Experience 8
I nervously watched the Desolation float around my beautiful corner office. I couldn't believe it had actually shown up. I couldn't believe that my life was in mortal danger. I couldn't believe that the idiot employee in front of me was refusing to follow along with my ingenious plan of escape.
It moved into the side of the room while my eyes tracked it obsessively. The terror coursed through me once more as it turned to face me rather than pass through the wall. It made another circle around the room then headed towards the door.
I almost sighed in relief. I could see the rest of my underlings already shuffling to the stairs. They must not know it was in here. Once they were caught I could find a way to slip out safely. A smile broke across my face at the realization that I wouldn't have to fire all the imbeciles myself. The Desolation would take care of them for me.
Then, movement out of the corner of my eye. Adrenaline shot through me as I raised a hand reflexively to defend myself. My hand instinctively closed around the airborne object, and I stared at it for a moment in total confusion.
It was a cinnamon roll. A partially eaten cinnamon roll. A glance at the man sitting across from me confirmed my suspicion that he had thrown it.
I wanted to be angry, forgetting my situation entirely for a moment, but the look on his face told me I was missing something important.
The Desolation.
Had I made a noise catching the roll?
My eyes shot back to the door. It wasn't there.
I tried to look around, but a pressure on my neck made me freeze.
Ice-cold fingers wrapped around my throat from behind. The feeling of that grip, those knives slicing into the top layers of my skin with so little pressure, that feeling told me that there would be no escape.
Even the slightest movement on my part would push those razor-sharp fingers deep into my windpipe. My lifeblood would flow out of me in torrents ruining my beautiful mahogany desk and plush white carpet.
When the other hand pierced the skin at the base of my neck I rethought my decision to stay still. The pain was unbearable already though I knew it was only going to get worse. I wanted to fight. I wanted to struggle. Even if it meant my death, I didn't want to give in to it.
My body wouldn't move. It betrayed me. Screams poured out of me instead as the finger began to slip downward, neatly separating the skin of my back. And still, I couldn't move. I couldn't die.
It made its way down my back and didn't pause as it cut right through the small tattoo I had gotten in college. My mind involuntarily flashed back to that first moment the ink gun had touched my flesh. I had thought I was being stabbed. I had thought it would be the worst pain I would ever experience.
Oh, how wrong I had been.
When the creature hit my waist I longed for the sweet feeling of the tattoo gun. Its finger twisted, and it began to travel down my left leg. My back had been painful enough, but the skin of my thigh was even more sensitive. I could feel the needle-point-tip gently graze the tendons behind my knee as it passed, ever so careful to not damage any internal piece of me.
After splitting open the sole of my foot there was one brief moment of freedom. I gasped in breath and panted for relief.
Then the finger pushed back into my waist and began its way down my other leg.
It's the last clear memory I have. After that my brain pulled me inside itself and sheltered me. I could feel the location of the knife, but not the sensation. I could hear screaming, but I didn't know that it was coming from myself.
For a moment, I was a small child again. A weak little girl, sitting quietly in the dark, watching another atrocity unfold.
I watched as it moved to my arms. I watched as it split the skin down the back of my hand all the way to the tip of my middle finger. I watched as my lungs gave out and my screaming turned to incoherent whispers.
I felt the blood run down my throat. I felt it run out of my limbs. I felt it pool at my feet, ruining my posh carpet after all.
Then the finger slid behind the skin on my back and begin tearing, seperating.
I slipped even deeper into myself, blocking out all light and sensation.
I was in my childhood bed cowering under the covers. There were shouts and bangs from the next room, but I knew that I would be safe as long as I stayed under my warm duvet.
My vision came back for a moment, and I saw a face smiling at me. Then, I was no more. The darkness took everything.
The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital.
Not a hospital bed mind you, just a hospital. I wasn't lying down, instead I was suspended upright by a series of straps attached to my body.
I don't remember it very clearly. The world was blurry, and nothing felt right. I wasn't awake for long.
The next time my eyes opened I was in a bed.
My memories came swirling back to me slowly, and I began to panic. I tried to move, but my body wasn't responding properly. I could see the sheets and the pillows beside me, but I didn't seem to have any feeling in my body.
Awareness dawned on me. I had been skinned. Everyone knew what happened in a Desolation attack. If I couldn't feel my body, I must be paralyzed.
I wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted it to not be true. For a long moment, I closed my eyes and prayed for my life to end. Truly nothing could be worse than this, not even death.
It took a few minutes for things to start making sense. The drugs were still affecting me heavily, but soon I realized a problem with my theory.
If I had been paralyzed, why was I in a hospital?
Skinless were only taken for medical treatment if they weren't paralyzed. It was considered a mercy to euthanize any that survived both the skinning and the paralyzation.
If I was in a hospital, then I could still control my body. Maybe my life wasn't over after all.
It took an incredible amount of effort to move my head. When I finally managed it, I took in my surroundings.
Sure enough, I was in a tiny private hospital room. It was late afternoon and the setting sun was visible through my window. To the side of the room was an odd sight. There was a nurse sitting in one of the chairs against the wall, sleeping.
I examined her for a few seconds. She was around middle age, like me. Too old to be considered young, but too young to be considered old. She wasn't particularly attractive or noticeable in any way. A bit pudgy even with soft features and laugh lines on her cheeks.
It looked like she might be snoring slightly, but I wasn't able to hear much of anything. The soft beep of my EKG was the only indication that I wasn't deaf, and even that was so quiet I might have been imagining it.
I worked up my courage and turned my head a little more. What I saw lying on the bed disturbed me. I couldn't bring myself to imagine that the tightly wrapped bandages could actually be my body. It took a minute to reconcile my internal image with the deformed one before me.
I had to know though.
I focused as hard as I could on moving my hand. When it didn't respond, I wondered if it was tied to the bed. I did my best to check, but I couldn't see anything restraining me.
I focused again. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to move my hand with all my power.
I felt nothing.
Disappointed, I relaxed and opened my eyes once more.
My hand had moved. It wasn't in the same place.
I stared at it in amazement. How had it moved? I hadn't felt anything at all.
I tried again, this time keeping my eyes open. Sure enough, with a little effort my hand raised up just as I wanted it to.
Still I felt nothing at all.
"Amazing! You can move already!" Came a voice from beside me. It was the nurse, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
I turned my head a bit to look at her as she sat down beside me. She started talking again, but her words were mumbled and I couldn't make them out. She seemed to realize this with a start and began speaking much louder.
"Sorry I dozed off there. The doctors said that you'd be waking up sometime this afternoon. I must have dozed off waiting. I'm Audrey! It's good to meet you Barbara." She said with a bright smile. I wanted to strangle her for being so cheery at a time like this.
"Oh, right! You probably want to know what's happening. Tell me, do you remember the attack? Blink once for yes and twice for no." She finished. I blinked once, and she jotted something down on a notepad.
"Yes, well, I'm sorry you remember that, but it does make explaining how you got here that much easier. Emergency responders were able to get to you only minutes after the attack. Any longer and you wouldn't have made it. I'm sorry to say that you're the only victim who survived." With this she went silent for a moment in respect for the fallen. I didn't care about them. I wanted to know what would happen to me!
"You're very lucky you know! Only one in seven hundred survive an encounter with a Desolation." I closed my eyes in anger at her optimism.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I guess you probably don't feel very lucky at all, do you?" I opened my eyes again, surprised that she had correctly interpreted my emotions.
"Well, look at it this way. It's not going to be easy, but with time you may be able to live a normal life again! It won't ever be the same as the life you had, but it can be just as good if you make it!"
I didn't want to hear her words of encouragement. I closed my eyes again. She seemed to get the hint. Before she walked out the door, she made sure to tell me that she would be back the next day.
And thus my new life began.
The following weeks were grueling and horrifying beyond anything I could have imagined.
I had heard of the skinless. I knew the story behind them, but I had never learned any details. I had never cared to find out. It's not like it would happen to me.
Skinless had only been around for eighty years. Well, skinless bodies had been around forever, but the medical science required to keep a person alive without their skin had only been around since the forties.
Back then only the richest, most powerful, or most influential had the opportunity to continue living after skinning. People would hear stories about famous people being kept alive deep in government hospitals, but it was more like a rumor than common knowledge.
The policy of a merciful death for all living skinless stayed in place until the sixties, but the hippy movement began to change long standing policies on many things.
The advancements in reporting and photography showed the common people their first glimpses into the true aftermath of Desolation attacks. When it came out that the government knew how to keep skinless alive, there were riots in the streets.
Everything started to change when the president himself stood up and gave a speech declaring the new policy. From that moment on, all life would be considered valuable. No longer would the option of medical treatment be offered to only those of wealth or great influence.
Audrey explained this all to me one day while helping me through my physical therapy. I had heard some of this myself when I was growing up. I didn't know all the details like she did, but I knew enough to notice that she was leaving some things out.
I'm sure the hippies thought they were doing the right thing, but reality was much harsher than their ideals. Skinless could never live normal lives again no matter how much medical attention. No amount of belief in life or love would ever change that.
The days went by one by one. I was rapidly realizing just how different my life was going to be. You see, your skin does more than just protect your innards and hold you together. Your skin has many more functions I had never so much as given a thought to.
When I hadn't been able to feel my hand moving in the bed, I had assumed it was the medication. I had assumed wrong. I would never be able to feel again, and not just my hand.
Skin is responsible for your sensations of pressure, temperature, and pain. Without the nerve endings embedded in between its layers, I would never again feel any of these things.
That's where the physical training came in. Relearning to walk without being able to feel the pressure of the floor under my feet was terrifying. There were so many things that relied on a sense of touch. I had never realized.
If you can't feel the floor underneath your feet, how do you know how much force to put into a step? How hard do you grip a bite of food to not drop it or crush it in your hand? Can you ever have enough control to touch another person, or pet an animal?
There was no way to tell if the day was swelteringly hot or blisteringly cold. Even worse than not knowing, my body could no longer regulate its own internal temperature. You can't sweat without skin, you just keep heating up until you black out and die.
Every day they covered my body with some sort of clear gel that replicated my skin. It didn't bring back any physical sensations, but they say it helped protect my system from disease. Without skin, there was almost no way to fight infection. The entire body was just one open orifice waiting for the right bacteria.
The first time I had been awake for the application of the gel was the first time I had seen my new body.
They carefully removed my bandages one limb at a time and applied a new coat of the goo. I got to watch as they revealed the monster I had become one piece at a time. By the time it was done, I was glad for the grotesque bandages. Anything that hid the mess of muscle and tissue beneath was fine with me.
It was too much though. It was too much for anyone to handle. I couldn't reconcile the life I had known with the life that lay before me. I wished for death every night.
But every morning, I would wake to the gentle sounds of Nurse Audrey singing. I hated her for having joy when all I felt was pain. Often, I would lash out with words or actions to try and hurt her. But no matter how vicious or insulting I became, the next morning she would be beside me singing.
She never gave up on me, no matter how much I wanted her too. Looking back, she was the only thing that got me through those first few weeks. Every day I longed for death, but every day I was able to move my body a little bit better.
When the inability to feel anything became too much to bear, she would bring me different sweets from the kitchen so I could enjoy taste.
When I fell on the treadmill for the hundredth time, she would pick me up and sit me down beside a loud speaker with music playing.
When the sensation of floating would cause me to be unable to sleep, she would stay up and read a book to me to take my mind off of it.
Whenever I was faced with the cold facts of what I could no longer do, she would show me something I could still enjoy. It was as if she wanted to show me that there was still a life out there for me.
I hated her for it. But somewhere, deep down, I started to think she might be right. Maybe I could still have hope. I might never have that cushy corporate job or the luxuries of wealth, but I wasn't dead yet.
I woke to the sound of lovely singing. Audrey was sitting at my bedside, just like always.
"Good morning Barbara! How are you feeling today?" She asked a little too chipper.
"Better, I guess. My legs still ache from all the falling yesterday, but they aren't locking up anymore." I whispered in response. I had nearly destroyed my vocal cords with all my screaming, but I was finally able to say short sentences again.
"That's wonderful. You have to remember to take it easy. Without the ability to feel external pain, it's very common for a patient to damage or destroy their muscles. Think about what the doctor told you, you might not be able to feel the touch, but you can still feel the deep muscle sensations. If you feel your muscles straining, then it's time to stop!" She said brightly.
This was the type of cheerful comment that had pissed me off so much originally. Even without touch, there was still pain. It wasn't pain like I had known it before. This pain was deeper, almost hidden. The type of pain you experienced from working out too hard, except it was constant and everywhere.
Through enough practice, I had been able to identify the subtle variations in it. Now the sharp pain of exhaustion or damage stood out from the dull throbbing that I would never be rid of. I ached for real pain. I missed the feeling of stubbing a toe or getting a paper cut, but it was something at least.
"I've got great news for you! The doctors say that you're past the dangerous period for infection. Your body's defenses are as strong as they'll ever be. We can even try taking a walk to the courtyard today if you'd like." She said.
"That sounds... cough cough.... that sounds nice." I replied.
And it did sound nice. I had spent so much time hating the world and everyone around me that the thought of once more standing under the warm rays of the sun filled me with peace. Once more, I began to doubt my desire for death.
Audrey began to rearrange the flowers she had put at my bedside. For a moment the rest of the world fell away. It was a beautiful morning. The type of morning that I used to spend sipping coffee in my breakfast nook. I couldn't do that anymore, but a walk outside seemed just as pleasant. For a moment, I forgot.
But only for a moment. An attempt to push myself into a sitting position backfired when I placed my hand in the wrong spot and couldn't feel it slipping. I crashed back onto my pillow. In a moment Audrey was by my side helping me up.
The feeling of being trapped inside my own body came hard and fast, and I found myself hyperventilating. Audrey stayed by my side, singing a little tune and placing her hand on my own. I couldn't feel it, but seeing it there was almost like feeling it.
The morning's therapy was grueling like always, but that afternoon we did manage to take a walk outside.
I couldn't feel the warmth of the sun, but I could imagine it. The bright rays beating down onto my battered body were almost as warm as Audrey's smile.
I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was still a place for me in this world.
****
Months passed with Audrey as my only real company. There were doctors and other nurses, but none of them treated me with even an ounce of humanity. It wasn't hard to see why. They treated me the same way I would have treated a skinless, at least before all of this.
Audrey became my one shining ray of hope in the world. Over time, I opened up to her and she opened up to me in return.
I learned about her marriage and motherhood. Then I learned about the tragic end to both of them.
She confided in me, told me of the poverty brought on by her three-year old's leukemia. Then she shared the pain of that very child's death, and the eventual falling apart of her marriage.
She told me of her deepest most powerful fears and pains.
Then she told me of the joys that had kept her alive.
The feeling of dancing to music. The flavor of cheesecake in her mouth. The soft warmth she felt when helping others who truly needed it.
"It's so much better to be alive, no matter how bad things have gotten." She would say.
Over time I foolishly began to believe her.
But one day everything changed.
I woke up that morning and as usual I found Audrey sitting beside me.
Today though, today she wasn't singing. When it was clear that I was awake she began to speak. There was a smile on her face, but I could see the tears in her eyes.
"Good news! The doctors say that you've recovered enough to be taken to your permanent living facility. I asked them for more time, but you've been doing so well in therapy that they decided you were ready. Isn't that great?" She asked, faking enthusiasm.
I blinked at her in confusion for a moment. Of course I knew that eventually I would leave this hospital. There was a camp set up for skinless a few hours from here. There were only two in the entire country. I knew I would be going there eventually, but we had never talked about it.
"Don't worry. I've already made arrangements for you. Sheila, one of my previous patients, will be more than happy to take you as a roommate. I'm sure you two will get along swimmingly."
"This seems rather sudden. Why didn't I hear about this before?" I asked, suddenly realizing I might not like the answer.
"Well, you see, most skinless are only given three months of hospital care. I've been petitioning for you to have more time to acclimate for a while now, but it seems that time has finally run out." She finished, sadness slipping through her words at the very end.
"But, I'm not ready for this. I don't even know what to expect." I said, genuinely concerned.
"Don't worry. I'm sure the colony is a wonderful place. It was formed over fifty years ago. There are medical staff to attend to you, three meals a day, and lots of fun activities. I've heard that they've even started farming their own food for the last few years. I'm sure you'll fit right in." She said, but she wouldn't look me in the eye.
"Audrey. What aren't you telling me?" I asked, seeing right through her."I don't know what you mean." She replied, though she still wouldn't look at me.
"You're a terrible liar. It's ok. I'm ok. I can handle the truth. I'm going to find out soon anyway." I said. She looked at me hesitantly.
"Everything I've said is true, but I've been leaving a few things out. That's what we were taught about the colony in classes, but I go to visit my old patients every month and I've heard some disturbing things." She said.
"What kind of things?" I asked. She looked afraid to speak. I could tell she was worried about me spiraling back into depression.
"The colonies, there's only two of them. That was plenty when they were founded, but advancements in medical science have kept more and more skinless alive. I'm afraid that there's a bit of overcrowding. Sheila has told me that medical treatments are always late, and that meals and beds are hard to find." She stated plainly.
This was disturbing news. I felt a bit betrayed at her withholding this information, but this wasn't the time for emotions.
"Is that it? Overcrowding? Food and medicine shortages? Don't look so depressed. I'm sure it's not that bad." I said, feeling like I needed to cheer her up.
"I know. I...I've heard other things too. Things I don't want to talk about." She said, and I could see the tears in her eyes.
"It's ok. Let's not talk about it." I said, and honestly, I didn't want to. I knew what life was like for skinless. Any notions about being treated like a human had ended when they made me sign my own will.
In the eyes of the government and most of the people, all skinless were already dead.
Audrey held my hand. I still couldn't feel it, but I could feel her intention.
"You're strong Barbara. If there's one thing I've learned about you during my time with you, it's that. You're strong. You're going to find a way to live. You'll find a way to be happy no matter what anyone tells you. I can see it in you. You'll find a way." She said, and I was touched by the words.
In my past life, I had fought tooth and nail to get to the top. I didn't care who I trampled. I didn't care who I hurt. I clawed my way up, and let nothing stand in my way.
Could I do that same thing as a skinless?
I didn't know, but I was ready to find out.
This time would be different. This time I wouldn't use the people around me as stepping stones. This time I would forge my way while bringing people like Audrey with me.
I was ready to live.
It was a three-hour drive from the hospital to the colony. I complained to the driver the whole trip, despite knowing that most people had to be flown in from a much greater distance.
When we finally arrived, I did my best to keep Audrey's words in my mind. As they mechanically processed me in, I kept reminding myself that I was strong. When I underwent decontamination, I reminded myself that I would make it. When doctors exposed my naked muscle and poked and prodded at it, I reminded myself that Audrey would come visit in two weeks.
By the time processing was done, I could barely remember her voice.
There was another skinless standing at the entrance to the colony. She was holding a sign board with my name on it. I approached her, and she pulled me into a careful hug.
This was Sheila. She became my new roommate and best friend. More importantly, it was Sheila who taught me the rules of my new world.
I longed for the optimism of Audrey as my new reality set in around me.