TRANSLUCENT FREAK -Short Speculative Fiction

 TRANSLUCENT FREAK

 

I hate when life balances on unclear decisions. The sickness confines me to bed. I despise bed. I have defined my life by being active. Hiking. Dancing. Skiing. Being.

Now I suffer mental anguish by staring at the four walls of Mom's house. I moved out six years ago with no intentions of ever living with Mom again, yet here I am, a prisoner to my childhood warden.

"Just do it," Mom says to me as she fluffs the pillow behind my bed.

"Stop, Mom. I don't need you to treat me like an invalid."

Mom's face tightens. I have offended her. I can't help it. Everything she does annoys me. I need to be kind as she sacrifices her life to help me but being here dredges up deeply buried resentment from my childhood.

Mom stoops next to the bed and picks up a pile of tissues. "Well, then you should clean up better after yourself."

I know I am a pig, but no one has told me to clean in six years. I squeeze the pillow with my right hand to prevent myself from saying something unkind to Mom. She is helping me.

A wave of pain hits my stomach region, and I can't prevent the moan that rips out of my mouth. I sound like a mummy returning from the grave. Mom's hardened face softens as she rushes to my side to comfort me during this episode. I want her there.

I need her to leave.

Intense heat flares in my body. Both hands grasp the mattress as I refuse Mom's offered hand. 

"My baby," Mom says as tears slip from her eyes. After an eternity, the pain subsides, and I settle as my nerves relax.

"Please just do it," Mom says. Her soft skin moves across my forehead, feeling me with the comfort only a mom can give. At this moment, I accept it. Next time, I will probably reject it.

Mom waits for me to relax when she repeats it.

"What are you hesitating for? Just take the pill." She grabs the pill bottle from the nightstand.

"I don't know, Mom. Once I take it, there is no going back."

"You are dying. What choice do you have?"

"I heard there is a GI specialist in Rover. Let us go there first. The pill is so drastic."

"Honey," Mom's shrill voice hurts my ears. "How many more doctors do we have to see until you just take the pill? You have already seen four doctors and three specialists. No one can find what's wrong. Once you take the pill, they will see everything inside you, and the mystery will be over."

Mom is right. I don't know why I am fighting so hard. I know in the end, I will probably take the pill. How much more pain will I force myself to endure before I just take the pill?

"Mom, everyone who has translucent skin looks like freaks."

"Just wear long sleeves and pants afterward."

"So, I have to spend the rest of my life hiding behind long heavy clothes? I am only twenty-four. That is like sixty years of looking like a freak."

Unexpectedly, Mom grabs my water cup and chucks it across the room. It hits the dresser, and water explodes everywhere. "AHHHHH!" Mom screams. Oh yes, there is that anger of hers that pushed me out of the house at eighteen. "You don't have sixty years of life left if we don't find what is killing you."

She is right. I want death today if I can find it. I have been in the most excruciating pain for the last year. The pain only worsens. We have done CAT scans, MRIs, and a million lab tests. Doctors can see discrepancies in the labs but can't find the problem.

"If you take the translucent pill," Dr. Myers, my last specialist, said, "then your skin will become clear like glass. This will give us a chance to see every organ. I promise we will find what makes you sick if you do that."

I had turned my back to him and folded my arms like a defiant toddler. "Has anyone figured out how to reverse the effect yet? I don't want clear skin forever. Those people look like freaks."

"Not yet," Dr. Myers said in a fatherly tone. "But you are at a point where you have to decide between allowing us to see your organs or possible death. I hate to be so frank, but this is how it is."

At least a million people now walk our planet like a Salpa Maggiore, one of those translucent fish. It takes a lot to get used to seeing translucent people. Others can't help but stare at them.

I do not know what would be worse—looking like a freak or death?

Dad pops his head through the door. "Oh, my. This room has a bit of a stink to it."

Thanks, Dad.

"Let's open a window."

He parts the drapes and opens the window. Cool air rushes in and chills me. The city noise floods into the room. Outside, a lady lingers behind the window, unaware of us watching her. What uncanny timing. She is one of those translucent freaks. I see everything in her. Her brain. Her veins. All her organs. She looks disgusting. I can't do that.

The pain hits again, hard and forcefully. 

"Rarrrr," I growl out, like a monster. The woman stares into my room along with a couple of curious onlookers. Thankfully, Mom rushes to the window and closes the drapes. Dad looks sheepish for setting me up as a spectacle. The pain is the worst yet, feeling like a mole with fungus-filled claws is ripping out of my stomach.

"Mom," I bawl. I need her. She holds me, and Dad looks helpless. "Please kill me." I know the words hurt Mom, but I can't help it. I want death!

"Has she had her morphine?" Dad asks.

"It doesn't even touch her pain anymore," Mom replies.

After the pain ends, Mom again reproaches the subject. She only has about five minutes before the pain returns. In my hand, she drops the pill that would turn me translucent.

"Please. Take the pill. Then the doctor can find your problem, and the pain can stop."

I close my hand around the pill. 

I want the pain to stop.

I want death.

But I don't want to be translucent.

"Please take it," Dad joins in. I watch my parents with concern etched on their faces. I know they want the best for me. But is looking like a freak the best? Maybe death is better. I think about the woman who had been outside my window moments before. Is ending the pain worth looking like a freak?

As I contemplate the decision, the pain returns with its full fury.

I hate when life balances on unsure decisions.

-Death?

-Or, to look like a freak?

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Translucent Freak

by Stephanie Daich