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Authors: Sarah Raughley
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the sink counter. I held the tap so tightly I could feel my blood pumping against the silver. A twisted face in the mirror gaped back at me, alien, bloody, terrified. Beads of sweat slipped down her cheeks and her rounded chin into the sink.
I lifted the tap. Water flowed out. I had to check. I wouldnât find anything anyway so who really cared?
âIâm Deanna Davis.â I said it with the resolution of a dying man and lifted up my tank. The fabric slid like sandpaper against my skin. My back burned in the open air. I turned it towards the mirrorâ
And stifled a scream.
Veins. Dozens, hundreds, millions of them interlocked just beneath the skin. I could count each one. They smoldered when I touched them; streaks of agony shooting straight up into my brain with each ill-placed prod. I laughed. Sharp, desperate, chuckles. How could I not? There were rivulets of blood mapping cities in my back.
This isnât⦠this canât beâ¦
A strangled whimper caught me by surprise before I realized itâd passed through my lips. âThis canât happen.â I shut my eyes and repeated it. âThis canât happen.â
As the pain ripped through my back, my teeth clamped down on my tongue. I dropped my tank as blood filled my mouth. Run. I had to run. I had to get out of here. I stumbled towards the door, but stopped short a step, staring at the knob. Best case scenario, Iâd stagger out this door looking wounded, drunk, high or all of the above, and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I needed right now.
Worst case scenarioâ¦
I bit my lip. Worst case scenario, itâd happen for everyone to see. Dozens of witnesses, dozens of cell phones snapping pictures and capturing videos, each file internet bound, travelling across cyberspace until everyone who cared and everyone who didnât care knew what I was.
And you know what happens to freaks like you, right? hissed a voice nastier than I thought Iâd ever hear in my own head.
âFreaks like them !â Freaks in a constant state of silent panic, their fear cowering behind every smile, their eyes flaring at every touch because of who might be touching them and why.
âOh God!â I covered my mouth to mute the scream as I stumbled back towards the sink. The pain was devastating, like hot pokers burning through my flesh from the inside, tearing out of my skin, trying to grasp the open air. I could feel my shoulder blades shifting and something hard poking through.
âIâmââ An involuntary gasp shuddered through me. I shook my head. âIâm Deanna Davââ My side hit the counter. I grabbed hold of the tap to keep myself steady and looked up.
A feather. Just one. It lay daintily on the counter, covered in my blood. With a shaky hand, I reached out to touch it â and I managed to, just before my back cracked open like an egg.
They came out all at once, the feathers. It wasnât loud and dramatic, like in those movies where an angelâs wings unfurl gloriously out of his back. It was messy, slow â and these sure as hell werenât wings. Blood and feathers slopped down my back like a cape, some draping from my shoulder blades, some sticking out from the rips in my back. I could see my flesh tearing in the mirror.
I staggered forward blindly, choking on the bile in my mouth, and fell over by the base of the toilet. My elbow hit the seat hard. Some of my hair dipped into the water, my body balanced somehow between the seat and the toilet-paper dispenser. I tried to move, but it took every inch of my will power just to keep from shrieking for help and every bone in my body sizzled.
Gradually, achingly, I reached back and touched them. The feathers. They covered the entire surface of my back. For a second I thought I smelled something burning. Flesh. Mine. It probably was.
âDeanna?â It was Ade. Iâm sure Hyde was out there too. Iâm fine!
I lifted the tap. Water flowed out. I had to check. I wouldnât find anything anyway so who really cared?
âIâm Deanna Davis.â I said it with the resolution of a dying man and lifted up my tank. The fabric slid like sandpaper against my skin. My back burned in the open air. I turned it towards the mirrorâ
And stifled a scream.
Veins. Dozens, hundreds, millions of them interlocked just beneath the skin. I could count each one. They smoldered when I touched them; streaks of agony shooting straight up into my brain with each ill-placed prod. I laughed. Sharp, desperate, chuckles. How could I not? There were rivulets of blood mapping cities in my back.
This isnât⦠this canât beâ¦
A strangled whimper caught me by surprise before I realized itâd passed through my lips. âThis canât happen.â I shut my eyes and repeated it. âThis canât happen.â
As the pain ripped through my back, my teeth clamped down on my tongue. I dropped my tank as blood filled my mouth. Run. I had to run. I had to get out of here. I stumbled towards the door, but stopped short a step, staring at the knob. Best case scenario, Iâd stagger out this door looking wounded, drunk, high or all of the above, and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I needed right now.
Worst case scenarioâ¦
I bit my lip. Worst case scenario, itâd happen for everyone to see. Dozens of witnesses, dozens of cell phones snapping pictures and capturing videos, each file internet bound, travelling across cyberspace until everyone who cared and everyone who didnât care knew what I was.
And you know what happens to freaks like you, right? hissed a voice nastier than I thought Iâd ever hear in my own head.
âFreaks like them !â Freaks in a constant state of silent panic, their fear cowering behind every smile, their eyes flaring at every touch because of who might be touching them and why.
âOh God!â I covered my mouth to mute the scream as I stumbled back towards the sink. The pain was devastating, like hot pokers burning through my flesh from the inside, tearing out of my skin, trying to grasp the open air. I could feel my shoulder blades shifting and something hard poking through.
âIâmââ An involuntary gasp shuddered through me. I shook my head. âIâm Deanna Davââ My side hit the counter. I grabbed hold of the tap to keep myself steady and looked up.
A feather. Just one. It lay daintily on the counter, covered in my blood. With a shaky hand, I reached out to touch it â and I managed to, just before my back cracked open like an egg.
They came out all at once, the feathers. It wasnât loud and dramatic, like in those movies where an angelâs wings unfurl gloriously out of his back. It was messy, slow â and these sure as hell werenât wings. Blood and feathers slopped down my back like a cape, some draping from my shoulder blades, some sticking out from the rips in my back. I could see my flesh tearing in the mirror.
I staggered forward blindly, choking on the bile in my mouth, and fell over by the base of the toilet. My elbow hit the seat hard. Some of my hair dipped into the water, my body balanced somehow between the seat and the toilet-paper dispenser. I tried to move, but it took every inch of my will power just to keep from shrieking for help and every bone in my body sizzled.
Gradually, achingly, I reached back and touched them. The feathers. They covered the entire surface of my back. For a second I thought I smelled something burning. Flesh. Mine. It probably was.
âDeanna?â It was Ade. Iâm sure Hyde was out there too. Iâm fine!
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