Matching Skin

There was a sloshing sound as the technician shifted the temporary skin grafts over the exposed flesh of Jessica’s forearms.  She was surprised at the faultless hue of each, the perfect way the goosebumps matched those of the rest of her body, the tiny bleached hairs and natural transparency around the wrists. 

“The nanites are now synced up with your nervous system.  You should have full feeling in around an hour.  We’ll see you in a few days to see which arm has the better match and that’ll be the template for your permanent skin,” the technician said as he smiled and dismissed her.  As Jessica made her way out of the building, she stopped once or twice to pat down the cold sweats that were common with Grazen’s Disease.  She didn’t even bother with make-up:  because of the sweating and the dark, peeling blotches of her epidermis, make-up was a feeble exercise anyway.  No amount of mascara and blush was going to stop her skin from escaping her body.

When she got home, she lazily went to the bathroom and applied cream to her face.  A cacophony of wrinkles, spots, and sores looked back at her from the sink mirror.

“How’s my beach beauty?” Mathis said, sneaking up from behind and sliding his arms around her midsection.  They looked at each other in the mirror, each a fun-house reflection of the past.  His hair was slicked back and his cheeks red and leathery from too much sun, a far cry from the clean-cut soldier Jessica had met years ago.  He smelled of pineapple and his secretary’s lilac lotion.  Mathis rubbed his fingertips over each graft, the one on her left arm eliciting a soft moan.  Before her lips could touch his cheek, he left for his study, leaving Jessica to hope that it would be the skin on the right arm that matched best.