He just ran. He felt free. He ran around the trees and missed all of them without any effort. He could feel the wind on his skin. He could feel the wet soil between his bare toes. It all felt so strange, but at the same time, it all felt so right.
He continued until he came to a large tree and stopped.
That’s my tree. That looks so wonderful.
He admired its bark. It looked so inviting. Its gray color almost seemed to call to him. The sharpness of its sides looked so wonderful.
He took it into his ever-reaching arms and hugged it almost like it was a long-lost friend. Holding it firmly, he rubbed his body up and along the coarseness of its bark. He raked it against his bare chest. It felt so fantastic. It blazed over his skin. He couldn’t resist its burning, so he rubbed it harder, rippling his skin. He rubbed at it until his flesh began to burn with its roughness. When he couldn’t stand the burn any longer, he simply turned over and allowed his back to feel what his front had felt.
Again, he rubbed it hard and allowed it to scratch his skin. It felt wonderful. It felt powerful. It felt beyond magnificent, that so much so, his skin began to burn. His flesh began to tear, until he could feel his skin beginning to fall off his body.
God it felt so magical. God it felt too good to be true, so he dug harder, and held his breath.
He woke up, and turned over in bed. His entire body now burned.
He brought his hands between the sheets and rubbed at his skin. Slowly, he scratched, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He wanted more.
He couldn’t resist the feeling. He had to dig faster and harder. He wanted more of his nails. He wanted more of the scratching. He wanted more of the digging of his flesh. He wanted more. He needed it. He wanted it more and more and more.
Fuck! He sat up, and pulled himself out from under the sheets. This itch is going to drive me crazy!
He reached over, took the lamp next to his bed on the nightstand, and turned on the light.
The entire room flared.
His eyes burned, and his mind blanked out. When they finally focused, he looked at his arm, and gasped with what he saw.
His entire right arm was completely covered in what looked like peeling and white meshes of skin. In fact, it looked like his arm had been put into a meat grinder, and was shredded just for spite.
What the fuck? He brought his arm up closer to his face. He could see that even his fingers had dried skin hanging off his fingertips. Am I dying? He couldn’t believe what he saw. His mind raged into every different direction. His body continued to burn so he followed his fingers up past the hand and turned his arm over to the elbow.
The cracked and dried skin ran up along his arm, past the elbow, and continued as far as he could see. It was everywhere. He looked covered with it.
With a shaky left hand, and using his index finger and thumb, he peeled some of it off his hand.
The sensation felt almost too much for him to bear all at once. It felt like ecstasy. It felt like wonder. It felt like the best thing in the world and then some. The itching stopped instantly at the spot that he pulled, so he looked at the skin that he pulled off and studied it closely. It looked huge, almost three inches in size. Lifting it closer to his face, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. It looked incredible. It looked almost dreadful. He didn’t know what else to think.
He looked at his left arm and hand, and except for the bandage that covered most of it, it all looked the same as his right arm did. His entire left arm looked cracked, with dead skin hanging off him in chunks and pieces. It all looked like it was dangling off him in one huge mass of flesh.
Again, he tore off a piece, but this time from his left hand and brought it up towards his face. Seeing it, he still couldn’t believe it. He just didn’t understand it. He didn’t know what to think or what to do.
Seeing enough of it, he took the piece to the side of the bed, mashed it out between his fingers, and let it fall to the floor beside him.
He watched it fall, and then turned his attention to his chest.
Again, only dead skin covered him. It looked to be everywhere.
His entire body looked covered with it. It looked almost like he was shedding his own body.
Again, he reached for a piece around his right nipple, grabbed it with his right index finger and thumb, and pulled it off. He could see a bright pink colored fresh patch of skin just beneath the dead. He held the piece out in front of him, and this time, he noticed that it was maybe ten inches in size and looked thicker than what had come off his arm.
I’m falling apart. There was no other reason for what he saw.
Sitting up, and bringing his feet to the side of the bed, he looked down to his legs. Again, he saw that they too looked completely covered with nothing but dead and peeling skin, except this time, he noticed something different as well. Being that he was part Italian, he had always had a good amount of hair on his legs, but not now apparently. This time his legs were now hairless. Seeing it, almost stole his breaths away.
What the fuck? He bent in at the waist and brought his left leg up closer to his chest. He had to see it. He couldn’t believe it, but it was real. It was there. All of the hair was completely gone. Seeing it, his heart now raced ten times as fast. He turned back to the bed and pulled the sheets completely off it behind him.
The entire bottom sheet looked splattered with small black hairs all over where his legs had been. In fact, they traced his legs perfectly.
Seeing it, he jumped to his feet with one swift and violent jerk.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He felt astonished. He felt dumfounded. He felt all of those things and more.
Standing, he looked around the bed, and noticed that his pillow was also covered with hair. Seeing it, he rushed his right hand up to the top of his head, and with his palm, felt nothing but the dried skin that apparently covered his entire body. He also felt that he was completely bald.
That’s it. I’m dying.
Completely terrified now, he turned and ran out of his bedroom to the next door on his right, flew into the bathroom with urgency, and went straight to the mirror above the sink. He flipped the light switch on at the right of the doorjamb, and what he now saw almost flared his mind into a bright halo of light.
His face was completely covered with dead and mashed skin. His receding hairline was now completely nothing more than skin, matted and twisted all over his head. Some skin was even hanging off his ears. Some was hanging off his nose. His chin looked dried and haggard. His eyes looked like nothing more than hollow black recesses inside white and torn rubber. He looked like a skeleton. He looked more like a lizard than a man. Seeing it, and gasping, his nauseous stomach gave way and brought up everything in it with one giant gush of air, and he threw up in the sink. He gagged, but finished quickly. When he did, he looked back to the mirror and started to cry.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! What the fuck is happening to me? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the... With a shaky and trembling right hand, he brought his fingers up and took a piece of skin that was hanging from his forehead, and tore it off. It felt beyond wonderful as a pink patch came out from beneath it. He let the skin fall to the floor.
He looked down to his bare stomach, and still trembling, he took some of the dead flesh from there, and likewise tore it off.
A chunk of it fell to the floor, as tears rolled down the leather of his face.
Finished, he grabbed more of his once alive skin and tore it from his forehead. He continued the process, and each time, threw what was left of him to the floor, revealing fresh pink flesh beneath it. Soon his entire face was now lying on the floor.
Finished, he stared in the mirror, and looked at what was left of his face. He looked like a monster. He looked like an animal. He looked almost dead. Looking at himself closer, he noticed something even odder then what he already had.
On his forehead, at his hairline, he noticed small hairs coming out through the new skin. In fact, ther
e was more hair there than what he had before.
What in the hell? He gasped. He felt amazed. He brought his hand to his head, and using his palm, rubbed the top of his head. He felt hair there all right. It even felt new. It felt fresh. He now felt in awe. I have new hair. He continued to rub his own head, not believing what he saw, not believing what he now felt. Everything was nothing but wonder. Everything was like watching himself with disbelief.
Seeing his new hair, and with a sudden relief flowing through him, he once again brought his hands to his legs.
He peeled and pulled at all of the dead skin and realized that like his hairline, his legs were still likewise covered with hair. It seemed that what hair he did lose was still there and was now growing in fresh and new. It all brought a new wonder to instantly flow through his heart and soul. I’ll be fucking crazy!
Finished with peeling the skin off his legs, he turned his attention to his chest, and again, he pulled at all of the dead skin until there was nothing left. He then went to his stomach, and then to each arm in turn.
Each time, when all of the skin was gone, he felt what he had left and felt astonished by what he found.
Not only did he still have hair where the hair was supposed to be, but he also had something else—well something that he was in fact now missing.
Where once he had a fat belly, beer sized in fact, there was now nothing but muscle and firmness. When he looked to his chest, he likewise found it firm and formed. It all brought his eyes back up to the mirror. Again, he was lost for words.
His double chin was gone, and he could even see his Adam’s apple. His eyes looked clear and bright. His face looked firm. He looked alive.
He looked down to his chest.
His chest looked just like he worked out every day. His stomach looked ribbed, and his belly button was out some. The curves down to his groin were all there. Realizing that, he turned his attention to his arms next.
They looked strong. His biceps felt firm and solid. He could see the veins in his arms. Whatever happened to his skin, it seemed to have taken away all of the fat on his body with it. He felt flabbergasted with everything. What in the hell happened to me? His mind came together, and his thoughts became firm. It made him have to look back to the mirror.
He looked perfect. He looked fit. He looked like a million bucks and more. His body felt new, and he looked ten years younger, if not more than that.
Breathing normally again, he left the bathroom and walked back into his bedroom. He walked to the full-sized mirror that was on his closet door, opposite from his bed, and there, he could see himself fully.
He could barely recognize himself. This is fucking too much. What happened? How could this be? Something had to do this. Something had to…He turned to the bandage on his left wrist. That had to be it. Nothing else could have caused what he saw. Nothing else happened.
Slowly, he pulled at the tape that held the gauze pads in place, and when the tape was gone, he slowly removed the pads.
The left hand looked the same way as his right. It was completely covered with dead skin, so he pulled at it, until the last of it was gone.
When it was, he saw what was left, and that made his eyes widen even more.
The wound was gone. His wrist looked normal. In fact, it looked like there was never anything there in the first place.
You have to be kidding me. He looked back to the mirror. He looked at his perfect body. I look like a model. I look like perfection. I look almost pure.
Out beyond his bedroom, his landline phone started ringing.
He heard it, but really didn’t care.
It’s gone. It’s all gone.
He turned from the mirror, left his bedroom, and walked back to the bathroom door. He stopped just at the doorjamb, and looked to the sink. He then looked to the floor in front of it.
A pile of white skin lay there on the floor. He again couldn’t believe any of it. It was all too much to comprehend at once.
“Hey Jimmy,” a voice came out from the direction of the living room. It was Brandon and he sounded like he was coming from the answering machine out by the sofa. “It’s Friday man. I thought we were going out tonight.”
Jimmy looked out to the living room from the doorway of the bathroom.
“Give me a call quick. I’m at the club now, O’Leary‘s. If you want to join me, it would be great. Call me?” The phone clicked and the machine beeped.
Slowly, he walked out to the living room, and stopped just by the sofa. He seemed to move without thinking.
I was supposed to meet him tonight. He stared at the phone on the end table. How can I go out like this? How can I face everyone with what happened to me? He couldn’t believe any of it, so why would anyone else?
He turned from the living room and looked back to the bathroom.
He could barely see his face in the mirror from where he stood, but what he did see made him astonished. You look great.
He turned back to the living room, and looked at the bay window on his right. Who cares what anyone might think?
He looked back to the phone. What would it hurt to have a drink? You’re not sick. You look good. You feel great. What the fuck is the problem?
He turned his eyes down to his belly, and could now see his own legs. He could even see his own feet. He looked back up, and took a deep breath. He could have sworn that he could even take in more air. He felt beyond great, he felt downright fantastic. He didn’t feel sick in anyway whatsoever.
I’m fine. I’m better than fine, I’m great! He now, more than ever, wanted a drink. It felt confirmed. He felt instantly satisfied with the idea.
He turned from the sofa and made his way back to the bedroom, went back to the mirror and stared at his naked body. He tried to get his mind to focus on what he saw.
The redness of his skin was already beginning to fade, and his body, except for the lack of fat, looked normal. In fact, he looked terrific. He also felt better than ever.
His heart felt calm. His breathing felt better, so with it all, he just shook his head. I don’t care what happened.
He picked up his arms and lifted them over his head. The muscles bulged and stretched. He could notice them easily.
I look fantastic! He lowered his arms back to his sides. I feel fantastic!
He turned from the mirror and walked back into the bathroom, stopped at the sink and looked down to the skin on the floor. He bent down, took some of the skin in his hand, and brought it up towards his face. Some of it felt heavy. Some of it felt light, but all of it was there.
Every bit of the fat that he was had was there, and it all felt so fantastic to see and feel it.
I’m not sure what happened. I don’t think I even care.
He stood back up straight and looked back to the mirror over the sink, and now wanted a drink more than ever. He turned from the sink, went to the bathtub, and turned on the faucet. If he was going to do this, he had to take a shower first. He had to prepare his mind for everything that happened, and a shower, he figured, would do the trick.
When he finished, he went back to the bedroom and quickly got dressed. He put on a pair of jeans and a button down shirt. The jeans didn’t quite fit, so he had to use a belt. The shirt was a little tight in the shoulders, but it fit much better than the jeans. He took his favorite dress shoes and slipped them on, but they also didn’t seem to fit, so he went for his sneakers instead.
Finished, he left the bedroom and went straight to the front door.
He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t stop for anything but his keys.
He left just the same way—quickly. He moved faster than he ever had. He moved with a grace and with energy. He never once had to pause to catch his breath. It all felt so wonderful to be alive.
17
It took him only a few minutes to make it over to O’Leary’s Pub, a small family owned bar in the center of town. It was his and Brandon‘s favorite hangout, and they did it often.
He par
ked his car next to Brandon’s and made his way across the street.
He passed several people as he walked up the sidewalk, and noticed all of them turn and watch him as he moved by them. He felt their eyes. He felt their stares. He felt their breathing. He felt them.
He stopped at the steps to the pub when he reached them, and looked at all of them staring. What in the hell are you people looking at? He almost said, but didn’t. He felt—well—stared at, gawked at, almost abused. He had to push the idea out of his mind just to get through the front door. He had to force himself not to think about anything else.
Inside, O’Leary’s looked packed. People were everywhere. The crowd sounded loud. Music played as people talked. Almost everyone turned to him the minute he stepped through the door, and again, he felt their eyes on him, feeling like blades; feeling like daggers sticking through his flesh. It instantly made him feel uncomfortable. It made him feel—well—somehow nervous. He closed his eyes, and then forced himself to blink, and took a deep breath.
The air smelled warm. It smelled—well—floral. There was an odd mix of smells that he didn’t understand. He’d never smelled anything like it before in his life. It was a lot to take in, so he didn’t even try to, and just pushed it out of his mind.
He turned to the bar, on his right, saw Brandon sitting there in the center of it, and went to him without looking at anyone else. It took everything he had to do just that.
When he sat down on the empty stool beside his friend, Brandon didn’t even notice him at first.
“Hey.” He looked straight to the bartender who greeted him with a full and strong smile. “Can I have vodka with some seven-up, but be more on the vodka and less on the soda?” He smiled to the young woman half-heartedly, still not feeling like himself at all. Hell, why would I after losing half myself in the bathroom. He shrugged.
The woman bartender passed him another smile.
He looked at her strongly and could almost feel her heart race and her body as it grew moist some. It came so strong, and it made her smell so nice. There was a heavy sweetness around her, and he could smell it.
A Werewolf's Saga Books 1, 2, & 3 (A Werewolf's Saga Boxed Sets) Page 12