As for his liver, residing at the top of the abdominal cavity, underneath the diaphragm, this organ had to be appropriated to ship nutrients to wherever they were needed and perform other vital metabolic processes, such as taking glucose from the blood coming from his intestines then transforming it into carbohydrate glycogen, put aside in reserve (to be converted back into glucose when levels in the blood happened to fall). Kyle had to fathom how to convert the amino acids and fats stored there into glucose, and how to form urea from waste proteins and amino acids, and mass-produce key molecules (like phospholipids and lipoproteins) that fashioned cell membranes. This organ was also utilised to generate digestive enzymes to be introduced into the small intestine and last, but not least, to warm the blood that passed through its internal regions which helped sustain a constant body temperature.
Kyle did all this and more, thousands of tasks every second: handling production of cells (for skin, muscle, the major organs ... for his brain) as well as maintaining the fifty thousand billion already in operation; seeing to the replacement of dead tissue; the stimulation of saliva in the mouth; hair and nail growth; the preservation of his bones; organising the vital chemical reactions throughout his form, draining off excess fluid from tissues using the lymphatic system; shifting material about the body, in and out, up and down, left and right. Even ensuring that sperm production continued on apace in his testes—one thousand every second ...
But it was unbelievably hard work. Kyle had no idea it would be so tiring, that taking over all his automated functions would demand his utmost attention, and would continue to do so forever. He started to worry ... How will I cope? What if I forget to do something important—one mistake and I’m dead! And he hadn’t even begun to think about things like getting up and walking, or somehow keeping all these plates in the air while he slept. Sleep, hah! Forget about that for the time being.
Kyle tried to compose himself. These random thoughts were no good. Too distracting. It would all become easier the more he did it. Soon it would be like ... Like what, second nature?
But he was right. It was becoming simpler with every duty he performed. Kyle proceeded to lose his doubts, his inhibitions. He could cope, no problem. The more ambitious stuff would come later on. For now Kyle allowed himself a small congratulations on achieving what he set out to do. He was at last in total contr—
Kyle hadn’t noticed the invader until it was too late. A virus. A common cold virus, brought on by sitting through that rainstorm yesterday. Kyle ordered his antibodies to intercept, but even before they could set to work he began getting strange signals from his nervous system. A tingling sensation in ...
In his nose.
He couldn’t help himself, he had to relieve the pressure and sneezing was the only way to do it. The rush of air threw him completely, leaving his nose at precisely one-hundred mph, sending him into a panic as he felt himself wobbling backwards. Kyle endeavoured to compensate, tried to work his muscles in teams of twenty or thirty at a time, contracting the meat in his arms to move the bones and put out his hand.
Kyle opened his eyes without comprehending the enormity of what he’d done. The light streaming in through his conjunctivae, corneas, irises, pupils, lenses, vitreous humour, and optic nerves overwhelmed him, sabotaging any attempt to close his eyelids again. He sought to process over a million colours: blues, greens, reds ... all bouncing into his brain far too quickly for him to differentiate, while he struggled to keep his heart, lungs, liver and the rest of his organs working properly. Kyle felt himself shouting out, a natural human reaction. But disastrous in his case, forcing him to draw in more breath, to change the tension in his vocal chords (tightening them to scream), to trouble his larynx, his tongue, needlessly—distracting him further.
The sound vibrated off his helix, tragus, concha and travelled down the external acoustic meatus on both sides of his head. Inside his ears it passed through the tympanum, stretched taut across the ear canal, caused the malleus (hammer) to strike the incus (anvil)—each bone no bigger than a grain of rice—taking the vibrations down to the stapes, fenestra ovalis, zipping through receptors in the cochlea and up through the acoustic nerve into his brain. More sensory input to collate.
By now the pads on his fingers were touching the grass, transmitting yet more data directly to his bulging grey matter—using up more than its fair share of energy firing overburdened neurones. His arm buckled under the weight of his body. His palm connected with the ground, sending shockwaves through his tendons, brachialis, biceps brachii and up into his pectoral and trapezius muscles.
Kyle needed to cough, but was having difficulty regulating his breathing. Saliva production fell and the dryness in his throat caused him to choke.
Hold it together, he told himself, you can do it ...
But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He was losing his grasp.
Kyle’s body cried thick, watery tears. Blood commingled with sweat and he had to release it through his pores or risk drowning in his own juices.
He concentrated on his lungs and heart again, sacrificing other vital systems. All he could think of was to keep that muscle pumping, to keep breathing.
To stay alive.
But now his eyes were open, he was compelled to try and focus. Using all of his might, Kyle tilted his head and looked down upon himself, finally flipping the inverted image projected onto his retina.
His body was losing coherence. His skin was rippling like washing hung out to dry. Blood was escaping down his nostrils. His bladder and sphincter nerve both went at the same time, expelling the waste he’d been so dutifully processing before—and twenty-five grams of dead cells at the same time. Mislaying what little strength it had left, his arm folded and he finally fell backwards. Kyle’s balance was shot. His knees pointed up at the sky a second before flopping down, as if his legs were made of rubber. Kyle felt his skin sliding off—the epidermis, dermal papillae, subcutaneous fat—cells disbanding, leaving him. Striking because they hated conditions under Kyle’s new management. The matrix of his bones was collapsing, his brain liquefying. His kidneys shut down, followed soon after by his liver.
Kyle fought to breathe, but his lungs were the next to go. His heart beat slowly in his chest; he didn’t have much time left before it turned to mulch.
I’m sorry, he “thought”. I’m so sorry ... Won’t you take me back? PLEASE!
He no longer wanted the responsibility that came with command. He’d proved himself unworthy of it. Thought he could do so easily what She did for him, without realising he was still Her creation—just like everything else. That if She abandoned him, it was all over. (She had many different names this archaic matriarch, this parthenogenetic parent—some ancient, some modern—many guises for many different cultures, in the East and in the West; though She was always credited with the same accomplishments.)
Kyle’s eyesight had gone. All he could feel was his heartbeat slowly ticking down the seconds until his death.
And at the very point of nothingness, as the final beat came—when he himself ultimately gave up the ghost—and he was gradually absorbed into the earth, his biodegradable marrow feeding the soil, he experienced a devastating guilt.
But he also knew great relief. Relief and exaltation.
For he could feel his biorhythms again, this time on an unprecedented scale. The grass growing in the fields, the animals coming up to sniff at his remains, the swaying movement of the trees. Turning every living thing, turning the whole world, into his body. The universe into his soul.
As She kindly—and graciously—forgave him his trespasses.
As Mother Nature welcomed her lost sheep back into the fold ...