The Reptile

He could feel that he was beginning to change. His skin felt like it was moving and his hair itched. He hopped down into the one place a good citizen would never willingly go - the sewers.

He raced down the disgusting corridors, dripping unknown fluids and covered in mold. His feet slapped wetly on the moist stone floors, occasionally splashing into puddles of undetermined origin. He ran until he could run no longer. As he looked around, he could see that he had come to a maintenance room, a dead end. He could feel it coming, the change. His skin felt like it was bubbling just under the surface, his hair was on fire, and his nails were begging for freedom.

Then, it began.

Scales that were more like fingernails than true scales erupted from his body. As the scales grew, his skin peeled off and plopped onto the floor. Even his nails fell off and were replaced by short claws. Inch by inch, it crept along, uprooting his skin, a wave of skin-colored plates covering his body. The hair on his head peeled off like sunburned flesh, replaced by those strange scales. Between them, hairs began to grow, barely visible, but he could feel them.

He could feel every errant breeze, every twitch of the rats and bugs around him, because of the hairs. As he breathed in through slits that replaced his nose, he could smell so much more than he ever wanted to, the decay and excretions and death around him. His ears were replaced by holes in his head, which brought him the sounds of writhing agony that every creature in the sewer made.

Most importantly, he could feel himself. The twitch of his muscles, the flow of his blood, the creaking of his bones as they morphed to fit the monster he had become.

His eyes itched terribly, then began to burn. He clawed at them desperately, before they suddenly popped out of his head. He scrambled for them, grabbing at them, but he could not find them. What would he do without his eyes! He pawed at where his eyes had been but felt only their sockets, covered in scales. A weak point covered up.

But then he felt a strange flickering, like standing close to a fire. He could feel a creature, furry and warm-blooded, pattering along the sewer floor. His tongue unintentionally peeked out of his mouth, and he could taste it too. It was like slime and mud, covered in blood and feces, but underneath was the succulent flavor of flesh. He had to stop himself from leaping at it.

His face felt tight as it stretched forward, becoming a short muzzle protruding from his face. He ran his now abrasive tongue across his lips, revealing the change wrought to them. They had become beak-like, a hard, protective covering for his teeth, which ached as they grew sharper and longer. His salvia fell the floor, where it sizzled, showing its new caustic nature.

He screamed, a scream of horror, a cry of despair, for what he had become. However, from his maw poured out a deep, grating roar that filled the tunnels and caused the nearby pests to flee in terror.

Before he let Somnus take him and his consciousness, he had one last thought.

‘Oh, gods. What have I become?’