DYSTOPIA: Chapter 3: The Metamorphosis

(Originally drafted and first published in June 2019)

The moon was absent.

Noon sat in silence, hiding in shadows, her arms thin like sticks, her bony collarbone protruding through the heavy, ratty sack. Her eyes were circled dark, darker than the dreadful night coating the city in black.

The sack, coarsely woven, had "HAND ROASTED COFFEE - 10LBS" stamped across its edge. The pungent smell of coffee beans made her gag, but it was the only covering she could lay her hands on in the alleyway behind the Twilight Bar & Grill. The coarse fabric grated against her translucent skin, making her itch and scratch until it bled. She picked at old scabs, rolling the hard bits between pointy fingertips. Her skin was scaly in places, a patchwork of overlapping scabs – some healed, others still fresh.

For eight months she had made the arduous journey to the surface every weekend. It had been hard, but she had been chosen, and she was nearly prepared. Her tiny belly, round and distended, shifted as she ran her index finger along its curve three times, a silent mantra spilling forth. Her womb, swollen with purpose, responded. She was in her final metamorphosis, preparing for the hunt, for the transformation that would allow her kind to continue.

She hated this dreaded change. It forced her to linger in alleyways and back streets, sniffing the 'topsiders' from a distance, breathing in their alien scent. She could only stand it topside in short bursts. She missed the rich scent of damp earth and the profound darkness of the cavern she shared with the female elders of her colony.

Her journey to the surface was long and arduous. Each ascent left her weak when she finally reached the city's grim light. The buzz of the streets, the swirling crowds of humans, disturbed her deeply. Their 'humanness' overwhelmed her, leaving her disoriented. She crawled deeper into the shadows; afraid someone would see her before she was ready for her unveiling.

She shifted along the ground, backing on hands and feet into the crevice around the corner from the bar she had targeted on her last visit. Her sight was particularly bad during these final stages; her innate sonar malfunctioning as her eyes struggled to adjust to the pervasive light of the surface world: the harsh glare from headlights, the indifferent glow of streetlights, the garish flicker of shop signs. Humans, it seemed, lived their lives deliberately avoiding the true dark.

During this final phase, her sense of smell intensified, and her hearing sharpened to an unnatural degree. She sniffed deeply, trying to discern if her initial assessment of the bar as a suitable hunting ground was correct. From 150 meters from the front door, she could already detect the heightened levels of testosterone and pheromones emanating from within. "This strong!" she thought, the primitive instinct overriding all discomfort. "My hunt will bring success, no doubt!"

Pointed nostrils flared from the stench of someone very close by... too close. His low, rasping breathing came from a doorway of the adjacent building. He was curled up in a fetal position, clothed in black rags. He was one of the city's forgotten, easily missed, a shadow among shadows.

“I see you…” Rags said.

"I see you," he repeated, pushing himself upright from where he lay on thick cardboard imprinted with the smudged words: NO JOB! NO FOOD! NO MONEY! GOD BLESS! He stumbled into the path of kitchen staff dodging in and out, emptying bins and throwing dirty dishwater into the gutters and alleyways when the pipes of ancient plumbing were blocked. The dirty water often missed its mark, puddling on the pathway used by drunken patrons staggering to their cars on their way home in the dark of night. They seldom paid attention to what was on the ground.

Noon panicked. A high-pitched squeal escaped her throat; her voice had not yet fully formed.

"What are you?" he persisted, dragging himself closer still. He was a Rags, one of the "unregistered" Eve had encountered, living outside the regulated zones – a forgotten statistic in the comprehensive citizen ledgers that Mayor Ever's administration so diligently maintained.

She scrambled back towards the drain, desperate to retreat. "Wait!" he called, his voice laced with a strange urgency. "Don't go..."

The desperation in his plea stopped her in her tracks. He was more like her, a creature of the shadows, than them, the topsiders. But she couldn't risk detection. Her mission was too important. Her colony depended on her.

Rags pursued her relentlessly. "I can help you! Let me help you!" he said, reaching out a grubby paw, managing to grab hold of the edge of the coffee sack. It loosened from her body, and she slipped down the drain, making her way to the sewers and beyond, the stink of the city receding as she plunged into darkness.

---

The moon was full, it looked like it was about to burst.

Noon emerged from the shadows, humming a gentle melody. Her pale arms playfully tugged at the lining of her emerald green velvet dress, its fabric soft against her transformed skin. Her eyes, now sparkling with an unnatural light, met the oppressive glow of the city without discomfort. Her hair was plaited with twine, and the rich scent of new earth lingered in her wake. She was ready.

She cocked her head, the dull, pulsing sounds of the city, the distant thrum of automated vehicles, the low murmur of nightlife from Grand West, the Sanctioned Entertainment Centre, giving a strange, rhythmic bass to her tune. She made her way towards the bar, her new form gliding with an ancient purpose.

She didn't notice his dark form on the ground and nearly trod on him in her haste for the hunt to begin. She was in heat, primed and ready to mate. Her desire was intense and immediate.

She tripped, looked back, locking eyes with the Rags.

"I see you," he said, holding out the coffee sack to her like an offering.

"Let me be the one...." he begged, his voice raspy, yet strangely clear now. "Let me help you!"

She shook her head, finding her voice. It spilled forth like nectar, rich and resonant. "You are broken," she said, touching her hand to his, a fleeting, tender gesture.

She took the sack, covering him with it, spilling her unique, earthy scent onto the coarse fabric as a token of her gratitude. He snuggled into it and dozed off, forgetting his forgotten fate.

She turned towards the light spilling from inside the Twilight Bar & Grill, a beacon from the Sanctioned Entertainment Centre, and stepped forward, ready for the big bang.