Chapter #2Gail MacNeille by: BeeJay   My name is Gail MacNeille.
I'm the oldest of three children; and, so, the first to go off to college. My folks had high hopes for me once I graduated. The problem was, they weren't on the same page as to what those hopes should be: Dad wanted me to be a lawyer, like him; while Mom wanted me to be an artist, like her.
The worst part of it was, I didn't know what I wanted to be. Neither law nor art felt right for me; but I didn't know what did.
And then I became something I didn't even know it was possible to be. But who did, back then?
******************************
The day it began seemed ordinary enough. It was the middle of the week, early October. There were no special events scheduled. The closest thing to anything happening was the guys who spent Friday nights eating fried chicken and watching porn.
I had just come back from a trip home for a funeral. I had to share the flight back with some guy who had a bad cold. That morning, between the sneezing and the coughing, I was sure I'd caught it. Luckily for me, Mom made sure I had some cold medicine, just in case. So I just took the day off from classes, took the medicine, and waited.
Unluckily, the medicine wasn't working. I double-checked the instructions; I triple-checked the dosage; I should be too doped up even to sit up straight. Instead, I was wide awake, and coughing and sneezing.
Classes must have been over for the day, because my roommate, Tabitha Welker, came in while I was in the middle of blowing my nose. "Sounds pretty bad," she said. "You should take something for that."
"I am," I replied. "It's not working."
She looked at the medicine package. "Even if it's the flu, this ought to help you. Maybe you should see a doctor."
"And tell him what? That I've got a cold? He'd just tell me to do what I'm already doing."
"Well, you can't keep suffering with this."
I sneezed. "If it isn't any better in the morning, I'll go to the doctor first thing."
******************************
I got a few hours' sleep in the night. In the morning, when I woke up, I was breathing clearly. I didn't know why I got better so quickly after being so miserable the day before; and, frankly, I didn't care. I was just glad to recover. I took a shower.
When I got done, the mirror was fogged, so I toweled it off. And then I stopped in my tracks.
My eyes were wrong. They were the same color as before; but they didn't look the same. They looked... painted. As if they were the work of an artist, not flesh and blood.
I opened my mouth, and got another shock. My teeth, my gums, my tongue; the inside of my mouth looked as painted as my eyes. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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