Much to her displeasure, as the moon waned to crescent, Miss Carlisle was roused from a five-day slumber by an onset of pain in her mouth. Upon brief examination in the mirror, she was confronted by a major alteration in her appearance — her canines were elongated and hooked. No longer was she able to conceal the true nature of her existence to onlookers, to herself.
Up until this stage in her life, she possessed no tangible evidence of her physical destination. She lived a state of transient actuality, spasming around liminal space in solitude. A daisy-chain of throughways from one moment to the next. She lost the ability to discern the differences between perception and reality.
But finally, after sixteen reclusive years, she completed her transition.
There are points in time for every species, down the line of evolution, where they must adjust to the environment for survival. In fact, all living organisms arrive at a crossroads: will they adapt to conditions imposed? Or will they struggle, wither, and decompose without significance?
Miss Carlisle was one of the intelligent, convertible few.
Out of all the modifications in her sensory systems, the biggest improvements were in her olfactory and auditory cortexes. Apart from the persistent, discordant ringing in the middle of her tympanic membrane, she felt uncharacteristically positive and envigored regarding these improvements.
Although, her favourite change was an absence — the grating, squeaky voice that she fell asleep with was deeper, distorted. She practiced hissing and posing, proud of her fearsome reflection and resonance. Supplementary confidence.
She became acquainted with scents and sensations that no ordinary specimen could define. A simultaneous concoction of delectable fragrances and revolting odours. They were quite mild where she was standing, so she followed their increased potency through the dusty chimney of her split-level home. She experienced a wave of vertigo as she pulled herself onto the roof, caked in soot.
Here she found the perfect vantage point of her monotonous neighbourhood. Row after row of middle-classed, white-picket-fenced, brown-bricked houses. Virtually identical to one another if not for the varying states of neglect and upkeep. She shuffled to the edge of her roof, seemingly oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the precipitous drop that awaited.
The smells were overpowering her moral inhibitors.
With her newfound hybrid sensibilities, Miss Carlisle thought herself more than worthy to satiate her desires with the finest of dining rituals. She had never been able to afford such luxuries with a conventional homogeneous stomach. It became her dearest pursuit to stalk the backyards of unsuspecting families throughout suburbia with her menacing, pointed teeth.
Krystal Nicol is an Australian-based university student with an overwhelming passion for animals and writing. She is currently double majoring in Creative Writing and Spanish and dabbling in Screenwriting and Editing. When she isn’t reading or writing, she’s probably daydreaming about what she’s going to read and write next.