Part 1 of 2. Please read part 2 here
“What monstrosities would walk the streets were some people’s faces as unfinished as their minds.” — Eric Hoffer
Shelley was horrified to discover her perfect skin was no longer perfect.
To her confusion and horror, it was anything but.
When she rolled out of bed at 5am her usual m.o. was to take care of her pilates/yoga HIIT hybrid routine, and then drink the leafy greens and oat milk currently touted by her fave motivator.
She’d follow that up with her daily critical self-inspection, naked in front of the mirror.
Usually Shelley held off glancing until she’d performed her morning rituals, because examining herself naked from head to toe was a sweet treat to be savoured.
Not that she’d ever admit to that, and certainly not on her socials.
But she’d always been well pleased by her reflection.
Until today.
This morning, she felt leaden, lumpish, painful in odd places. Everything was aching, and decidedly peculiar. There was a chattering deep inside her mind, normally her own voice was comforting but this felt — alien somehow.
Shelley was filled with strange sensations, and emotions she’d never experienced were tugging at the endges of her consciousness.
It felt like an unravelling.
It felt — dreadful.
She lumbered to the mirror as soon as her feet hit the floor.
Shelley stopped. Shelley stared.
“They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any green plant or any tree, but only those people who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads.”
Humble is as humble does
It was important to retain a facade of faux modesty, of course. Everybody did it.
“Omg, this colour doesn’t suit me at all!” she’d claim, posting face-tuned, beautifully lit selfies, and basking in the waves of likes rolling in.
She sometimes offered a “reason” for her self-aggrandisement in an attempt to sound humble.
“Hi friends! Sikiegirlie101 asked me to try out a new eyeshadow, what do you think?!” She’d smile coyly, displaying a dusting of a product she hoped might become her signature brand, along with some artful cleavage and the perfect backdrop.
And, of course, her perfect skin.
Sometimes, her job included networking, and that occasionally involved blow jobs and other such gratuities, though that was as far as she’d go - at least until her brand ambassador contract was signed sealed and delivered.
Like many young people, Shelley’s entire life was dedicated to one ideal — looking like a pornbot and making money from it.
Pornbots Are Great News for Women
Defective Men Withdraw from the Gene Pool
Today she had planned to carefully craft and edit a “Nude to Glam” reel.
This would require the use of a few “make up free” shots — which, in the tradition of all the celebs would never actually be make up free, but carefully constructed using natural looking tones to look as much like her bare skin as possible, while still highlighting her eyes, lips and glowing skin.
She’d complete the effect with a slightly tousled look to indicate she’d just turned up looking like this, maybe a pair of carefully positioned super cute PJs, hanging casually from her hips to give more than a hint of toned midriff and tummy, and some product placement or other casually strewn upon her accent chair — which looked just like the one the actress she doted upon owned, even if it was a knock off.
Literally the only thing that mattered about anyone was how they looked, and how they presented. Everyone knew that.
So what was happening in her mirror was some sort of nightmare — an actual disaster. And that was not catastrophic language, as that shrink her mother had briefly forced her to visit had once tried to tell her.
Be Kind
Shelley followed all the big accounts to ensure she was kept in the loop, and took their lead on the approved lingo. Was it folks, folx, guys, or something new today? It was important to give the impression that you cared about these things — after all #BeKind still trended from time to time.
Her bitch mother didn’t agree with #bekind, pointing out that the kind thing was often to be truthful and authentic. She also had a habit of whinging about how dangerous it could be to tell others to put aside their own judgement to follow the #bekind mantra.
Killing Us With Kindness
Being Kind, Polite, Nice and Non Judgemental Gets Women Killed
But then mother rarely agreed with Shelley on the odd occasion they even spoke.
She tried to avoid these conversations. For one thing, it was disconcerting how carefully the witch studied her, and with such manufactured sadness.
But as she was currently living in her mother’s granny flat (though not for much longer, she firmly manifested) she had to tolerate her intrusions from time to time.
Her mother just didn’t get it.
Staring at the peeling, deliquescing distortion reflected back at her, a memory penetrated Shelley’s confused state. That fateful day long ago when her mother really didn’t get it.
The Old Cow
It was raining, the internet was out, and ten year old Shelley had never had much talent or preference for truly creative activities. She was bored.
Back then, mother was still trying to do some bonding, and she’d sat her down and made her watch an episode of Little House on the Prairie.
“It’ll be fun Shellbell” her mother had smiled at her.
Her mother had always raved about The Little House on the Prairie, because her own mum had loved it. “Caroline Ingalls always reminded me of your gran, her smile you know?” she once told Shelley, who had filed the information away with a disinterested nod “And your gran and me, oh we used to love this show. Let’s watch it together flower, it’ll be a treat”, she’d enthused.
“Oh, I can’t choose from so many favourites”, her mother’s smile infused her voice, “I’ll just pick one at random.”
She rarely smiled at Shelley these days. That might have been the last time she offered that indulgent “my little girl” beam, the last time anyone would catch the loving sparkle captured in a few of the earlier photos and vids of them together.
So little Shelley sat on the couch and watched the show to shut her mother up, and because there was nothing better to do.
But she wasn’t as good at keeping her more genuine thoughts to herself back then, and as clever little Nellie Olsen forced silly, stuttering Anna to repeat a tongue twister password until Anna was in tears, she’d finally been unable to contain herself.
Shelley burst into peals of laughter, genuinely merry giggles.
It was just so funny, that was the point, surely? Not much ever amused Shelley to laughter, but Anna sounded so funny trying to speak the “Peter Piper” phrase.
Glancing up, she caught the look her mother had thrown at her — disbelief blended with a species of shocked disgust - and snapped her laughter off instantly.
She’d sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to figure out what her mum was thinking. Her mother was quiet too. Eventually muttering something about having to start dinner, mother snapped the show off and went off to do something or other.
Shelley was never very good at that — figuring out what others were thinking.
Or, rather, she considered herself to be great at getting inside people’s motivations, but she was terrible at guessing what they wanted you to believe.
She knew that people denied their real thoughts, as a matter of practicality. That was the only explanation that fit. She didn’t really understand why they had to lie, but they did.
Her mirror dragged her inexorably back to the current reality.
Fumbling for the news, she found them spouting some ridiculous quotation.
‘“Desperate Times” have claimed responsibility for the current chaos’ wittered a severe looking woman. “While churches around the world deny any culpability”.
“They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any green plant or any tree, but only those people who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads.”
Over and over, on all her socials, in all the news, the same name and the same quotation.
It was harder to think than usual, but none of this made any sense.
Visitations and Revelations
She and her mother had never been close, and even less so after that. No great loss.
But she’d caught her mother giving her a weird, appraising look many times over the years. It used to disconcert her until she finally realised the old witch was just jealous. After all, Shelley was far prettier, far smarter and far more popular than her mother had ever been.
There was a gentle tapping at the door.
Shelley rolled her eyes toward the sound in panic. Nobody could see her like this.
This had to be a bad dream anyway. Someone had given her drugs, there was a toxin in the air, she’d been in some sort of accident. She just couldn’t remember. Her mind was — pulling in different directions.
There had to be some rational explanation for the contorted creature she saw in the mirror.
Peering closely, she could see something moving…was it crawling?
Was that something crawling beneath her skin?
Her phone, ever open, continued to bing and beep unwelcome notifications at her.
“Chaos as rogue scientists release untested chemicals into the environment” read the Telegraph.
“Bonkers boffins have buggered the world” screeched the Sun.
“Unfair targeting of minority vulnerable groups by religious right” shrilled the Guardian.
The phone was more difficult to operate than usual, but she turned to her trusty socials to read their take.
Gone dark. Dozens of accounts were already gone, with no explanation.
And over and over and over, that same name - Desperate Times.
Desperate Times
The spokeswoman for Desperate Times appeared calm initailly, but revealed her panic at the corners of her eyes.
“No, I wouldn’t call it a catastrophe, well not just that.” She hesitated. “Although I know it’s hard to see that at the moment…”
The host of this popular segment, Mary Anne in the Morning, was trying not to weep. Trying to hold onto some semblance of something she understood.
This was her job. She straightened her back, tried to concentrate.
“My brother in law. What my sister told me about what he said, how he looked. Well, I never liked him, if I am going to be brutally honest, but still…My poor sister!” Mary Anne’s eyes moistened.
Sybil, the spokeswoman, swallowed.
“I, too, have lost family members, loved ones. That’s kind of the point. How widespread the epidemic is — was.
Everyone, well nearly everyone, has lost someone. It’s been a bloodbath amongst the teens and early twenties. Reports are that the Amish and other segregated and isolated communities are faring better.
Although there are still some stories of — er — we’re calling them the transformed…”
Her host snorted so Sybil hurried on:
“There are a number of Transformed reported in the more isolated communities too, but the numbers are skewing far lower”.
“So, what? What relevance does that really have?” Mary Anne pressed.
“Well, it proves she was right. Don’t you see? Dr Lee was right.”
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This is excellent and thought provoking (I've now read both parts). :)
Nailed it.
Crucified,
Packed in the wicker man and set on fire.
Cut down from Yggdrasil, and set the runes free.