Unlikely

ONE

I self-consciously tug the brim of my faded baseball cap lower as I make my way back to the coffin like cubical assigned to me. The brown wig crammed underneath itches terribly and my restless scratching draws odd looks. Combined with an unusual number of trips to the water cooler and the large salt shaker by my terminal, the tic has fueled colorful gossip about me. I can already hear the whispering as my fellow drones trade notes and speculate on my particular condition. If they only knew.

It is day two with this new company and I wonder how long I'll be able to milk this gig before management finds some excuse to get rid of me. At least the new tinted contacts seem to be working out, shading my eyes to a normal, unremarkable brown and I don't have to wear sunglasses indoors anymore. I can see perfectly in pitch darkness but florescent lighting gives me migraines which then often lead to involuntary twitching and even seizures. An unfortunate incident involving the break room microwave and a flickering bulb had gotten me fired from the last job, hence the tinted contacts.

I plunk myself down at my tiny, worn laminate desk and sigh, wishing my new life had come with a manual rather than a prophesy. Unfortunately, since the day I'd died, some new malfunction would show up unexpectedly and ruin my day. I know I should be energetically entering data right now but I can't seem to bring myself to reach for the next sheet. I stare at the computer screen, the words and numbers blurring into an oatmeal of random, unrelated symbols. I wonder if I am, in fact, in purgatory, awaiting judgment on a life I can't even remember.

Suddenly, my screen blinks twice and fades to black. Words appear, so faint only I would be able to see them. 'Info on monk.' It reads. Finally! I scratch the back of my neck for the thousandth time. The sand-papery feel tells me I need to soak soon. I'll have to go to the YMCA after work. Let's see. The Y first? Humm. No. I couldn't risk anyone seeing me. They close at ten if I recall....I'll have to sneak in after they've locked up and then go underground. Iz is like me in that he only needs an hour or two of sleep at most, so stopping by late won't be a problem.

I suppose I should explain before we go much further. First, appearance; I am fairly tall, maybe six three or so, though I tend to hunch. I'm a bit on the scrawny side, some might say gaunt but not in an extreme drug addict, meth kind of way. With the new contacts my eyes appear to be a muted stormy brown, without contacts they are a disconcerting pale yellow, the color of dead leaves. I have no hair of any kind, anywhere. No eyebrows, no fur, nothing. I guess that all burned away in the accident. Also, should anyone get close enough to notice, I don't have skin but rather very fine scales with a faint bluish tint most people associate with sickness. I have a 'hang-in-there' cat poster which is the only personal item I move from one job to another and I've been told that my people skills could use some work. This helpful advice usually comes just after I've been fired.

The clock strikes five but I wait for the majority of my fellow workmates to leave first. You would think the company owners would be offended at the speed with which their employees flee. At my last job's exit review, I had pointed out that I was always among the last to leave but they were unimpressed. I am simply too odd and I make people uncomfortable. Once the trickle has dropped to a last few I get up and take the stairs. No way am I getting in that steel box, the vertical death trap. I've sworn off large steel boxes forever. We are on the tenth floor but the hike doesn't bother me. I have amazing stamina these days, one of the few items I can put in the plus column since my death.

I hop on my bike and head off island. With my inability to keep a steady job I can't afford to live uptown. I have a small loft down by the docks in an old warehouse. I think my loft may have been an office once but now it is my home and the cats like it. They find the external stairs amusing. The rest of the building is unused and has fallen to disrepair. There may have been a fire at some point, sometimes I catch faint whiffs of char or old smoke. I am sure that once the economy turns around it will get torn down but for now the owner is willing to let me live there for a small sum.

I take route number two. This will take me down Division street, a shadier part of town but a shortcut. I need to eat and feed the cats before I head to the pool. I have been this way many times and hardly ever see any people, never mind anything nefarious going on so I don't think twice. I take a left, swerve to avoid a broken glass bottle and hit a pothole hidden beneath some old newspapers. My bike jitters wildly and I curse as my old ten speed starts making a worrisome clunking sound. It would be just my luck to break down here. Sure enough, the clunking makes a final jarring clank and the chain flies off it's gears like a whip, wrapping tightly around my right ankle. The pain is stunning and my concentration wavers as I stare stupidly at my ankle. The unguided bike continues forward in a straight trajectory and I hurtle up the curb and down a trash strewn alley. I struggle with the brakes, which don't engage, and finally hit a dumpster with enough impact to wake the dead.

Dazed, I lie on my back, one leg still entangled in the innards of my bike, while I try to gather my thoughts. I take a deep breath and wonder what a normal person's life is like. Once upon a time that life had been mine too, but now I can't remember any of it. It has been suggested that I have full to partial amnesia, a result of the trauma of the accident....but I shy away from those memories, there is only pain there.

As I recline, envying the imagined daily routines of others, soft sounds reached my ears. A sort of grunting and rustling. Then a terrified cry. Alarm races through me and I realize my surroundings are just the right sort of camouflage for all manner of terrible deeds. I groan from what feels like bruised ribs and struggle to my feet where I immediately see a young woman. Battered and bleeding, she is about to be raped just behind the dumpster I've collided with. Her attacker, a dark haired brute, had only paused when I'd crashed into the other side. He is a big, mean, heavily muscled man with Sectioned brands down his arms. I stand rooted, gangly arms hanging at my sides like wet noodles, my right ankle still gripped by my bike's chain. I must amuse him because he throws back his head and laughs at me. Then he tears at the girl's skirt with renewed energy, grinning madly while she struggles. Clearly, I am not perceived as a threat and a sense of hopelessness sweeps through me. Am I nothing then, a nobody to be discounted so easily?!

With no warning, a sudden blinding rage sweeps through me, animalistic and primal. It burns like hellfire and I have only a moment of surprised alarm before the change takes me. My muscles tear and swell, bubbling up in a way flesh should not. I forget I am a thinking being as my senses consume me, pain filled and horrific. A sweeping heat flushes my already dry skin and claws force themselves forward. Bones crack and reshape. Muscles flame up and multiply. I scream for release and a sort of madness overtakes me. A harsh, guttural laugh comes from somewhere and I only vaguely understand that it is myself making these sounds. The change always stresses me out. This change, though, is very different from what I am used to. There is no webbing between my fingers, no ridge down my back, no fins.

Eyes blown wide, the would be rapist screams with me and scrambles to run, his low hanging jeans still hanging midway down his thighs, slowing him down. Even so he makes it a surprising distance before I am upon him. I'd been too distracted by the new world around me, exposed by my suddenly enhanced senses. Intoxicating smells assail me from all sides; four day old hamburger, cat urine, vomitus, stale beer and peppermint schnapps. The scent of fear is particularly interesting. The girl has pushed herself back into a tight ball, quivering in terror.

"Please."

One simple word brings me back to myself, enough to leave her alone at least. I turned away in search of more interesting prey. A fleeing white backside draws my attention. The chase! Infinitely more exciting. I lope after, taking a moment to break the odd metal chain around my ankle. But the hunt ends too quickly and before I know it I have the fear soaked man down, pressed into the rough pavement, my claws digging into his soft flesh. He smells heavenly and I dip my head closer, drinking in the perfume of sweat and fear and musk of unwashed human. I lick his exposed skin as he continues to struggle and cry. Mmmm, so salty. I love salt. My fuzzy brain knows only the senses at this point. I am completely overwhelmed and I cannot stop myself from taking a small taste.

Before I can savor it... something hard hits me in the back of the head and I know no more.