Author’s Note: While this post is not about the Black Lives Matter movement, I encourage everyone to continuing educating themselves and supporting the cause. In the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda, “This is not a moment, it’s the movement.”
Prompt: Write a story about a character who has always had the ability to change how they looked, and so they hid their true appearance behind attractive façades. Now, their abilities aren’t working, exposing what they truly look like.
An insufferable pinging noise rang out into the darkness, eliciting a furious groan from the figure under the covers. After silencing her alarm for the third time that morning, Amanda finally rolled out of bed with considerable effort. She stumbled into her door frame on her way to the bathroom, but she managed to flip on the lights. With the fluorescent lighting burning the sleep from her eyes, Amanda strode toward the shower in the far corner of the bathroom. When she passed the mirror however, the girl stopped dead in her tracks.
Amanda turned to face the mirror straight on, leaning in closely to peer at every pore. Her slim, bronze-colored face stared back, an ethereal intensity palpable in her dark brown eyes.
“I could’ve sworn I saw. . .” Amanda trailed off, not noticing any peculiarities. There were no pimples visible, not even a hair out of place. Bed head was for lesser beings than her.
After a quick shower and a blow dry, Amanda’s silky brown hair looked even more perfect than before, so she returned to the mirror clutching her makeup bag. An instant later, the bag and all its contents scattered noisily across the floor and Amanda let out a brief scream. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping not to wake the parents in the next room. The scream, it seemed, was a reaction to the fact that half of Amanda’s face was now a slimy, oozing patch of violet-colored flesh.
Praying that she hadn’t woken anyone, Amanda slipped out the bathroom door and back to her room. This is bad, she thought, panicstricken. This is very, very bad. What is going on? Why have my abilities failed me? How am I supposed to handle this?
Back in the bedroom, Amanda tore apart every bin of junk and dresser drawer in search of the item she so desperately needed. It had been so long since she had needed Instructor Seven’s guidance. Will I even be able to make contact?
Finally, Amanda fished out a small electronic device from behind a row of books. The device looked like a pager, though no one but doctors used pagers anymore. It was small, rectangular, and had only three buttons: a small red circle, a flat purple strip, and a green square. Amanda pushed the red button while checking that the bedroom door was locked.
“Hurry,” she pleaded with the small communicator. It was only a matter of minutes before Amanda’s mother stormed in to get her daughter ready for school. Another agonizing thirty seconds passed, and Amanda was about ready to forget about the device and run for it.
“Could I make it to New York City on foot?” Amanda whispered to herself. “I forget how much stamina humans have. Of course Physical Traits had to be my worst subject.” Before the girl managed to take action, however, a soft beep interrupted her rambling solo conversation.
“Oh thank Supreme,” Amanda whispered, her eyes fixed upon the device.
It turned out that Amanda’s communicator was less like a pager and more like a computer screen. Mere seconds after the soft beeping noise began, the small screen that took up most of the device flashed on. There, blurry but still visible, sat Instructor Seven. Instructor Seven’s gooey, navy blue head took up the entire screen. His four eyes analyzed his student intensely, and the mouth on the right side of his face gaped open in shock. Despite his grotesque appearance, seeing the Instructor for the first time in years comforted Amanda. It was this sense of comfort that encouraged her to click the green universal translator button and launch right into her reason for calling.
“Instructor, look, my true form is starting to show.” She paused and held the device’s camera close to her face. “I have no idea why, it just appeared this morning. I’m afraid my disguising abilities aren’t functioning properly.”
The Instructor analyzed his pupil, who looked less and less human with every passing minute. The fleshy purple skin had overtaken two-thirds of her face, thereby eliminating any possibility of hiding it. After a moment of intense concentration, the Instructor finally spoke.
“Cargatia 702, it looks to me like you have Thanic Syndrome.”
“Thanic Syndrome? Does that have anything to do with Thanic 116?” Cargatia asked warily. “You know, the Mursen who went crazy and thought he could live with humans forever?”
Instructor Seven sighed deeply. “Yes, that’s who the condition was named after. You, like Thanic, have become so attached to your Earth life that your body feels comfortable and at home, so it’s returning to its natural state. It is very hard to fight against.”
Cargatia felt tears welling up in her one human eye. (Her real face revealed two new indigo eyes, both without tear ducts.) She did not want to leave Earth or abandon her mission. After all these years of carefully conducted research!
“Please, Instructor. Is there anything I can do? I have to complete the mission. I’ve come so far and–”
“Cargatia,” the Instructor interrupted. “We both know that you cannot stay on Earth. You could expose the entire Mursen race and all our covert operations. If our methods of obtaining information are revealed, we will lose all of our buyers from across the planet.”
Cargatia whimpered, lifting her hand to her rapidly deteriorating face. “But,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be ugly again.”
“Get a grip on yourself, Cargatia 702!” the Instructor bellowed. “You sound like a whiny human, desperate to prove that you meet a ridiculous standard. It’s disgraceful.” Cargatia nodded, blushing a slightly darker shade of purple.
“This is about protecting the ongoing operations of Mursen spies across the globe,” the Instructor continued sternly. You’ve done what you can to collect information on the American government over the years–”
“For a really high price, may I remind you.” Cargatia interjected, still sniffling (though she no longer had a human nose).
“Yes, your mission has been extremely successful.” Instructor Seven conceded, rolling one of his outer eyes in the process. “It’s ridiculous how many governments and businesses will pay good money for American FBI secrets.” The Instructor muttered these last words to himself, chuckling slightly as he did so. Then, he refocused his attention on Cargatia.
By now, Cargatia’s entire head had lost its human façade, revealing her true appearance: a slimy and brilliantly purple creature with three eyes, slits for a nose, and two mouths. Instructor Seven sighed, wishing that his pupil could understand how beautiful it was to be different from humans. Why would anyone want to associate themselves with these lowly creatures? the Instructor thought to himself before continuing.
“None of this matters now. You must leave Earth and return home to Murse.”
Cargatia went to wipe away her tears, but she found there were none left. She looked down at her dainty, golden hand; the rest of her disguise hadn’t worn off yet. Maybe she could stay on Earth if only. . .
No, a small voice in Cargatia’s head told her. Getting too attached is what caused this in the first place. Leaving is the only way to rehabilitate your disguise abilities. After one more moment of self-pity, Cargatia looked into Instructor Seven’s eyes and nodded.
“Tell me what I have to do.”
“Firstly,” the Instructor began. “You have to get out of your host’s house without anybody seeing you. Then, make your way into the city. Do you remember where the Teleportation Station is?”
“Yes, and I remember the code.” Cargatia replied.
“Good,” Instructor Seven said with a curt nod. “Now, as you leave you must especially avoid the older woman, the one who works for the human government.”
Thud. Thud. Thud. Cargatia snapped her head up as someone pounded on the door.
“Amanda, you better be awake in there,” came a woman’s voice from just outside.
Cargatia turned back to her communicator. “It’s gonna be pretty hard to avoid her when she’s knocking on my door!” Cargatia whispered hysterically.
“Calm down,” the Instructor urged. “You’re going to have to fight against your body to alter your appearance. It will take a lot out of you, but you should be able to manage it long enough to get out of the house.”
“Okay, okay,” Cargatia nodded as the woman pounded on the door once more.
“Amanda? What’s going on in there?”
As quickly as possible, Cargatia grabbed her school backpack and filled it with all of her notes on the FBI agent known as “Mom.” After zipping up the communicator in an outside pocket, Cargatia faced herself in the mirror above the dresser.
“Amanda if you don’t open this door right now I’m coming in.” The firm sincerity in Mom’s voice would have made Cargatia’s heart race if she had one.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Cargatia called, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. She refocused her attention on the mirror as Mom’s voice continued to thunder through the locked door.
“You need to hurry or you’ll miss this bus. I’m warning you, young lady, you better be out here in less than a minute.”
Cargatia frantically tried to fix her appearance. C’mon, she told herself. Just focus on what you saw in the mirror this morning.
As a creature from the distant planet Murse, Cargatia possessed a natural ability to alter her appearance. The strengthening and perfecting of this ability was just one step in the long, rewarding process of becoming a Mursen spy. Cargatia loved her job, her planet, and of course her commission. Now though, as disguising herself became difficult for the first time in her life, everything seemed completely terrifying.
“Why me?” Cargatia whispered at the purple face in the mirror as she struggled to change her appearance. “Why did I have to get attached to a planet where all they do is kill and lie and pay to know each other’s secrets?”
You know why, said that same little voice in Cargatia’s head. In that moment, Cargatia could smell the coffee Mom had brewed downstairs. She could hear Dad singing some mindless pop song off-key in the shower. She could envision the friends waiting for her at school, all of them wildly fascinating and just as beautiful as her.
Beautiful. Humans invent such strange yet intoxicating concepts.
Suddenly, Cargatia gasped. Her skin had started to change from vibrant violet back to bronze. Perfectly-tanned skin soon replaced her extra eyes, and a cute little nose appeared in place of the slits. Cargatia continued to focus all her energy on altering her appearance, so much so that she barely noticed another knock at the door.
“Amanda, you’re really pushing it. I’m going to get the key.”
“Wait, what?” Cargatia stuttered, turning away from the mirror toward the voice outside the door.
“You heard me, young lady.” Mom replied, moving back down the hall toward her own room.
Cargatia let out a whimper and returned her focus to the mirror, every particle of her being battling against itself for control. The pain felt agonizing, but she could not stop now. Then, a moment later, Cargatia heard the definitive sound of a key sliding into a lock.
“No!” Cargatia shouted, paralyzed with fear. Half of her face still showed that revolting purple goo. The door swung open and, without thinking, Cargatia flung herself on the floor and buried her face in her arms.
“Don’t look at me Mom!” Cargatia cried, her eyes welling up once more. “I’m hideous!”
Mom kneeled down on the floor and pried Cargatia’s arms away from her face. Cargatia inhaled sharply, desperately searching for an explanation that wouldn’t expose her fellow spies.
“Honey,” Mom whispered kindly. “Just because you aren’t wearing makeup today doesn’t mean you’re hideous.”
Cargatia stopped crying, her thoughts bouncing around her head like they were on a trampoline. “What?”
“You look beautiful, Amanda. Now hurry up, or you’ll be late.” With that, Mom stood up and left the room.
Cargatia could not believe her ears. Did I manage to finish altering my appearance after all? Cargatia rose to her feet slowly, then pivoted to face the mirror above the dresser once more. There, staring back at her, was a beautiful girl with an enormous chunk of oozing purple flesh where her left cheekbone should be.
“What the–”
A soft beeping noise interrupted Cargatia’s train of thought. She leaned down and pulled the communicator from the outside pocket of the backpack. Instructor Seven looked anxiously up at Cargatia from the tiny screen.
“Well? Did she see you?” he asked.
“She, um,” Cargatia stuttered, at a loss for words. “She saw my face but I guess she didn’t see my true appearance. Even though it’s clearly visible.” Cargatia pointed at the chunk of violet flesh.
To Cargatia’s great surprise, Instructor Seven began to laugh. He laughed so heartily and intensely that Cargatia feared he had been compromised and this man wasn’t her Instructor at all.
“Instructor Seven, what–”
“That damn fool Thanic. I can’t believe he was right.”
“What was he right about?” Cargatia asked, utterly bewildered now.
“Well you see,” Instructor Seven began. “Thanic Syndrome is named after Thanic because he was so attached to his Earth life that he went crazy. However, Thanic wanted to stay on Earth because he had allegedly discovered a way for humans and Mursens to live in harmony without the use of disguises.”
“What do you mean?” Cargatia interrupted, still not following.
“Cargatia, the man theorized that even if we showed our true appearances, the humans would not notice that we are from another planet.”
Cargatia interjected with more questions. “What? How is that possible?” Then, something became abundantly clear to the Mursen girl. “Instructor Seven, is that why Mo– I mean, the woman couldn’t see my violet skin?”
“Exactly, Cargatia,” the Instructor replied, still chuckling slightly.
Now it was Cargatia’s turn to laugh. “Oh my Supreme, Instructor. Humans only see what they want to see!”
