Andy studied his new self in the mirror and concluded that Veronica was right: he was never going to pass for human. His hair, once a full, dark brown, had turned white at the roots. How is it still growing out if I'm dead? he wondered, but then decided that he had other, weirder things to worry about. His skin was gray and thin, the play of muscles underneath clearly visible...
I'm a monster. There wasn't any way to hide it, either. Even a ski mask and goggles wouldn't disguise the pale blue of his lips or the equally pale corpse-gray of his skin. Veronica had said that his hair wouldn't hold dye, but that was almost beside the point. His skin would give him away far before his hair did. Tattoos, or a fuck-ton of makeup, and even then... He'd never much participated in theater, except for that one time the teacher had specifically asked him to do a particular stunt involving rope-work, but he'd had friends who had. He knew that doing makeup well wasn't easy.
Surface appearance aside, he didn't look bad. His musculature had always been solid; becoming a wight hadn't changed that. He'd never been much for team sports, but anything he could do alone -- track and field, gymnastics, wrestling, fencing, climbing -- he'd happily taken part in. Even a year of karate, right before his mother had decided that he should focus on something less violent, like guitar or (the following year) piano.
His mood, already dark, fell further. No, there was no coming back from this. Let his family think him dead, let him wish he could come to Amy's funeral to grieve and perhaps apologize... it was better to come to terms with it now. I have claws, he reminded himself, and I can see in the dark. Balanced against everything else, that didn't seem like much.
He came out of the bathroom, crossed to the living room, and sat down on the far end of the sofa from Rodney, who was watching some old buddy cop flick from the 1980s, with a mismatched pair of policemen forced to work together. Andy watched one of the cops throw himself off a rooftop after handcuffing himself to a would-be suicide, and thought, Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.
"That bad?" asked Rodney, quietly. Steve and Veronica were moving around in the house behind them, airing things out and setting things up.
When Andy didn't answer, Rodney settled back into the couch and turned his attention to the movie again.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave comments; it lets me know that people are actually reading my blog. Interesting tangents and topic drift just add flavor. Linking to your own stuff is fine, as long as it's at least loosely relevant. Be civil, and have fun!