My Bitter Little Shapeshifter

A Story by suuyuwriteyunu

UNFINISHED!!! I initially wrote this for my friends, but never got around to finishing it.

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I mostly spend my days as a rock, then into some hosieries, and after that, maybe a cloud. And every time I change shape, so does the feeling, it shifts from one to another, making me unsure of my own emotions. But one thing I’m sure I felt was that it wasn’t bad, and that was the very reason I kept changing and changing every day, until last night. The same very night that I was kicked out of my hometown.

I had no idea how all this happened, but it did. I was booted out of my own house and none of my own family members bothered to deny my dismissal. It was a weird feeling, like none other emotion I had felt before as I shifted from one object to another. It was not a pleasing feeling, and yet, I found myself grinning as I walked away from my home, dragging my belongings behind me.

Since I was born, I wasn’t genuinely regarded as a human being, and I could say that myself. Because I’m different, they say, My hair isn’t the same, they’d say, and that I’m from a myth myself. I don’t understand why people would say this, since we were all born from a normal family, with an average number of siblings of three, and even the house I used to live in is the same as every other one in the neighborhood. A pale green roof, a brown narrow wooden front door that would creak on its hinges as you go in, and the body of the house, if you measure it by its sides, they all come out the same, the same as all the other houses in the community.

As I walked out of my home, I assured myself that everything would change for the better. But as of now, I still can’t agree with my past self, because it definitely changed, but for the worse.

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Ding Dong!

The morning after I moved into a deserted apartment miles away from my old hometown, I groggily sat up from the rock-like cot, then warily stepped my way and opened the front door.

I turned the wooden doorknob only to have it crumble under my grasp, revealing a huge hole in my front door. I shrugged and peered through the crack instead.

“Who’s there?” I demanded, peeping out of the apartment door. Only, to my astonishment, no one was there. There was a box, though. I pushed the door open and brought it inside. My rough fingers scratched the small cardboard box, my mind full of curiosity. Even though I told myself I didn’t care, I ended up opening the box anyhow.

I stammered across the hallway, my feet padded on the concrete floor just as I slipped into the dining chair and slammed the box onto the table. My fingers bristled on the lid as I pressed the box open revealing…

“Nothing.” I sighed, disappointed that I actually thought there would be some excitement in my life. “Just great.” I ripped the box in half, just for the fun of it, and growled in defeat.

After the cardboard package was in shreds, I shoved it in the trash can, then headed straight back to my bedroom.

Little did I know, I had missed something important about the mysterious box, and I had made the biggest mistake in my whole life.

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There were times I wished I could’ve just kicked the box off my porch, and never glance at it ever again, but I knew it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t resist. The fact that it could be meant for me, and only me, nagged at my brain. It was tempting, like a cheetah waiting to pounce on its prey, eager to earn that sweet meat at the end of the day. And I was that cheetah, I couldn’t help myself, and I really regretted it. But in a way, I can also say, it ain’t that bad, mate!

When I was smaller, my friend Ashley and I would go out into the park. Ashley, despite his name, is actually a boy. His family had named him ‘Ashley’ because they had expected him to be a girl, but instead, out came Ashley! Yay! His family was incredibly disappointed. After he was born, he was regarded as scum by his parents, so he’s gone now.

I remember the last day I saw him was on August 2nd, or in other words, my 6th birthday. He had wished me happy birthday, and then was gone. He could’ve done it on any other day, but he chose to do it today of all days, and I am still pretty pissed. I want to scold him so badly but I just can’t seem to find him anywhere. One minute he was there, the other he was gone; nowhere to be found; out of sight, out of my sight.

It felt very… frustrating. I couldn’t completely grasp what had happened, like a part of my memory was cut away, and I hated that feeling; the feeling of not knowing something. I am not sure if you could feel that way too, but I know I have to feel that way because I’m not normal,

I’m not human.

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Dear Sunday Melaine Peterson,

You need not know who is writing you this letter, and you never have to know. But, because you touched the cardboard box yesterday multiple times (and broke our property), you will be joining us, NO objections.

This is a take it or take it deal.

Meet me at the small alleyway near 12th street at midnight, sharp.

If you perhaps chose not to come as I told you to, you will find yourself in a different place in the morning.

Thank you for your cooperation,

MYNAMEISNONYABUSINESS.

That letter was what appeared at my windowsill the next morning after I received that weird cardboard box. I wanted to slap myself so badly, for even touching that box, but also for ripping it into millions of tiny shreds. But it isn’t entirely my fault, the box was on my porch, on my property, so it’s basically mine.

I didn’t plan to go to the weird damp alleyway on 12th street, but a part of me lingered there, hesitant about the decision. I knew going there would be the wrong decision, but deep inside I wanted to know what exactly was going on, and get to the bottom of this weird case. Besides, that guy said if I didn’t go, I would be kidnapped. There wasn’t really a choice, so going there was my final decision.

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The streets were bare and deserted, as usual. The moribund streetlights were closed, more like broken. The food carts were shaking from exhaustion, from the plump shop owners sitting on the tiny stools all day, slowly disintegrating the tiny chair little by little.

I trotted along with the cold winter air, trembling with every step I took. Around my neck were no scarfs, no boots wrapping my feet, no earmuffs protecting my ears. Only a measly made, dull, brown coat over my shoulders that shielded me from the vast cold. Though there was no snow, I still shivered from the coldness winter had brought.

I felt a cold tingle on the tip of my toes, itching me to go back to where it was warmer, but I kept going, my curiosity taking over my body.

Some people do say ‘curious people always end up dead’, I didn’t really care. If I die, I die, no one would know or care anyhow; not like I do either.

I kept on marching through the cold winter night, until I finally arrived at the small alleyway near 12th street, so I stopped and checked my watch.

“Midnight sharp!” I congratulated myself, then leaned against the bricked walls, inhaling the sharp cold air as it sliced through my throat.

Thump!

What was that?