off her brunette hair and strode into the store, one naturally tan leg moving after the other. Rosa looked out of place in a store meant for the unfortunate. She looked as if she belonged in a high-end store, but Rosa only had enough to buy cheaper clothing. She just wore them fashionably.

As she searched through the shirts rack, her eyes landed on a normal grey short-sleeved shirt. Her mind wandered with ideas as to what she could make out of it and ended with a tank crop top. Satisfied, she took the shirt. After discovering other articles of clothing, she brought them over to the cashier.

"$12.50," the overweight cashier said drearily.

Rosa pulled out a 20-dollar-bill and handed it over.

"$7.50. Have a nice day," the drab woman said as if it was scripted.

"You too."

Later on, Rosa laid the grey shirt on the ironing board and turned her back to collect her supplies. Her small room was lit with dim lights and classical music played on her stereo. Now, recall the peculiarity of the top. It seemed as though, the shirt did not enjoy the idea of mutilation, and as a result, glowed a mighty red, a color of fury. Surely this cannot be a good sign. But Rosa, oblivious to this all, had made up her mind. Scissor in hand, she turned on her heels and walked over to the future crop top, which had returned to its usual shade of grey. The blade brushed the sleeve where the armpit should have been. Delicately, her fingers closed on the handles. The snip of the scissors was drowned out by the beautiful violins.

***

Mumtaz missed her life in the Twin Cities, but she assimilated into the Canadian culture. She made new friends while still in contact with her old ones. That day she was going to meet with one of her newer ones, so she dressed in presentable clothing. Being petite, she can find many clothes to buy and choose from. Today it was going to be a black maxi skirt, a purple long-sleeve top, and a black hijab.

As she looked into the mirror, she felt a scrape on her right shoulder. She rolled up her sleeve to examine her chocolate brown shoulders, only to reveal a cut forming on the spot. Her eyes teared up at the pain searing from it.

***

Rosa had only snipped once and took a short-lived break to change the melancholy song. She needed something upbeat. She scrolled through her Spotify and chose her rock and roll playlist. Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" played. Pleased, she resumed cutting the sleeve.

***

Mumtaz felt her bone crack. Her nerves racked up, and she screamed in agony. A V shape formed as a section of her shoulders tilted unwillingly to the side. Her arms fell limp and stained with blood.