The skinless man first looked at me on the bus. Well, stared. But that wasn't his fault. You see, the skinless man had no lids on his eyes. So staring was all he had.
He was sitting at the front of the empty bus when he turned his head and spotted me. Calmly he stood up and made his way towards my seat. Despite his obvious health problems, he positively strode down the isle. I wasn't scared, or even nervous. Because apart from his exposed muscles and tendons gleaming in the morning sun, he seemed like a nice enough chap.
"May I have your skin?" he asked, or so I assumed as it was impossible to make out a word the skinless, lipless, lidless man had to say.
"What for mister?"
"Oh nothing peculiar. I only wish to wear it. If you don't mind."
The skinless man was painfully polite despite his obvious blood loss.
"Why sure mister. I'll have it off in a jiffy," I said as it seemed like the right thing to do, especially considering how polite I imagined him to be.
"I always carry my pocket knife. Well, uh... right here in my pocket in fact!"
He would have smiled at that I was sure, had he only had lips and cheeks at his disposal.
The lipless, cheekless man stood in what I assumed was awe as I plunged the two-inch blade into my neck. It seemed like as good a place as any to start. The pain was indescribable, but I didn't want the skinless man to feel bad so I cut and cut right down my side until I reached my toes without as much as a squeek. Then I came back up, back down and back up the other side until I made it all the way round to the first cut.
The skin fought against me as I pulled at it but it eventually gave in and peeled off. The blood was something fierce, but it wasn't every day you got the chance to give a skinless man a lump of skin. So who was I to complain?
"There you go mister," I said, handing the speechless man my cut-up skin.
He didn't say a word, or so I imagined. He simply started pulling my skin over his bloody bones and meat. Just like putting on a shirt.
The skin wasn't quite enough to cover his entire body but he kind of made it work by pulling it tight and stretching my skin to its limits, and in some places putting up with a couple of tears.
I'll be honest, he looked worse than before. But what can you say to a skinless man who was putting on your skin? He seemed positively content with the outcome.
"Hey that's a great look!" I said. "Who knew you looked so good in a boy's skin!"
That made the skinned man burst with laughter. My bloody lips almost tore with the force of his joy. I felt like saying, "Hey take it easy with those!", but thought better of it. "They're his lips now," I reminded myself. "You can't blame him for using them, now can you?"
It was strange looking at the man of former skinless fame. He had my face after all. That's how people recognised me. Wasn't it? I wondered if people would recognise him.
Watching him made me feel sick after a while. Completely skinless or completely skinned. Was that right? I think that's the same thing. Maybe. Anyway, either way is ok but in the middle was horrifying. At least he was happy, or appeared to be, considering he was smiling through a skinless boy's previous bloody attire.
Relief was what I felt when he got off at the next stop. For I couldn't close my eyes to avoid the gruesome sight. I was skinless you see. I only had staring. Because that's the nature of things when you're skinless and lidless, waiting to bleed out on the bus.
No comments:
Post a Comment