The words over at Three Word Wednesday are ideal, measure and teeter.
I teeter on the verge of epileptic anger, shaking uncontrollably with rage.
Three measures of the solution dissolved into a Diet Mountain Dew, my preferred beverage of choice. Two measures too much for the ideal reaction.
But I’m here to prove a point. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
I rip off my T-Shirt, kick off my All-Stars and loosen the top two buttons on the 501s. Experience counts for something, and I can’t keep hiding all the tattered clothing.
I’m just in time.
My white skin goes all mottled as the transmogrification begins on a cellular level. The solution reaches each cell’s midi-chlorians, which in turn, begin the metamorphosis. Muscles twitch, stretch to sinewy tensile strength right on the bone.
My brow grows heavy, the bony ridge there becoming fortified. I can feel all my bones begin to change, increase in their density and strength.
The pain intensifies, but it’s flecked with pleasure.
I grunt in satisfaction as I watch my junk expand to porn-star standards.
I bring my hands to my face, watch their delicate features grow ashen. I watch in a mix of horror and satisfaction as each finger elongates and thickens, watch as course hair sprouts across each knuckle. I'm mesmerised as I view each fingernail harden into blade points; their luster is like polished bone.
My jaw goes slack as the bones there thrust forward, just as my canines grow into fierce, pearly fangs.
This new body trembles with life; the power ripples under the skin.
It’s time to show them. Time to show them all.
I let out a growl, which is low-pitched, guttural, fearsome.
There’s a hard rap at the bathroom door.
“Honey, what are you doing in there?” mother asks.
I wipe away the steam and staring back at me is me.
All 112 sickly white pounds.
“Showering, mom, jeez. Can’t a guy get a little privacy around here?”