The Typhon Project

Chapter Six: The Lifeless Sleeping Beauty

I stared at the bathroom mirror. Long sections of pink skin were missing. Some hung in ragged strips. The normal skin that remained bubbled. Patches of fine silvery scales filled in the gaps. I rubbed my neck and more skin rolled up beneath my fingertips and peeled off.

I skimmed my hand over the new skin; smooth when I stroked it one way, rough if stroked it against the scales. The itching intensified. The skin on my cheek rippled. I balled my hands into fists. The scratching was stripping off my human skin and leaving me with reptilian skin.

I threw my hand over my mouth. The air thinned. I sucked air into my lungs until they hurt. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control it. My head spun. It's disgusting. I don't want this. High keening escaped my lips. Stumbling backward, I smashed into the wall. I slid down it to the bathroom floor then erupted in body convulsing sobs.

The itching tortured me, but if I scratched, it would scrape off what was left of my normal skin.

I'd known the change was coming. I'd seen others who had changed. Like Dr. Rail. But to see it happening to me. . . ?

Curled up on the bathroom floor, I cried until my tears ran dry. Then I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, barely breathing. I couldn't do this—lose my sister and myself in the same day. And Graeme? What would he say? How could he ever look at me again?

Death. That's what I wanted. To be dead like Lindsay. No more loss. No more suffering.

But, Mom was downstairs. She needed me.

I forced myself to stand. I looked in the mirror again. More bubbling skin. More silver scales peeking from tears in the normal skin. No matter how much I wanted to, I could keep the old me. Get it over with. I slipped out of my clothes. My jeans took swaths of my leg skin with them.

I climbed into the shower. The warm water poured over me, washing the tears from my face. The water pressure forced some of the peachy pieces off of me. The rest I scoured away with a loufa. Bits and pieces of my humanity slid down the pipe or clumped around the drain.

The water beaded on the new skin, the Typhon skin. That's what I was now. No longer human. A Typhon like Dr. Rail. My stomach heaved and I vomited into the shower drain.

I turned off the water, got out of the shower and dried off, using the towel to scrub off any bits of leftover skin. I was glad I hadn't turned on the bathroom fan; the steam covered the mirror shielded me from seeing what I'd become.

I pulled on some long pants and a hoodie. I arranged the hood over my head to hide my face and tugged the sleeves over my hands, leaving only my fingers exposed. The sun had set so I went around opening the shutters. Then, I cooked Mom some thin oatmeal. I placed her cereal and a glass of milk on the tray and then reached for the second tray but pulled my hand back. Only one tray now.

I froze, staring at the food. I had to carry it to Mom. She would notice, notice what I'd become. I didn't want her to see me like this. I rubbed away more tears. I was tired of them. All I'd done for years was weep. It had started the day Dad died and hadn't stopped since. It was as though when he died, he took all the goodness left in the world with him.

I grasped the tray and, with a deep breath for courage, I carried the tray to the living room. Moonlight cast long, faint shadows on the carpet as I shuffled to Mom's side and set her meal on the coffee table. Her eyes fluttered open. "Oh, thanks honey." She tried sitting up, but she couldn't lift her back off the couch. 

My hand behind her back, I raised her to the seated position and propped her up with pillows. I waited for her to notice. I waited for the shock and horror to alight in her eyes. She peered up at me. I hoped the hood hid my face well enough that it would soften the blow. I handed her the bowl and she looked down at my hands.