Brian
#2 of Transitions
July 8th, 2056.
New York, New York
Brian looked himself over in the mirror, he'd heard on the news that a nasty rash was going around. What had started with girls in the hallway at school pointing at a few unfortunates who had the rash whispering about wiping with poison ivy, suddenly turned into the one or two people not afflicted avoiding the people affected like the plague. This of course, eventually led to a whole lot of the student body missing school to attend the growing lines at medical centers, and eventually, the school closed. Officials called it a 'tame' epidemic, that although unknown, seemed to have no adverse effects other than a little itching, people were advised to stay at home, rub some moisturizer on, and try to avoid contact with other people.
He flexed once, which was kind of pitiful, he'd only been working out for a few weeks, and although he'd trimmed his baby fat a little, the late teen still had a way to go before he could admire a set of washboard abs. he scratched his chest.... Damn itch. He gazed over into the glass again, examining the red splotches covering his face. They seemed worse. His jet black hair was untidy and there were bags under his baby blue eyes, he looked like crap. Shaking his head, he walked across the room, stripping and grabbing a towel, water always helped. Mmmmm shower.
The bathroom was spacious, white tiles with black grout covered the floor, and wooden cabinetry lined the walls, the cube shower sat in one corner, inviting, and the jet tub in another, inviting a little more temptingly. He'd heard though, that bathing was a great way to spread a rash, and although he probably couldn't cover any more of himself than he had already, he didn't want to tempt fate. Opening the glass door, he set the water hot, he'd fiddle with it and split the atom to make it perfect later, but for now, hot seemed good. Throwing the towel over to the basket, he stepped in.
Yes, hot was a good choice, and had never felt so good, the water washing over his rash soothed it, the rest of his skin turning red to blend with the irritated, he almost looked normal again, if normal was lobster red, he grinned at the thought, turning on some cold, just to even it out. Reaching over, he grabbed his head and shoulders, getting his hair good, whistling to himself.
Lathered and feeling good, Brian was disconcerted to find his skin itching again, and he grew frustrated, throwing the bottle in his hand away, "This tears it, it's gotta end...." And then a strange feeling hits him in the gut, and brings him to his knees. He hits the bottom of the shower hard. Dazed, he breathes slowly, shaking his head, trying to clear the fuzzies. But try as they might, the fuzzies don't clear, hair dripping from his bowed head, he reaches up, turning off the water, "Sick.... sucks..." And he falls to the side, passing out.
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A few hours later, the youth wakes up, he shakes his head and wonders why he's on the shower floor, in a most uncomfortable position, and itching. Ok, well he knew why he was itching, and slowly it comes to him why he's on the floor. Pulling himself up, he wraps the towel back around him, Having cooled off, his skin was back to being pink, but the red patches seemed to have grown, "Well piss...." He heads toward his room, feeling very tired, and collapsed upon his great comfy bed.
He reaches out for his remote, then notices some white fluff on his hand, he tries to rub it off against his bed, but it stays, stuck on. Reaching with his other hand, he tries to pick it off, "Ow!" Curses, that hurt. He looks at his hand in wonder, the small patch of fluff expands, he doesn't know what to make of it, he tries shaking it off, and when that doesn't work, he runs back to the washroom, throwing water on it, trying to rinse it off, all to no avail.
By now the fluff had covered his hand, and was migrating toward his elbow, he looks up into the vanity mirror and sees that his black hair has also turned white, and was starting to grow where it hadn't before, moving down his head. He blinks, "The hell?!?" And steps back, slipping on some water to fall painfully to the floor, the towel flying off in the process.
Rubbing his butt with his fluff-free hand, he finds when he brings it back that it too has it's own patch, matching on on his left leg, and his chest. He shakes his head, must be dreaming, can't be real, not being eaten by fluff, he tells himself, only to see a cloud of white hair fall from his head. He sees in the full length mirror on the shower that his hair had mostly fallen out, leaving it the same length as all the other fluff..... hair? ... FUR? on his body, about half an inch long. He backs up from the mirror, watching as the last rosy pink skin gets covered in silky, white, shouldn't-be-there fur. He touches his face, feeling the new softness, and notices pads on his palm that were puffier than usual, and not fur covered, and a little darker than his skin was supposed to be. Huh.. well at least it doesn't itch. His eyes roll back in his head, and he passes out.
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Groggily, Brian was jolted out of his blackness by a slight pain. Pain shouldn't be a surprise, he's having trouble counting the number of times he's fallen in the last few... minutes? Hours? He realizes he's totally lost track of time. But this is wrong, his whole body feels tight, curling into a ball and crying seems like a good idea, but he can't, too stiff, his skin feels drawn under a new layer of what he was going to call fur. He flexes his fingers as a test, and found he still has mobility, if he really tried, he breathes out, figuring he isn't paralyzed..
Sudden pain racks him, and he should be glad he's already on his butt, because that kind of pain is liable to throw someone into a fit. It felt like his skin was tearing, like his whole body was being squeezed in a vice. It hurt. Closing his eyes, he scrabbles against the floor, crying out. Hitting his head against the cupboard stops his thrashing for a moment.
As suddenly as the paid had started, it stopped, and with it came a feeling of release. Just like relieving yourself after drinking a whole lot and having to wait for the can, or popping a stubborn zit, he felt release all over his body, his head, his legs, even his butt. He opens his eyes and blinks, looking in the mirror.
For a moment, he doesn't recognize himself, not only is he still covered in white fur, his body seems to be shaped differently. Almost like they draped his white furred skin over the skeleton of something else. His face had pushed out, looking very much like an animals. He reaches up to touch it, making sure it's real, it is. Crap. This is beyond weird, who do you call? Hospital? The SPCA? PETA?! [Ghost busters!] He tries to stand, against his better judgment, he's fallen a lot lately, but if he's going to get help, he better get on.
Making his way out of the washroom, he feels, but doesn't have the energy to look at, a new weight behind him. He figures it's a tail. Why not? The way the rest of him is going. He hears sirens outside, and a sudden squeal and crash that could only be a car hitting something. He reaches for his phone, no tone. That's definitely not good. He reaches over, clicking on the TV. Most the channels were still playing the sitcom reruns that summer always brought, but when he got to a news channel, he stayed put. There was an empty studio. Nothing was running footage... The hell? He hears a scream, and isn't sure if it's on the TV, or outside. He clicks off the TV and looks around. What was going on? Were other people going through what he was? Crawling into a closet, he resigns himself to waiting it all out. No one was going to help him, and he was too exhausted, never mind afraid to even think about leaving.
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He knows that whatever he got hasn't worked itself through him, his stomach still feels queasy, and he really hopes that his immune system kicks in and starts beating this out of him, maybe doctors will be able to put him normal with plastic.... Maybe not. He looked at his face, he could see it between his eyes, probably not that.
As he watches, it looks to him like his features mellow out, his pelt loosens up over his bones, giving him a more natural, streamlined look. It didn't feel too bad. His nose flared out and he felt his ears droop. Skin all over his body was proportioning itself to look less freakish, and more natural. If you can call a five foot something fur covered animal man normal. He walks over to a mirror, and gapes.
Staring back at him is what could only be described as a dog with human features, or a human with dogish features. It doesn't matter, his stomach settles, and as the piece du resistance, black spots appear all over his new fur. He is, without doubt, a dalmatian. He shakes his head, and the face in the mirror shakes too, showing off some sharp teeth and throwing a little drool on the mirror. The last thing he thinks before passing out, this time for the night, is "I wonder if the fire department needs a new fire dog?"