Skin

The realization came early and swift into my head, on the morning of October twenty third.

I remember getting up and getting ready for the day as usual. I heard the obnoxious sound of my alarm going off at exactly six thirty, then willed myself out of my comfortable bed and into the shower. I washed my hair that day - since it had been a while. My deodorant went on as a gel before drying out, then I proceeded to put on my clothing and get breakfast.

There wasn't much left in the house since I hadn't been grocery shopping yet. I found some old cereal in the back of the pantry, which was then combined with milk just short of spoiling. The corn flakes were stale against my teeth.

That morning I had the TV on, set to one of the local news stations for lack of better options this time of day. Nothing outstanding: death, destruction, war and disease. I don't know why I ever hoped for more, really. This was just the way things had always been, even in my grandfather's time.

Work was boring. The building itself was nothing more than an over sized slab of concrete. There were a few mold stains on the outside walls, growing just above the space where gray met black asphalt. The sun refused to shine, there were dark clouds covering the sky from every angle. Yet, there was no sign that any of them would relent enough to rain.They were all too begrudging to grant that pleasantry on a Monday.

I waved a quick hello to Sheila the receptionist, as she was referred to since no one could pronounce her foreign last name. She was a nice woman, but other than that had no appreciable characteristics. Her outfit was the plain black business suit that was customary, her nature was curt to the point of near offense when in the wrong context.

I still wonder what she was like outside of work. Did she even have a self which was separate from the mundane persona she adopted at Park & Son's? Speaking of, what a terrible name for a business, I know. It was unfortunate that the last name of the owner just happened to be Park, and that some of his many sons just happened to work here as well.

Anyway, back to Sheila the receptionist. She had an acceptably attractive face - did she have a husband? A wife, possibly? I think they had just legalized that in Conneticut. If either of the above options proved to be true, then did she come home everyday to a child begging for her undivided attention? Was she alone in raising this (potentially) fictional child if neither of the above options were true? In that case, maybe it made perfect sense that she was so uncompromisingly stoic.

I could never imagine having such a burden to come home to everyday of my life. I think I should of made a point of speaking to her more, actually. Maybe I should have gotten her a present for the office Christmas party last year.

The rest of the day was practically without thought. I met with a few clients whose legal problems seemed entirely manageable. There was not a single problem to which I did not have a solution readily available. Everything was going exceptionally easy, especially for a Monday.

Looking back, it was almost as if the entire world around me was simply holding its breath. They were waiting for me to finally join in the circle of understanding.

My lunch break came at one in the afternoon. I had started bringing meals from home since I had gotten tired of the endless chatter caused by group lunches. All they wanted was to speak and speak until our brains rotted to nothing inside our skulls. Conversations built around the necessity of killing silence were sickening.I barely had enough paitence just to listen to the clients who came to me expecting an easy solution each week.

I munched thoughtfully on a kale, onion and turkey breast sandwhich. It tasted awful, but was healthier than a cheeseburger from some fast-food joint. With my limited culinary ability, those were about the only two options within immediate availability. For desert, I allowed myself the decadence of a packet of M and M's. A diet Coke washed the whole mess down my throat.

Once this was done, I turned back to my computer screen to read through a recent subpoena document the boss had faxed over. He was too incompetent to do anything without the help of another employee. It was almost sad, really. The old guy was just starting to lose his mind, but no one had the guts to bring it out into the open. Or the balls to lose their job for it, either.

It was around three in the afternoon when I left to go to the bathroom. Once again, I waved at Sheila the receptionist as I went past her desk. She waved politely back while speaking into the Bluetooth piece in her right ear.

While I was washing my hands, I started to notice the face staring back at me in the mirror. There was a dry patch just under the skin of my chin - maybe it was from the new shaving cream I had started using? But then I looked down at my hands while I was rinsing off the lavender scented soap of the office.

They were startlingly dry and rough as well. How could I have not noticed that before? I had thought at the time. My skin was becoming like dry, pale snake skin. It was as though I were getting ready to shed.

My confusion grew when I couldn't stop the urge to pick at the patches of my hand with my fingernails. I scratched at the scales, and with morbid curiosity, kept scratching until they rubbed off. There was no blood underneath - just the gleaming red of muscle tissue.

I was fascinated. My heart was pumping at a rate it had never achieved before. I started to sweat and could feel the rivulets dripping down the length of my back.

Scratch - scratch - scratch. I couldn't stop myself. Once I had started there was no way to continue living until it was all taken off. Every last inch of the scaly thing which had replaced my flesh had to go.

My whole right arm became nothing but an anatomical model. The muscle and tendons stood out in sharp contrast to the grey walls of the simple restroom. It was addictive in the same way that peeling off an old scab was - the scratching brought such relief!

I had to keep going, you see, I had to keep going.

Not until that day did I realize, but there had been something growing inside of me. You could call it a tumor, if you wish. It doesn't matter, names mean nothing essentially. But regardless, it was there, lying just under the rash coated skin. The water was still running in the sink because I had forgotten about it entirely. The boss was supposed to have a meeting with me at three thirty, but it no longer mattered.

There was something very important - vital - that had to be done now.

I stripped off my jacket to better get at my arms, then I removed my stained dress shirt as well. My chest was cold with the impostor flesh. But the tissue underneath was warm.

Yes, I remember that my skin had begun feeling so cold in the last year. No matter what I did, it always felt clammy as a corpse. A girlfriend I had had even broken up with me for it. She said it was my job which had come between us, though. She was a liar. In reality, she must have been repulsed by the parasite which had taken up residence within my body.

Next came the dress pants, the shoes, and well…the rest. There were ribbons of pale skin gathering around my feet on the floor. No blood, though, not a single fluid ounce. Many knocks started to come at the door, hitting against my consciousness like a rainstorm striking a million miles away. People started to yell, then there was a series of shaking kicks delivered to the solid wood door.

In the back of my mind I wondered if it would really break down. At the same time, I couldn't stop scratching at the itch which had moved up to my face.

The bridge of my nose.

A yell at the door, maybe from Sheila the receptionist.

My right temple.

An angry scream from my boss.

My chin, finally.

The door splintered behind me - maybe they had used an axe. Had someone called the fire department?

That seemed silly. I would have come out when I was done.

I turned around to face the group of office workers and the two firemen - there eyes grew incredibly wide. Those white orbs seemed ready to pop right out from their sockets. A woman behind them in her mid-thirties gave out a scream before running out of sight.

I tried to smile reassuringly, but this seemed to distress the crowd of people even more. More screams echoed against the bathroom walls as another two people moved up closer into the doorway.

"Get a doctor!"

"Call 911! We need an ambulance, now!"

"Oh god…Oh god…Oh god!"

They were being very dramatic.

In any case, you see, that is how I ended up here. The ambulance brought me to this place after my hospital stay was done - and here I am.

"That is quite a story Mr. Simmons. But there is one part which is confusing…"

"Yes? What?"

"Why did you ever begin this…this…habit, in the first place? You said it was a normal day at work, but had you been stressed recently? Had there been a death in the family, or maybe of someone else who was close to you?"

"No. No, of course not. I told you already. I just realized that it wasn't my skin...I just realized that it wasn't my skin."