Repost -- Original -- "Medical Marvel"
written for imaginarybeasts Book #24: Flight
my original fic is also rates on the kinsey scale
a story about transformation
Medical Marvel | PG // X | 1018 words | complete
It began with a rash - scaly, peeling skin and rows of red bumps in two patches on either side of her spine, between her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. Her internist didn't know what it was. The dermatologist was equally clueless. The allergy specialist they suggested called it an "atopic skin reaction to unidentified stimulus" - doctor-speak for "fuck if I know", she was sure - and prescribed her this pill and that pill and some of this topical cream and sent her home. She took her pills, contorted herself into uncomfortable positions to rub the cream into her back, and waited.
And the rash got worse.
Her skin began to flake off in inch-long strips, replaced by angry red flesh that hurt whenever it came in contact with so much as a stiff breeze. She ripped the backs out of a few of her t-shirts just so she could get some relief, and the other patients in her wing of the hospital stared at her.
Then the affected skin smoothed and began to swell, forming two large mounds over her shoulder blades, long ovals that stretched down to the bottom of her ribcage. Biopsies found nothing out of the ordinary. The MRI showed strange, unidentifiable shadows.
She thought she was going to die.
She wrote letters to all of her friends, inviting them to a macabre sort of good-bye party. She told them it was what she wanted, that she wanted to see them all one last time before... well. She didn't have any family to speak of, but that didn't matter; she had her friends, and they all called her to tell her of course they'd come, and was there anything they could do to help?
The doctors wanted to keep her under constant supervision, so she packed up her apartment, sending clothes and books to be donated, boxing up keepsakes to give to friends and arranging to put the little studio back on the market. She formally quit her job, sold the heirloom stocks and took her money out of the bank, and started to plan her party.
She rented a little Italian restaurant, a family-owned one she'd always loved. The family had cried when she told them the reason for the event, and promised her dessert on the house. She shook her head and smiled, but didn't argue. People were strange, sometimes, but at least they were sweet.
She wore a backless dress to the party, a deep chocolate brown that brought out her eyes. She got her hair styled for the first time since prom, had her nails done, treated herself to a pedicure. She looked gorgeous - except for the two ghastly protrusions of smooth skin on her back. Her skin felt tight, it was hard to breathe, but she pushed herself to keep going, socializing with everyone that came, smiling brightly despite the worried looks and questions about how she was feeling.
She was beautiful - if just for one night - and she was going out in style.
She didn't drink, because the doctors told her not to, and she barely ate, but she felt better as the party started to wind down than she had when it began. There was some laughter by then, and people were smiling more than crying, and she realized that if she were to die in the night, she knew she would die happy.
And that's when it happened.
Pain, excruciating pain cut through her body, centered on the monstrous lumps on her back, radiating out until there wasn't a single part of her that didn't hurt. She cried out, tumbling to the ground, barely aware as people rushed to help her, as someone called for a doctor and someone else for a priest. All she knew was the pain, bright white flashes behind her closed eyes and a sensation like someone was ripping her skin apart from the inside.
Which, it seemed, was exactly what was happening.
She didn't even realize it at first, the sounds of people gasping and recoiling nonsensical under the rushing sound in her ears. But suddenly the pain was gone, replaced with a strange dripping sensation on her bare back. She managed to get her arms underneath herself and pushed herself up, and that's when she caught sight of herself in a mirrored wall.
Wings were bursting from her shoulders, the feathers dark brown like her hair, the wingspan easily nine feet wide. She could see blood and bits of skin stuck to the outermost feathers, fascinating rather than revolting like she suspected she should find it. She stretched and the wings unfurled a little more. She could feel them, feel the breeze from the air conditioning and the heat of the overhead lamps. This explained... something. No, no, it didn't, not at all.
The doctors were even more confused than before, requesting test after test to determine what had happened, where her wings had come from. She humored them at first, as curious as they were, but after a while she got restless. She started to long for the open sky in a way she never had before. To long to leave the sterile white hospital and sterile white doctors behind and lose herself in blue. She spent as much time as she could outside, confused when the nurses gently herded her inside, angry when they decided that for her own good she shouldn't be allowed out at all.
She sat by the window, staring up at the blue, longing to be gone. It wasn't just the wings that had changed her. She stopped eating meat. Cooked food turned her stomach. She ate only fruit and nuts. She stopped talking for days at a time. Nothing was able to hold her attention for long.
And then one day she was gone. The window in her room was broken, bloody glass shards on the floor and the ground outside. A single feather rested on the window sill. She must have launched herself out the window, they said. She could be anywhere.
They never saw her again. But occasionally, every once in a while, there was a strange, winged silhouette in the sky.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
Originally posted here.
my original fic is also rates on the kinsey scale
a story about transformation
Medical Marvel | PG // X | 1018 words | complete
It began with a rash - scaly, peeling skin and rows of red bumps in two patches on either side of her spine, between her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. Her internist didn't know what it was. The dermatologist was equally clueless. The allergy specialist they suggested called it an "atopic skin reaction to unidentified stimulus" - doctor-speak for "fuck if I know", she was sure - and prescribed her this pill and that pill and some of this topical cream and sent her home. She took her pills, contorted herself into uncomfortable positions to rub the cream into her back, and waited.
And the rash got worse.
Her skin began to flake off in inch-long strips, replaced by angry red flesh that hurt whenever it came in contact with so much as a stiff breeze. She ripped the backs out of a few of her t-shirts just so she could get some relief, and the other patients in her wing of the hospital stared at her.
Then the affected skin smoothed and began to swell, forming two large mounds over her shoulder blades, long ovals that stretched down to the bottom of her ribcage. Biopsies found nothing out of the ordinary. The MRI showed strange, unidentifiable shadows.
She thought she was going to die.
She wrote letters to all of her friends, inviting them to a macabre sort of good-bye party. She told them it was what she wanted, that she wanted to see them all one last time before... well. She didn't have any family to speak of, but that didn't matter; she had her friends, and they all called her to tell her of course they'd come, and was there anything they could do to help?
The doctors wanted to keep her under constant supervision, so she packed up her apartment, sending clothes and books to be donated, boxing up keepsakes to give to friends and arranging to put the little studio back on the market. She formally quit her job, sold the heirloom stocks and took her money out of the bank, and started to plan her party.
She rented a little Italian restaurant, a family-owned one she'd always loved. The family had cried when she told them the reason for the event, and promised her dessert on the house. She shook her head and smiled, but didn't argue. People were strange, sometimes, but at least they were sweet.
She wore a backless dress to the party, a deep chocolate brown that brought out her eyes. She got her hair styled for the first time since prom, had her nails done, treated herself to a pedicure. She looked gorgeous - except for the two ghastly protrusions of smooth skin on her back. Her skin felt tight, it was hard to breathe, but she pushed herself to keep going, socializing with everyone that came, smiling brightly despite the worried looks and questions about how she was feeling.
She was beautiful - if just for one night - and she was going out in style.
She didn't drink, because the doctors told her not to, and she barely ate, but she felt better as the party started to wind down than she had when it began. There was some laughter by then, and people were smiling more than crying, and she realized that if she were to die in the night, she knew she would die happy.
And that's when it happened.
Pain, excruciating pain cut through her body, centered on the monstrous lumps on her back, radiating out until there wasn't a single part of her that didn't hurt. She cried out, tumbling to the ground, barely aware as people rushed to help her, as someone called for a doctor and someone else for a priest. All she knew was the pain, bright white flashes behind her closed eyes and a sensation like someone was ripping her skin apart from the inside.
Which, it seemed, was exactly what was happening.
She didn't even realize it at first, the sounds of people gasping and recoiling nonsensical under the rushing sound in her ears. But suddenly the pain was gone, replaced with a strange dripping sensation on her bare back. She managed to get her arms underneath herself and pushed herself up, and that's when she caught sight of herself in a mirrored wall.
Wings were bursting from her shoulders, the feathers dark brown like her hair, the wingspan easily nine feet wide. She could see blood and bits of skin stuck to the outermost feathers, fascinating rather than revolting like she suspected she should find it. She stretched and the wings unfurled a little more. She could feel them, feel the breeze from the air conditioning and the heat of the overhead lamps. This explained... something. No, no, it didn't, not at all.
The doctors were even more confused than before, requesting test after test to determine what had happened, where her wings had come from. She humored them at first, as curious as they were, but after a while she got restless. She started to long for the open sky in a way she never had before. To long to leave the sterile white hospital and sterile white doctors behind and lose herself in blue. She spent as much time as she could outside, confused when the nurses gently herded her inside, angry when they decided that for her own good she shouldn't be allowed out at all.
She sat by the window, staring up at the blue, longing to be gone. It wasn't just the wings that had changed her. She stopped eating meat. Cooked food turned her stomach. She ate only fruit and nuts. She stopped talking for days at a time. Nothing was able to hold her attention for long.
And then one day she was gone. The window in her room was broken, bloody glass shards on the floor and the ground outside. A single feather rested on the window sill. She must have launched herself out the window, they said. She could be anywhere.
They never saw her again. But occasionally, every once in a while, there was a strange, winged silhouette in the sky.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
Originally posted here.