I'd learned in all those homes and institutions I frequented, not to make a racket, not to draw attention to myself. It was best to stay unnoticed. Under the radar. It meant more freedom, and that meant you could take more liberties, and I needed those to survive. So I kept my own council and my mouth shut.
"Christ," I said to myself in an indulgent bout of resignation, "what a mess," And I was at that point. The more I rubbed the itching skin the more the flesh slowly slid off. Great gloopy globs of flesh caught on my fingers. I usually used my old toothbrushes but I was fresh out. I stared at Charlie's on the side.no, don't go there! I may not be human but I'm not a complete degenerate. I start wiping it off with toilet tissue and a lot of will power. Don't worry, it grows back. I've learned over time it looks far worse than it feels. I usually can tell the signs when it's about to happen. It's not like I hit the boys showers and all of a sudden I'm a marshmallow on a stick in a fire. Boys backing away and probably not screaming, just being manly and shying away muttering "gross" or "for fuck's sake grab a towel won't ya that's disgusting" I've noticed guys arc like that. It takes more to freak them out when it's just another guy. It's the girl stuff that makes them uncomfortably go to pieces, like crying and being asked to go shopping, or the loaded questions like "which do I look better in?".
I'm not sure why my metabolism changed or what this metamorphosis may lead to. When it first happened I began to doubt I was human. I wanted to say something really did. But then I was a rebellious angry teen in loner mode. I'd handled pretty much everything life could throw at me, so I valiantly (or some would say stubbornly) resolved to go it alone. I'd never been sick, I mean like NEVER. That in itself was suspicious. But I'd moved houses and places so much nobody ever had the time or inclination to notice. It wasn't until I surprised everyone and attended Uni that I started to have to be more circumspect. I hid little details, like stashing away my old toothbrushes for the sole purpose of face scrubbing Gross you may think, but a boys gotta do what a boys gotta do. Nothing more human than that. Adapt or die. In my case, it could well be true. So you see, that's why I blame my parents, whoever they arc. They could have at least left me some pointers about who am, where I came from, what I truly am. I look human, I act human and yet.... as I said, I feel decidedly NOT. And hell, face melting isn't your everyday human activity. So I look in my mirror in exasperation and say for like the gazillionth time, "Who am IP" I thump it with my bad hand and it shatters. It just breaks apart. mean, like I need another seven years bad luck like I need a hole in the head. I can't even afford the breakage fee, it'll come out of our deposit. Charlie will be pissed. But then as I'm trying to hold it together (the mirror, not my composure), I notice the gunk on my hands has got in the cracks. And slowly, without even a sound or any evidence of the damage, the mirror started knitting itself back together. "Heck," I thought, " that's new!". I stood there gawking. Hell if I know what's normal anymore. And not for the first I wondered where all this was leading. I just want to go to Uni and play on the team and do the usual stuff kids do. I just want an ordinary life. I guess on my planet this could pass for normal, but here on Earth, not so much. "Have I mentioned I blame my parents?" I ask my reflection watching my face finally putting itself back into shape.
The End.
