The man kept walking.

Something wasn't right with my skin. It began to burn and itch so horribly, so much more than the gash on my back that I had to tear off my jacket and scratch profusely, blood dripping down as it came off in ribbons under my blackened nails. I gazed downwards. A clear, slimy substance was oozing outwards, leaking through my ragged clothing. When I stumbled forward, a blue light illuminated upon the man's face. He did not seem to react at all, and remained still, watching the snow beneath me turn from white to pink.

My flesh began to spread outwards--strange, long limbs formed on each side, leaving holes in the ground. And suddenly, an intense pain shot through my body, the worst kind I had ever experienced in my life. My breaths became animal like. I realized that the man was looking up at me; and I wondered why he had shrunk so quickly when he had seemed tall moments before. I ran my tongue across my jagged teeth.

They didn't feel like ordinary teeth; rather, they were extremely sharp at the very ends. Saliva dripped from my mouth, and my hair rose upwards in the harsh wind, almost floating amongst the ice crystals forming around what used to be my bare feet. I couldn't see them anymore, because my hands and other limbs were out of reach. I didn’t have hands or toes or fingers anymore. What remained were long claws against the snow, black and resembling dead vines. I continued to rise above, short bursts of pain rippling through this cursed flesh, one that I knew no one could see.

The man calmly stood below my own towering shadow, his scarf blowing in the wind.

When I managed to speak, my voice was not mine. It was not human. It was deep, deeper than the rumbling of the earth.

"Please, I need your help."

His eyes were expressionless, empty spheres of endless black marble. I needed his skin. I think he knew. I leaned down towards him in this form that I did not wish to ever see, the fluids in his body easily merging with my own, the fire in my head burning, burning, blood spilling down my nose and mouth. The slimy sensation ran down what used to be my back, my busted shoulder, my useless leg. Concentrating, I allowed the rhythm of energy in my mind to take hold, and his skin was warm. Pure. Comforting. So much cleaner and smoother than mine---and the pain stopped.

I slowly opened my eyes.

My tattered, blood stained clothing laid a few feet away in the snow. A blurriness suddenly came over in my vision as something fell from my face. As I bent down to pick them up from the snow, I realized that they were glasses. Confused, I put them on again, being able to see again, as everything had come into focus. I hastily licked my lips and swallowed. Human lips. My teeth were normal, but different set that were unfamiliar.

Breathing heavily, I then stared at my palms, realizing that I had on a bright yellow coat and a scarf tucked under my chin. Human hands—I flexed the tendons and fingers. There were no scars or cuts. For the first time in years, I wore boots. Shoes. I wiggled my toes inside of them, where they were warm. With a shaky hand, I drew down my left sleeve, exposing my pale arm to the cold. The white flesh was barely visible in the night air, but I could see where it split off, where the blue light was still shining through. My headache was gone, and when I took a few steps in the snow, there was no pain in my leg. I glanced at my bloodied pile of clothing on the ground, now being buried underneath a new layer of fresh snow.

When I held out my hands in the air, the blue light seeped through the lines on my palms. Honda's wedding ring was on my index finger. My hair, which was usually long and matted, was now cropped under my ears. The flesh I was in was peeling off a little at the edges, and for the first time in several days, weeks, months, perhaps years, the sense of heaviness lifted off me.

* * * * * *

As dawn arrived, I continued into the snow, onto what I soon realized was the city of Flanders. From afar, the buildings were coated in ice--some of which weren't demolished or impacted by the bomb. It continued to snow, and I had to constantly wipe my nose with my coat sleeve because there was blood coming down to my mouth.

Once I reached the gate, a guard roughly searched my pockets before shoving me forward. Getting lost into the sea of people, I soon found myself trapped amongst the various voices and sounds around me.

Walking in this flesh was something I knew I had to get used to. The bottom of my shoes crunched against the paved streets. Keeping my head low, I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. I could see the soldiers ordering and pushing civilians around, yelling as they waved their guns. The red and white flag hung from every shop and building that came into view. It didn't take me long to realize that they were attempting to evacuate everyone, and it was causing a great commotion further down. My head started to hurt, and my skin suddenly burned and itch—I knew it wanted to separate from me. Panicked, I attempted to concentrate; sensing fresh blood spilling down my upper lip. It dripped on the edge of the patterned scarf secured around my neck.

Please, please. Don't leave me yet.

The pulsing dwindled as I heavily exhaled, forcing myself to keep walking, wrapping my yellow coat tighter around myself. The emptiness of the mind underneath this skull—the lack of any previous thoughts that did not clash with my own made me wonder if this soul was dead. Had I not only stolen his body, but taken away his dreams or ideas?

I slowly wiped my nose with my sleeve.

Snow landed on my glasses. I kept expecting people to flee from my direction, but to my surprise, everyone I passed either bumped shoulders with me or made eye contact with me. All sorts of smells went to my nose. In a daze, I found myself entering a small restaurant. I wasn't exactly sure what it was, perhaps a coffee or bagel shop.

I caught my reflection in the stained glass---startled at the tall man looking back at me. The man that was not me. The facial features was foreign to me, with high cheekbones and a set mouth, and my hair, usually bright red, was now a dark color, which was covered in snow. The glasses on my face were thick rimmed, and the only thing that I recognized for myself were my brown eyes. I realized that my hands were shaking a lot and I pushed them into my pockets before anyone could see them.

It was remarkably busy for it being so early in the morning, and the lines were long. People tracked in snow and mud, and the janitor was humming as they mopped the ground with black water—bopping their head with their earbuds in. A yellow slippery floor card was placed not too far away. Signs of moving were evident with several cardboard boxes stacked up against the wall, next to some folded chairs and tables. Hanging by the door were orange, taped over flyers revealing a new location and hiring announcements. How were they open--like other businesses--despite the chaos ensuing outside? How long had it been like this? The sensation of being inside a building, near where others were sitting at their tables eating, talking to their kids---it all fascinated me. The ring of the register as the cashier counted out bills, the sizzling sound of fresh food being prepared in the kitchen and coffee being poured, I found myself staring at the employees, at everyone. It was the noise that I struggled to make sense of.Their shoes left snow tracks on the floor, which made the custodian glare at them in indignation and curse under his breath.

The cries of a fussy child banging their fists against their high chair startled me. Fork tines scraped against a plate. A woman laughed with her friends as she began to cut into her waffle with extra butter on top, maple syrup spilling out of each square.

My stomach, if it I could call it that, began to rumble. Could this body hunger and thirst? One of the host or servers, perhaps a teenager, who was loudly chewing gum and tapping her thumbs on her cell phone glanced at me. She rolled her eyes at me. Rather than being terrified, she appeared greatly annoyed. "Hello? Hey, you’re holding everyone up. Can I help you?"

The question startled me so much that I stumbled backwards, astonished that she was calmly observing me, that she was talking to me. And then I had to remind myself that I was not in my true form.

The girl loudly popped a bubble, giving me a funny look. “Sir?” Then she made a slight gesture. “Your…your nose is…bleeding.”

Hastily, I wiped my mouth, but more gathered on my fingers, on my already stained sleeves. My heart began to beat faster as a group of teenager kids nearby started to break out in snickers, whispering and pointing at me. The flash of someone’s cell phone hurt my eyes. Breathing heavily, I kept my head low, attempting to pull my scarf over my blood crusted mouth.

The woman wasn’t the only one staring—a few customers in line glared at me with disgust. They were dressed the same way I was, with worn coats covered in patches and hats. I kept frantically stepping away, feeling most people's eyes on me in the room, before something hot sloshed on the ground, burning my skin. Immediately, I spun around, panic rushing through me. A man behind me stared at the spilled puddle of coffee on the floor. He then glanced at me, causing chills to run down my neck.

It had gotten all over his suit and coat as well, and he wore glasses---like I did. A laptop case and several thick folders were bundled under his left arm. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I struggled to speak, before awkwardly reaching out and grabbing a handful of napkins off a nearby table. Doing so with hands that I have never used only made my efforts worse, and I accidentally knocked over the dispenser. It landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

"I.....I...I'm so sorry--"

"Not to worry!" he cheerfully replied. He was a bigger man, in his mid thirties perhaps, with coarse hair. The silver fillings in his teeth contrasted with his dark brown skin. When he smiled at me, I suddenly felt a sense of warmth. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had smiled at me, but then I remembered who he could see. He chuckled at my expression and heavily slapped my back. I studied him for a moment, gently smiling back, adding more napkins to the wet pile to wipe it up.

"Actually, my doctor says I need to cut back on the caffeine and carbs anyways, so you're doing me a favor." He bent down to help me. "Bagels aren't going to help me lose the fifteen pounds anyway." After throwing away the soggy napkins, he held out a small brown paper bag. "You might as well take this. It's the cheese and bacon croissant. One of the best on the menu.”

The smell was heavenly, and I didn't know I was reaching for it before I drew my dirty hand back. "I don't k-know if---"

"Nonsense," the man said. "You need it. You're a pretty scrawny guy. You look hungry anyways. Here." He shoved it into my hands and sighed as he glanced at his watch. "Damn, I'm running late." He smiled at me again, despite the dried blood on my nose and mouth. "You have a good day."

The bell against the door rang loudly as he left into the cold air. I stared at him until he slipped outside onto the busy street and disappeared. Very slowly, I sat down at one of the empty tables, holding onto the bag for a long time, before taking a large bite. And another one. The blue light in my palms were visible, and I made sure that the sleeves of my coat were barely covering my now greasy fingers.

* * * * * * *

The sky was so cloudy that it was hard to make out the sun above, so nightfall came as quickly as dawn arrived. Energized by the food in my system, I kept my eye out for any army trucks dragging on the roads, which were now getting stuck due to rising snow, which was falling at a faster rate. The taste of iron suddenly met my mouth, and I quickly wiped away at the blood gathering in the corner of my mouth. The pressure that had been lingering so much for days had started to intensify, but if I knew if I let up, the weather conditions would improve for the Red Mamba army. Many people were bundled in hats and coats, some getting shot by the soldiers for refusing to move. Some were standing nearby the rusted iron gate of the city, observing the white wasteland as they waited for who they expected.

I followed the trucks.

Leaving the most populated section of Flanders behind, I made my way through the ruins, climbing and hopping over the scraps of metal with my slippery boots. What had only been a couple of soldiers before had now spread out to entire platoons camping and gathering around each corner, keeping watch, their weapons drawn. Small campfires lit up the destroyed streets, and abandoned homes and shops covered in graffiti were on my left and right, their roofs caving in from the great deal of snow piled up on top.

Crouching down below on my hands and knees, I silently began to focus. Blood poured down my mouth and lips, and that stubbornness was in my head, like a big stone lodged within my skull. The strange itchiness returned.The yellow coat fell to the ground as I rose upwards. A searing pain shot through me as the skin hiding me began to split, rip and tear---and I began to crawl rapidly on all fours--on limbs or hands or feet I did not know, snarling, salivating. Chunks of snow began to our faster.

Icicles shot up from the ground.

The soldiers began to scramble into position, shooting their weapons. By now, the light engulfed the street, a sickening neon blue. One by one, the ruins began to crumble into dust as gunshots rang out. A noise came from my throat, and my teeth, which were suddenly sharp sank into their flesh. Soft, warm flesh, despite being hidden underneath layers of cloth they used to keep themselves warm. And the air was filled with the screams of men in the uniforms that made a fire burn into what was left of my soul. Some wore gray and red--the one I recognized the most-- others, a navy blue and white one. I paid no attention to this at first. Each person in my path I made sure to annihilate, leaving nothing but a bloody mess and strewn intestines. Overcome with rage, with an icy tendon, I swiped one man's head clean off the shoulders and sent his body flying into a window.

Taking advantage of the sudden darkness due to the fires being extinguished, I made sure that most of them were either cornered in trapped in a small area without having to worry that they were be scattered about. I created four ice barriers, making sure to lock as many men as they could inside, whose useless bullets were ricocheting off the cold surface. I was also relieved I could not see my reflection----I would never be able to.

In the midst of all of the shouting and the gunfire, it took me a moment to realize that those dressed in navy blue were shooting at those swarming around me like ants. I didn't know where they had come from. They all began to duck for cover as several ice darts came raining from the snow above. Grunting heavily, I applied more force. The blood soaked ground suddenly spilt open in two, suddenly coated in flesh ice spikes. Blood sloshed against the ice fortress I had created, which soon became frozen with their own bodies. What I thought resembled my hands wrapped around a terrified soldier's neck, which snapped into two.

Burning with rage, I focused my gaze on those wearing navy blue, saliva dripping from my mouth, which seemed wider and had more rows of white teeth. They stood back, slowly retreating, studying the mutilated corpses of men who had dared to defy my existence. My breaths were incredibly heavy--and I was gasping uncontrollably. To my surprise, not a single one was shooting at me. But I knew that Baldwin had sent them down here. I hated every one of them. I wanted them to suffer. The blue light only illuminated my eyes in the dark, and I leaped off the top of the ice wall.

"Run," someone yelled.

Like panicked sheep, they scattered. I descended silently off my fortress, towering over them, causing ice shards to fall into their direction. I caught up to soldier who screamed in anguish as I tore him apart. He barely had a chance to scream or speak. Blood splurted over my face.

And suddenly, a harsh ringing settled in my ears. Undeniable pain came upon me, and I suddenly rushed away, coughing and choking. Pressing what I knew was not really my hand against a rock, I began to beg in my mind, unable to remain in such a detestable form. I struggled to breathe.

Please.

Come back to me.

And suddenly, warm, smooth skin wrapped around me, and I closed my eyes, letting myself become one. When I opened them I found myself curled up in the gray slush, in a large, dirty yellow coat, ans pants stained with mud. I felt around on the ground, relieved to see human fingers wrap around a pair of glasses lying next to a deceased soldier. I slowly put them on after wiping the lenses, attempting to properly stand to my feet. Clutching my stomach at the sight of the massacre in front of me, I began to vomit.

When I finished, I wiped my mouth, the sour bile pooling at the back of my throat. My limbs felt sore, achy, and I knew I had pushed this body to the limit. Stumbling forward in the puddles of blood, I realized that it had stopped snowing. Unable to look at the ice walls splattered with blood, I began to run, not knowing where. I was unsure how long I could remain in this form--I could tell it was disgusted with me, my presence.

* * * * * * *

The barbed wire fence met my eye.

My skin burned at the sight of more individuals clad in navy blue. I stared at them while remaining hidden in the shadows, stunned at the sight of them at a security ward. One of four. Hundreds of Khonie were huddled in several lines to a tent, where they were receiving medical treatment and food. Their ribs showed through their uniforms, and some ran to greet each other, clearly after being separated for a long time. I remained where I was for a long time observing their reunion, wanting to know who these people were, gripping the fence with my fingers. How had I never seen them before? I wanted to talk to them, but I was afraid that they would be repulsed by me, as many were.

But they could help Rufus and the others.

Before I could get my thoughts together and think of a way to approach them, the sound of footsteps approaching caught me off guard. To my complete shock, it was the man I had encountered yesterday morning. He had his phone up to his ear, dressed in the same uniform as the others, cigarette in his mouth. His cap was perched up on his head. The look on his face showed me that he wasn't too pleased with what he was with on the other line and he hung up. As he took another puff out of his cigarette, he caught my figure in the shadows. Before he could say anything, another man showed up behind him, startling him and causing him to drop it on the snow. It left a dark spot on its surface.

"Elijah."

"Huh?" He sighed and stared at the cigarette on the ground. "Damn. And that was my last smoke."

"We're going to have evacuate these people west. But with how crowded it is up there, we need to find a different location before more soldiers come." The other man took a shaky breath. "Without that massacre, these camps wouldn't have been liberated as early as we thought. You need to help me find a new place."

"Yes." Elijah nodded. When he spoke, I could see how the silver filings from his molars somehow glowed in the night air. "I knew we would eventually."

As both men walked away, I followed the fence, wanting to hear more of their conversation, wanting to talk to them. When their trucks gathered the rest of the survivors and drove off, I stood in the middle of the muddy road, my hands deep into the pockets of my coat. Their tires made tracks in the dirt as I stared longingly after them.

A snowflake landed on my nose.

* * * * * * *

Three days later, he sat down at the shop, munching on a sandwich with tomatoes, pickles, and tuna. He was typing ferociously on his laptop, his glasses illuminating the screen, chewing loudly. A steaming cup of coffee was not too far from his left hand. Relief washed over me when I spotted him through a window. Just as he had predicted, the city was more heavily guarded then ever, and soldiers swarmed every single street.

I had spent three nights sleeping in an alleyway, amongst the garbage cans in the now freezing rain. The snow had mostly disappeared by now, and puddles of water, not blood, marked the street. I was drenched head to toe, and my glasses were so blurry I found it pointless to clean them, so I just had to rely on what vision this form provided me. I looked down for a moment, shivering, attempting to muster enough courage.

When I stepped into the shop, he was almost done with his sandwich. Making my way silently past the chatting customers, I slowly went up to his table. He looked up as my shadow fell over him, his eyes scanning a face that was not my own, one that I desperately wished I was born with. Neatly, he dusted the crumbs off his shirt.

"May I help you?" he asked, looking confused.

My heart sank. He had forgotten me. Of course he did---why would I expect him to remember me? He clearly was a busy man, who had many other things to worry about. I felt his eyes look me up and down at my already disheveled appearance. Then a sparkle appeared in them as he smiled, the wrinkles appearing on his lower jaw. That smile---provided the warmth I craved, and I desperately wanted to ask him if we could be friends. Or his ally. Perhaps his acquaintance.

But I could barely get a word out. "I...I---"

"Wait a minute, I know you," he said. "You're the one who's helping me watch my caffeine intake." Then he laughed. "I'm just messing with you, buddy. How are you, my friend?"

My friend.

I softly smiled.

He pushed aside a pile of papers, and I noticed he was wearing the navy blue uniform I had seen. It had a strange symbol on his sleeve that I tried to read but couldn't. "Please, please, sit. Excuse the mess. I eat like a slob." Stretching out his fingers, he typed a few more sentences on his computer. "Say, do you want anything? It's on me, man."

My peeling hands rested on my lap as I slid onto the cool seat cushions. He glanced up from the screen behind his glasses, grinning.

"You're a quiet one, hmm? I wish my colleagues were like that. Well if you do, just let me know."

A brief silence passed.

"What's the uniform for?" I whispered.

My question caught his attention, and he slowly shut the laptop. "I'm a military psychiatrist, but I work with a council." He leaned forward. "I would like to stay here in Flanders for a few days, but many civilians are being evacuated further up north. I'm pretty sure you know why that is."

"When are you leaving?" The question came out a little too fast, and he tensed up with suspicion.

"Why would you like to know that for?"

"I...." I took a deep breath and focused on my boots. "I'm seeking help for....people."

Intrigued, he folded his arms. "Ah. Where?"

"Down south. Close to Navu."

"South? But everything is flooded---"

"N-not everywhere," I continued, trying to look him in the eyes. "There's more room down there for new survivors.” Your survivors. “We just need more supplies."

He gave me a long, sincere look. "What's your name, son? You look quite young."

Alex. "Milo." The old lie crept on my mouth.

"Milo what?"

I looked away.

"Just Milo, huh?" the man chuckled, then held a large hand out. I gently shook it."My name is Elijah Whitman." Then he straightened up, causing the chair to scrape against the floor. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" I quietly asked.

"Pardon me for being nosy. I'm just concerned. I got boys of my own in college, probably a little younger than you. Do your folks know where you're at? Are you alone? You've been wearing the same clothes for days, and you could put on a couple of pounds. You have a place to stay?"

My chest tightened up. Elijah reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills, before sliding them across the surface of the table next to the sandwich.

"It's not much, but this should get you a couple of days at a nearby hotel, or on the train if you want to head up to Jova. This city is going to be a playground for the Red Mamba army in a few weeks, so you might as well get as much out of it as you can while we're still permitted to be here." He sighed. "Such a shame, though. I'm going to have to figure out how to interview more people before we leave." With his left hand, he picked up his cap, placed it on his head and turned to leave. "Take care of yourself, son."

Suddenly, I grabbed his arm, startling him. I never wanted to let him out my sight again. His companionship was something I craved more than food. I wished that Honda had been able to meet him. But she was gone, like everyone else was. He soon would be too. I knew he would run away eventually. But maybe he would stay longer than George, Covey, William, or Rufus. And I needed to get to my own child as soon as I could. I had made up my mind that I no longer wanted him over there with anyone.

"Wait...don't go. Don't leave."

Bewildered, he stared at me.

"I...I can h-help you." My voice trailed off into a low whisper. He winced as my fingertips dug into the surface of his skin. "Please. Let me help you. I’m good with maps, navigation. I’m familiar with these places. I…can also clear up some spaces down south. I know some accessible places. You’re looking for space, right? For your—-” And suddenly, I swallowed hard, realizing that he knew that I had been there that night. I let go and dropped my hand.

Elijah stared at me. “That’s very admirable of you. Not a lot of people want to be involved with such a dangerous task. The work I do isn’t exactly feasible for most.”

“I’m not used to feasible things either.” I slightly smiled. “So that makes two of us.”

”Oh.” He was quiet for a while. “I hope everything is alright with you at home.” Suddenly, he reached over for a large handful of paper napkins. “You alright, buddy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your nose is bleeding quite a bit. Here.” He had gathered several already. “Take this.”

I blinked twice. As I dabbed them against my mouth, the taste of iron seeped behind my throat, which felt sore and raw. Elijah frowned and handed me two more.

“Goodness, that’s a lot of blood. You alright?” he repeated. “Here, let me try to get some help for you. Are you dizzy?”

“No, no, no…don’t…don’t worry. It’s—”

”Do they come when you’re stressed?”

The question made my mouth dry. Why was he paying so much attention to a tiny detail? I suddenly found it hard to look him in the face, not wanting to lie to him again. Slowly, I lowered my head, crumpling the damp napkin in my left fist. “I…I don’t know.”

“No worries,” Elijah said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed off. Anxiety can often be a trigger to nosebleeds. They can raise blood pressure and cause the vessels to dilate.” Then he smiled. “If you ever feel overwhelmed—and I always tell my patients this—it’s good to focus on breathing exercises and to relax your muscles. This can help release tension in the body. Have you ever heard of the four—seven—eight technique? Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and then you exhale for eight seconds. And make sure to go straight from the abdomen.”

Wanting to change to subject, I stared at the bills lying on the table. A shiver ran down my spine. “I…I don’t have any money, so I figured that I’d start repaying you—”

”Repaying?” He patted my shoulder. “I don’t want to take a thing from anyone. No. We were put on this earth to serve others. To bring community.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. But, please remember this, Milo. If you ever need help from me, just let me know.” He gestured to the window. “That hotel is where the group I am with is staying at, so go over there. The others are already headed out. I will ask you for one favor, though.”

”Anything,” I said, meaning it.

“I ask that you keep a low profile. You don’t mention us to any friends or family you have.” Eli sighed. “You’ve got people watching each other like a hawk now.”

“I…I don’t have any friends,” I whispered, suddenly thinking about my son, living on a mountain hundreds of miles away down south with people who wanted nothing to do with me after I had destroyed their lives. I drummed my dirty fingers against the surface of the table. “Well, you…you are my friend. I’d like you to…be…my friend.”

My words baffled Elijah for a moment, like he was caught off guard. But it wasn’t disgust or anger, more like genuine surprise. Then, he seemed to recollect himself.

“Yes. You know I’ll always have your back.”

He gave me a polite smile despite the odd look in his eyes and quickly left, grabbing his laptop.

* * * * * * *

In my small hotel room, I slithered out of my false skin. It laid in a bloody pile on the carpet, the holes where my eyes and nose were supposed to be facing upwards. The room was covered in ice, which seeped on the walls and and ceiling like mold. I had turned off the lights so I wouldn't be able to notice my form, the one that I would never look at. My breaths were visible in the chilly air as I attempted to concentrate, to remember being human. Yet my head was hurting, hurting, hurting, like someone had taken a mallet and smashed it.

It was five in the morning.

My hands were not hands. Neither were my feet. I wanted to separate from this entity, this thing that I had attached to myself with my mind. It had torn and eaten away at my body, one that was no longer human. When I raised what was supposed to be a hand to my face, it was long and scaly and slimy, the type that made my skin burn and itch. The silence was agonizing. And I wanted to turn back—find a way to turn back into being human, but no matter how much I applied myself, nothing occurred. My eyes burned with water as I sat on the edge of the bed, defeated and worn out. I attempted to reverse what I had somehow done with my own abilities.

The mattress was soon in shreds, the blankets and pillows into ribbons. Long marks were visible on the wall. Pieces of glass from the bathroom mirror were scattered all over the carpet, while specks of blood marked the wallpaper. Cold wind blew in from the partially opened window to my left. Dead leaves had piled up on the fuzzy blue carpet, their colors orange and green. And I remembered, all those years ago in my apartment when my wife had made similar drawings, how the pages would flutter in the air

when she was

gone.

I remained huddled in the blanket in the corner, my eyes wet and bulging, neon light glowing and fading from what used to be my hands. Like wretched tree branches, they stretched out towards the ceiling. I didn't have arms or legs, and the room was too small for me, almost suffocating. These long, crooked black tendrils were connected to me, dragging on the floor and leaving marks wherever they went. Saliva kept dripping from my outstretched mouth. I closed my eyes, shaking, a thick layer of blood on my face.

Breathe.

I sharply took a deep breath, letting the pressure build up in my chest. The burning sensation intensified, but I held it while simultaneously counting to seven. As I exhaled, the pounding in my head slowed. Time seemed to slow itself. The air was more humid, and I could feel my body lowering in the room. Gradually, my skin became coated in the same, thick clear substance, gluing my palms to the shaggy carpet. Soaking wet, the foul smelling stuff dripped from my elbows and back and shoulders.

My slippery fingers felt for the light switch, but couldn’t find it. The ends of my red hair were glued to the back of my neck and ears. Shivering, I reached for one of the destroyed blankets to tightly wrap around my shoulders and cover my nakedness. The material soon became damp and sticky as I curled up in a ball next to the bed on the floor, leaning sideways against the mattress. By now, I was struggling to control my breathing, hugging my knees to my chest.

Blood dripped from my nose to the carpet, and the pain in my head was so unbearable I would’ve done anything to get my hands on an aspirin. With my lips barely moving, I continued to whisper to myself, breathe, breathe, breathe, not wanting to return to my previous form. My eyelids drooped, my hair fell over my face like a curtain.

Three hours later, there was a quiet knock on the door. I slowly raised my head from my lap.

"Milo?" It was Elijah's voice, groggy with fatigue. "Just letting you know that we're leaving in half an hour. I'd love for you to meet the people I've been traveling with. There's breakfast if you want some."

I heard his sluggish footsteps go down the hallway and descend down the stairs. In the darkness, a faint smile formed on my mouth.

The yellow coat hung up from the doorknob in the closet.