Squishing, oozing goo drips from my untended wound. Maggots wriggle within my exposed flesh. Mold takes root on the edge of the jagged, gaping wound. I would scream, but my mouth has since scarred over. Perhaps, if I wait long enough, the maggots will worm their way to my mouth and eat their way to my tongue, freeing it. But will my tongue still be there? It lies unused and bloated in a sea of saliva and decaying teeth. I still have an iota of taste left with which to sense the metallic range of fresh and decayed blood. With a sense of morbid curiosity, I seek to move the beached behemoth. With an ache, I manage to lift it to the crumbling roof of my mouth. The stirring of my tongue forces some of the liquid back, down, down, down my throats. Chunks I know weren’t there before now block my throat. My tongue, my tongue… I can no longer feel the roof of my mouth. At least I can no longer taste… My musings come to an end as I violently seek to wrench open my mouth, choking on my own rotten flesh.
The sensation jerks me awake, a bitter taste still in my mouth. I hate those stupid dreams. I hate this stupid body. I wish I had taken the time to brush my teeth last night. Fuzziness coats my canines. Running my tongue across my teeth, I loosen the old chunks of food stuck in my back molars. I swallow them along with stale saliva.
My flesh reeks with yesterday’s exertion and my nose crinkles as it senses the distasteful odor. I walk to the shower, bones creaking and scratching against one another. I reach the glass enclosure of soap scum and drain spiders. Clumps of hair clog the drain, allowing a dampness to remain on the floor. My feet cause a splash as they hit the puddle, the ideal habitat for mosquito larvae and parasites.
My clothes lie in a pile on the grimy tiles outside my own personal specimen tank. The snake living under the porch leaves a cleaner pile of sloughed off skin. I stare at it as cold water pours down my body with an oily touch. I scrub harder, harder, with my loofah carcass. Blood rushes to the surface as my skin seems to peel off, yet I still feel unclean. How could I have let those dirty rags sully my body? My breath comes out in gasps as I accidentally snort grimy water. Spluttering, I cough out phlegm and water and soap and grime.
The skittering centipede pays me no mind as I emerge from my glass cocoon red-skinned as a newborn. I leave a slimy trail behind me as I make my way to my nest, old skin left behind like an abandoned corpse. Traces of earlier sheddings remain around the burrow, articles of my self thrown across chairs and fixtures far more permanent than I. Yet, I have converted this brick and mortar prison into the den of the monster that haunts the mirror.
I dig through my belongings, searching for a new skin to wear, a new life to possess. I come across that of a professional, identical to that of yesterday. I put it on, and emerge from my hiding place. I walk proudly in the face of the blazing sun, knowing myself a monster amongst men.
@TheMonotonePuppet now you can read it! Don’t heart it yet!
