Author: Alan Moskowitz
It was just a tiny blemish on her thigh. She smiled at the memory and then gave it a few swipes with her fingernail to stop the itching. She went back to work on her computer. Data entry – boring. But it kept her fully engrossed twelve hours a day, to the exclusion of all else.
She never admitted to anyone, even herself that she was lonely. She had done her time trying to find a companion that wouldn’t lie, cheat or abuse her, but it always wound up the same. She’d begun to think it was actually her fault; her ability to choose wrong, so she gave up choosing. And now? Now she had a sweet memory to enjoy.
Her hand slid down to her thigh and she unconsciously started scuffing at the little silvery blemish. Only it wasn’t so little. It had spread, now requiring two fingernails.
As she rummaged around the medicine cabinet looking for some relief she once again thought about her time at the shore. After having to endure yet another staff meeting watching her co-workers bicker, ass-kiss, and undermine each other, a week away from everything, alone with herself, dozing in the sun, was perfect.
The last thing she expected was a naked man emerging from the surf, struggling to walk. She ran to him as he limped across the sand, giving him her hand when his step faltered. She searched the sea looking for some hint of where he might have come from. A shipwreck no doubt; and the ship had gone under the churning waves out beyond the reef that protected the beach.
She led him to her tent, asking questions that remained unanswered. She sat him on the bed, and could not help but admire his exotically handsome face, his smoothly muscled physique, his easy, though troubled manner. And his eyes when they met hers seemed to fill her soul.
He began to shiver. She wrapped him in her arms and laid him back onto the mattress, pulling the covers over their bodies.
She was not a fool. She had read her share of romance novels and seen enough movies to know that she was probably dreaming. And as her body warmed his, so did his warm hers, and if it was a dream she didn’t want to end.
When she awoke he was gone. Her body was still tingling from the memory of his touch. She thanked the God of dreams and spent the rest of her vacation in a stupor of gratification. It had been perfect. For once, even if it was only a dream, she had for once chosen the perfect man.
She sighed at the memory as she massaged the anti-itch cream on ton her thigh. It didn’t work. The spots were increasing in size as was the intensity of the irritation. She rubbed harder, but nothing stopped the spreading patch of what now looked to be shiny scales spreading up her leg. She screamed in panic and pain. She was becoming something else.
It hadn’t been a dream. He was real and not human.
She drove, screaming in pain, her flesh turning into pearlescent scales, her legs fusing together; Her breathing short choppy gasps. She prayed that she can get to the life-saving ocean before the change is complete.
Her feet burst through her shoes revealing a wobbly fishtail; her arms flopped bonelessly to her sides. As the car spun out of control plunging her to certain death she thought, “Another bad choice; I should have insisted he use a condom.”