Floating Foam

I hit 220 pages complete on my book this past weekend, and I STILL have yet to describe in detail the hideous central chimera for which the book is named! However, I’m in the second-to-last chapter now, aptly named “Flesh Pets,” so I’m working out how I will unveil them in a manner that leaves much of the detail to the reader’s imagination.

My main concern is describing their effect on humanity rather than a simple reactions. Yet I want to do this without going into a history lesson approach. I have to be sneaky.

Here’s a bit I worked on over the weekend. It occurs after Charlie has revealed his latest “discovery” to his partner, Peter, and the two have begun working together again after a long, strained period.

Six days after showing Peter my new creatures, I returned home to Claire, wild-eyed and beastly in my own right. During my absence, I acquired the appearance of a madman. I can only imagine those on the highway who saw me in my 1973 Trans Am, t-tops open, the wind blowing my beard and hair swirling around me like a furry turban, barely covering the grimace on my face.

After a week of working with Peter in the lab, I could no longer stand his constant pleas for me to take a stand with my family, either in it or out of it. That afternoon, I threw my lab coat at him and told him to shut the hell up, that I would go see them.

I let myself into the house, unaware that others no longer considered me a resident, and wandered up to the room Claire and I shared. No one appeared in my path, so I was able to turn on the shower without alerting the staff or Claire. I realized on my drive to the house that I needed to clean up prior to presenting myself to her.

I showered quickly and dried off. My hair clung to my face like a squid. I wrapped the towel around my waist and made my way to the enormous walk-in closet we shared. In it, I found only Claire’s clothes.

“Crap,” I said to myself.

“What are you doing here?” Claire asked, appearing behind me, arms crossed, looking slightly afraid of me.

“I came home to see my family. I just wanted to clean up first. Any chance you still have my clothes somewhere?”

“They’re boxed up in the garage. Feel free to take them on your way out.”

“Come on, Claire. Give me a chance to explain myself.”

“What are you going to explain, Charlie? What could you possibly say that would absolve you of months of absence, of ignored invitations, of un-returned phone calls? What could you say?”

“I planned to begin with an apology.”

“Please leave,” she angrily requested, hot tears steaming from her eyes.

“I know I’m bad at this, and I know that I’ve been too obsessed with work, lately. Maybe I can take some time away, now. The project’s at the lab, so I don’t need to work alone anymore. I can…”

“Jesus, Charlie. You think it’s the work? Really?”

I didn’t.

“You’re right, Claire. I just grabbed onto it because it was close.”

She softened at my admission, but remained guarded, pissed.

“You can see him, but then I want you to go.”

“Fair enough. Would you have Thomas bring up a box of clothes for me? I know he’s here.”

“Okay,” she agreed. Before turning to go, she looked me over. During my stay at the garage, I’d lost a considerable amount of weight, mostly muscle. “You look like a damn castaway, Charlie.”

She left me alone in the closet, wet, spindly and surrounded by enough women’s clothing to fill an entire store.