metamorphosis. | lance mcclain

metamorphosis

He was changing.

He felt it deep within his core, burning up his insides until every word coming out of his mouth was ash.

He coughed, colouring his hands black.

Cold sweat ran down his spine, making him shiver.

He splashed water onto his face.

He never felt it hit his skin.

He looked into the mirror, but who was the boy staring back at him?

He didn't recognize him.

As he started swaying on the spot he realized how dizzy he was. The room started to spin, dark spots began clouding his vision.

He tried to calm himself down, but it was hard to breathe with the flames licking his throat.

His hands gripped the sink so hard his knuckles turned white. But to no avail.

Falling to the floor with a loud thud he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.

He needed to hold on. He needed to hold on.

But there was nothing to hold on to.

Suddenly his entire body jolted as a silent scream got caught up in the back of his throat.

He felt like his insides were being turned upside down and something was clawing under his skin.

It needed out.

He couldn't hold it back anymore.

He only registered that his nose was bleeding when he tasted the copper on his tongue.

Pain struck his body.

It felt like something was pushing against his skin from the inside, looking for a way out.

He needed to run, he needed to get away.

All of a sudden blood wasn't the only thing flowing through his veins as panic made him stand up quickly.

He swayed to the right but managed to get a hold of the skin before falling to the floor once more.

He doubled over as his stomach convulsed and decorated the mirror with a red, sticky substance as if trying to imitate an entire galaxy on it.

He couldn't see the boy anymore.

Blood was gushing out of his eyes, his nose, his ears.

It was gushing out from beneath his fingernails and gums.

He started scratching down his chest, tearing open his skin and making way for even more blood to pour out of every crevice his body owned.

He couldn't see, he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe.

Not until he was done.

His world was dripping red.

He bit into his arm and ripped out a chunk of flesh with his teeth, spitting it into the sink.

He then burrowed his hands in his hair and ripped it out with a harsh tug, letting it slowly float down to the floor.

He was nearly there.

Scratching at his chest until all he could feel underneath his fingernails was soft, oozing flesh he could gradually feel himself calm down.

He scratched and bit and screamed and tore at himself until, all at once, he stopped.

With his left hand, he wiped the mirror clean of all bodily fluids and looked at what it reflected.

The boy he had seen previously was gone.

‚Finally', he thought as he saw himself in the mirror.

He had changed.