Metamorphosis, Again

Metamorphosis, Again

It all happened because of that lunch when she ate pork. She knew she shouldn't have eaten that pork.

She was a person with plans and intentions. She knew what in her life followed what. She thought she had a picture of her future in mind. She cared about her career and her private life in equal proportions. Both things were more or less under control. She slept enough, she traveled, she took care of her appearance. She was aware of what she was eating, too. Usually she was.

And that pork was delicious, and the conversation along with the eating was smart. Later she thought: maybe that's how the pork took revenge over being eaten. It's known that pigs, before they become pork, are really intelligent. Almost as much as people. Almost as most people. Naturally, they don't want to be eaten by someone who is only slightly smarter than they are. On the other hand, if they were stupid, would they, would it, the pork, be okay with being eaten? Would it seem fair enough for it?

Anyway! That happened, and she ate the pork. Soon after lunch she started feeling bad. Like really bad. She lost sleep, she suffered from diarrhea and felt dizzy. Along with that, she experienced a weird tickling tingle in her stomach.

She called her acquaintance, whom she had the pork with, and asked if he experienced anything similar. He said he also felt awful. He said, the whole “let's eat pork together” idea was a mistake.

“We should never eat pork again,” he added. “Maybe we could eat vegetables next time.”

She hung up.

A few days passed, and the weirdness was still there.

She went to see a doctor.

The doctor examined her attentively and said:

“It seems like you've got an insect from that pork.”

“An insect? What the hell? Have you come across this before?”

“Sort of,” the doctor said. “People do get insects from time to time.”

“Is it dangerous?”

The doctor shrugged and said rather absently:

“In theory, it can be dangerous. But with a current level of technology and pharmaceuticals people simply get adjusted to their new bodily state.”

“Wait. Are you saying, it's permanent?”

“That's not exactly what I am saying. I am saying, there are certain types of insects that people can get from what they eat, from pork, in your case, and they are not dangerous, so to speak. I am saying that, most likely, it won't kill you.”

“What a relief!” she said sarcastically.

“Let me finish,” the doctor said. “It won't kill you, but there is another thing that might happen.”

The doctor paused for a second, then continued:

“In a way, the insect will become you. Or, you will become the insect. Whatever you prefer.”

“Neither! I do not prefer neither!”

She thought she would burst into tears.

“Can I get rid of it?”

“Unfortunately, it has grown too deep in your stomach. At least, that's what I see. If I can speculate, it may cause internal blood loss and other unpleasant things.”

“But I don't want to become an insect.”

“Imagine who else you might have become,” the doctor said. “Maybe, this is not the worst option, if you think about it.”

She returned home, locked the door, and threw herself on the bed. She lay there for a while, listening to what came from the inside her. Tickle, tickle. Why does she have to turn into an insect? Why not into a dragon, or a mermaid, if such an option as remaining a human being doesn't exist?

She closed her eyes and imagined what her eyes will be like when the insect possesses her. She realized that the doctor didn't say a word about how exactly the metamorphosis would affect her looks or personality. What if her insect has round, transparent eyes with black dilated pupils. What if it has multiple limbs and hairy scales. Does it mean, she would get extra limbs and hair, too?! She stood up and dragged herself to the mirror—just to check if her eyes, or anything else, had begun to change. While she was goggling her eyes in front of the mirror, the phone rang. Her sister.

“I would love to stop by for a chat,” said the sister.

“I don't feel well. I think I am sick.”

“Oh! Can I help?”

“No, you can't.”

Her sister sighed for no reason.

“Then we are meeting on Sunday.”

“Why?”

“At the dinner, with our parents,” the sister reminded her.

“Oh, I don't think I can make it.”

“You have to,” the sister said and then hung up.

They met at their parents' place. By that time the tickling had intensified and became painful. She also felt like there was a bubble in her chest that didn't let her inhale and exhale normally. As if that was not enough, her eyes looked rounder and more transparent than normal. She prepared her defense against her parents' inquiries. She was sure that her family would notice any drastic changes in her physical appearance. This was her family, after all.

They didn't, however. They chatted incessantly about some people they knew, who, all of a sudden, turned into vegans and sold off all they owned, following their desire to save the planet.

“They are behaving like total strangers to us!” the mother said. “Like we never knew them!”

Then her mother served meat stew. She excused herself, left the table, locked herself in the toilet and vomited.

“Are you alright?” the mother asked, when she eventually reappeared in the dining room.

“You look a bit too pale. Or, perhaps a bit too slim? Did you change your hair color?”

The father turned his attention from the meal and looked at her.

“She looks like always,” he concluded.

She was about to say that the mother, and the father, should be actually thankful for just seeing their daughter in a human guise, but didn't want to sound overdramatic. She just left before the dessert, ignoring her sister's condemning gaze.

The changes came slowly, but came none-the-less. Her back was itching—perhaps, because of the new scales determined to sprout. Her eyesight played tricks on her—now she could clearly see at night, but in the daytime, especially at work, in front of the laptop, pictures on the screen tended to jump and doubled. She gained fat on her arms and cheeks, where she never was fat before. And she could definitely feel additional limbs around her shoulders and chest area, though they were not visible yet. How else it could be explained that now she could simultaneously juggle a dozen tasks (having coffee, typing, talking on the phone, refreshing her lipstick, summoning the elevator), and, also, she became very speedy when it came to catching a bus, or reaching her workplace on time.

It was convenient—people at work said, she showed such a productivity that it was worth extra compensation—and horrifying, too. Clearly it was the insect acting, not her.

Once, during the night, she woke up and found herself floating on the ceiling. Before realizing that she must have grown insect wings, she fell down to the bed. She sobbed all night and in the morning she flew to the doctor.

“I can't stand it anymore,” she said at the doctor's. “It's a nightmare.”

“You are doing just fine,” the doctor reassured her. “Your blood is fine. Nothing is life threatening.”

“Can I just kill myself?” she asked.

“Try live your normal life and not think about the future too much,” the doctor said.

“Do you think it will happen? Will this insect become me? Or I become it?”

The doctor just nodded.

“Do you know when it will happen?”

“When the time comes, you will know.”

She cried again, and cried loudly.

Another doctor, wearing rubber gloves, looked into the office.

“What's this?” the other doctor asked, nodding at her.

“Metamorphosis,” her doctor said. “Again.”

And both doctors suddenly and rudely burst into laughter.

The other doctor even clasped her with her rubber hands:

“What's happening with people these days? As if it's such a big deal—metamorphosis! It's not a global warming, after all!”

“I just don't want to turn into an insect!” she said with despair.

“It could have been much worse, dear.”

“I told her that!” her doctor said joyfully.

“But she would not listen, right?” the other doctor with gloves said, shaking her head sympathetically.

“Instead of adjusting to their new life, instead of telling their families, they just sit and whine!”

“Tell my family? They would kill me!”

“Probably they won't.”

Both doctors performed their laugh again.

“Will they even recognize me?”

She realized she had not thought about that until now.

“It depends,” her doctor said and yawned. “There are cases when family members are not eye-lookers and don't even notice the change.”

“That's just unbearable,” she murmured.

“Now,” her doctor said. “Go home. We've got a line of patients outside who can only dream of turning into insects, but they have got other problems instead. Just the opposite problems.”

“What problems can be opposite from this?”

She kept sitting on her chair, feeling the trembling wings on her back.

“Just leave,” her doctor repeated.

She trudged along the street. The whole contradiction and duality of life were enclosed in her body: half of it was almost imponderable, while the other half was coming smashing to the ground.

She fell asleep, and when she woke up, she could not tell how long she had slept for—an hour, or a week. The clock on the kitchen wall didn't work. Her phone had died. It was sunset outside, and it was still sunset when she looked out an hour later. She figured time had stopped. Or, it was her who just didn't need time any more.

She stayed in her flat until the space began to shrink, the walls started to shake, and the floor went crooked. She left her flat crawling, because the whole idea of walking had become impossible. Her eyeballs, and her head, and her poor body, both weightless and swollen, were slowly exploding in pain. The insect was coming to life.

She whispered:

“Bye, me.”

She grabbed the elusive wall with all her new eight limbs. With a rattle and roar, with a sound of torn tissue, the insect began replacing her.

She remembered the doctor saying “I told you, it will be alright,” but she couldn't figure out when and how come that the doctor had showed up. After the metamorphosis was complete, and she felt a bit better, she flew (crawled? walked?) to the mirror. She saw an insect in the mirror. All she could see now was her insect. She couldn't take her eyes off the insect.