Tabula Rasa (Worm-Case 53, OC)

[Junebugtwin]

Something is soft beneath me. It is damp and tickling and smells of soil and grass and rain.

The air is cool and the wind is fierce, though I feel protected from the harshest blasts.

I'm surrounded by sounds. The skittering of tiny legs as a centipede crawls a few paces away from my prone body, the shifting of grass, the shuffling anxious dance of hundreds of tree leaves, the groan and creaking tilt of individual planks of rotting wood above me.

Rain pelts the ground, the buildings, the trees and cars and people- it is a perfectly drawn map in my mind of absences, the frigid current painting the silhouette of a great beast of brick and cement and steel all around me.

Tires crunch down hungrily, filling their rumbling bellies full of dust and mud and gravel. Puddles splash to the tapping hurried tune of a thousand lurching feet, droplets spraying and sticking to rubber soles.

People talk. The sound builds up steady from their chests, creating power in their lungs and shape in their mouths, their teeth, their tongue. They speak constantly, easily, without a moment's thought and with the slightest of intent. The words mean something, maybe, and I understand them, maybe, but every time I think I grasp the edges the syllables slur and my fingers slip.

A car horn honks. Two humans bicker inside their apartment. A man grunts as he lifts a dresser out of a van. Someone yawns into their cupped hand, eyelids closing as audibly as a fly's wings or the creak of nearby steps.

I can hear the sound of a woman biting her nails across the street, I can hear the dead skin cells flake and float to the ground as a child brushes her hair neighborhoods away. On the opposite side of this place- this city, now I am sure it is a city- a baby bird chips away at its egg one weak nudge at a time.

I don't think I'm supposed to hear like this- or smell as well as I can- I don't know why I know that it is wrong but I do.

I feel that way about many things.

I am me, but I do not know who I am. I know that I am under an old worn down porch which connects to an old worn down house which sits inside and old worn down city. I do not know why I know what a porch, or a house, or a city is- and I do not know why something in my chest aches and aches and aches when I realize I am alone. I do not know anyone, least of all myself.

I don't like it.

I move, warily, stretching out my limbs and cautiously taking stock of my form. I have two legs and two arms, a head, ears, a mouth, a ribcage, and a neck. This much feels vaguely familiar. Things start to feel much less familiar after that. My skin is smooth and almost rubber-like, and my arms stretch out much longer than I instinctually feel they should. I have four clawed fingers and a longer thumb placed somewhat farther down on my wrist. My elbows jut out sharply and my shoulder blades point in a direction that feels subtly wrong. My torso feels lengthy, almost elastic, and I think of a stretched cat- though when I try to follow the thought further no particular breed or color jumps to mind. My legs are bent oddly, knees twisted, lower leg facing backwards and foot stretched out long and powerful. I have a tail. My neck is far too thick and far too long, and my head is the wrong shape (as to what the right shape might be, I don't have a clue) and my skull expands forward boldly. My ears are long, pointed, oversized, and far too high up my head. They rotate as well, but I already knew that from my experiments with my senses a moment ago.

My mouth is big and predatory and my teeth are many and sharp. I don't have a nose the way I thought I would, but the round area on the front of my skull is overly sensitive to the touch and seems to be where my olfaction is coming from.

I do not have any eyes. I'm not really sure what eyes do- they see, obviously- but I cannot quite get a grasp on what 'seeing' really is. Perhaps it's like hearing but with color?

I am distracted, for a few moments, with the thought that I have a basic understanding of what color is and what certain things are usually colored- (grass is green, water is blue, the sun is yellow)- but no real comprehension or memory of such knowledge.

It is bizarre enough that it takes me a few moments to disregard it as a mystery I cannot solve.

I am small enough that I can sit up straight underneath the sinking planks of the porch I have awakened in, but standing on two feet means I must move around hunched. It is simpler and far more comfortable to move about on all fours, an action I can perform as easily as bipedal movement. This feels somehow significant but I can't think of a reason why it might be.

I creep around the damp and dirt covered underside with an effortless sort of grace, my three toed feet nearly silent against the moss and rocks.

Fungal infected lattice surrounds the safety of my cramped dwelling, hiding my presence behind paint chipped wood. I can hear the raindrops hit the rotted splinters, trace their rapid path winding down and through the holes that I soon figured to be diamond shaped.

I go to peek through them until I realize how pointless the action is- I can hear and smell almost everything in the entire city with crystal clarity- what use would shoving my face up against these planks be?

I feel a slow boil of frustration build up in me, a directionless sort of feeling that pushes at the edges of my skin and makes my ears flick backwards in displeasure.

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know who or what I am, and for the life of me I can't think of why it bothers me so much. I want to do something- some nameless action that will resolve the tension within my coiled muscles and lashing tail, but my mind comes up continually empty.

I have no answers, but I feel that they exist and that I might reach them- which only strengthens my ire when I realize I don't know how.

I sit for a few moments, simply listening to the air part through long hair and squirrels chirp noisily to each other. I'm waiting for something, some push or plan or sudden explanation.

I smell something. Well- the truth is more that I smell everything- (cigarette smoke and lilac perfume and bitter tar and mushy seaweed and seagull droppings and pine needles and pie and salt and pollen and sweat and and and)- but specifically speaking, a new smell starts to build.

It's greasy, salty- plenty of oil and sweet tangy tomato and crisp lettuce and a million different herbs and chemicals and hands and sweat and bread. It smells good. And better yet- it smells nearby.

I cock my head and listen carefully, pinpointing the delicious smell to the location full of bustling rubber shoes and loud voices and the squelching clacking grinding of food being consumed.

This- I think, I can do- after all, I am smelling food- of which the location is certain- and I am hungry. I am almost certain- in a world in which I very much an uncertain of- that it is normal to eat when you are hungry and you like what you smell.

So hesitantly I pry open a loose lattice piece, slipping surprisingly swiftly through a hole I had initially doubted I could put my head through.

The grass I step into is overly saturated with polluted rainwater, but it still feels pleasant under my fingers and toes. When I slink forward I do so with the careful intention of avoiding any bugs perched in the blades- a task which is oddly easy with my sense of hearing and smell.

I approach a tall fence- and bunching myself into a small ball before using my back legs to push me explosively upwards- I leap over it with grace.

The broken down and cracked driveway is not as appealing as the grass, but for all the sharp stones and loose pebbles by skin remains uncut and unphased.

I pause for a moment, listening to the way peoples feet fall upon the cement, to their bunching muscles and twisting spines. They're walking bipedal- all of them- which seems a bit inefficient, but easy enough to accommodate.

I stretch myself upwards, and after a moment of getting used to my weight while stood fully upright, I begin to walk forwards.

I only get a few paces down the sidewalk before a person a little ways in front of me gasps. Their voice is high pitched with youth and their hair is long and loose- something I associate with female humans for reasons that escape me- and I pause. From the sound of their eyes blinking and smell of their breath I can tell they are facing my direction, which for a moment makes me worried that they have perceived a threat that can only be placed by sight.

I tilt my ears and try to concentrate on listening, my heart beat starting to increase with my nerves, before I hear on odd clicking noise. It comes from in front of me, and after a moment of allowing the raindrops to hit I locate it as directly in the girls hands pointed in my direction. It's flat and longer vertical, shaped like a slightly rounded rectangle. The sound the girl's finger pads make on its surface makes me think it was made out of plastic.

There's another click, this time followed by a small beep, and the girl starts to slowly walk backwards- though perplexingly she keeps the object in her hands and her body faced in my direction.

Words escape her mouth- "ohhwwuh miiayuh gaawwdd iaeye caanntt bbahlleevuhtt-" but I quickly loose interest in deciphering their meaning once I realize that they don't make much sense. It's not that their shape isn't familiar- it is- but something about them is off, unwieldy- the click of her teeth and wet rustle of her tongue far too distracting.

But no matter how bizarre the noises coming from her throat are, she is a person and probably would have opinions and thoughts and such about me, which makes me inexplicably excited. I'm not sure why, but part of me is convinced that if I do something with this girl I will understand what is happening to me a bit better.

I take a few steps towards her, but cut off as she reacts strangely- her heart rate increases, she begins to sweat, her body freezes and the air catches briefly in her lungs.

Neither of us move for a few precious seconds. Now I'm starting to worry about her health, and try to get a bit closer to her so I can find out what is wrong- though I'm not sure how I'll communicate this exactly- but then she springs to her feet, and yelps more noises.

I really do try to understand this time, but she's speaking too fast and I can barely hear her words over the thundering of her pulse in every vein.

Not having many other options, I continue forward, this time at a bit of a faster pace. I was hoping to get some sort of telling reaction from her, and in some ways, I suppose turning around and sprinting away is a reaction- not really the one I was going for though.

It strikes me as somewhat odd when I realize that at no point do I ever lose track of her progress- it makes sense of course, she'd have to leave the city to get out of the range of my senses- but for some reason it feels incredibly interesting.

Still, not as interesting as interacting with another sentient creature would have been. I give a lopsided shrug to myself and continue forward.

On my way towards the delicious smells I start to walk through areas with more and more people- some in cars and some walking. I notice the way they react to seeing each other is much different from how they react to me- which is generally one of two ways: ducking their heads and increasing their pace/ trying to get out of my way- or stopping and staring at me.

The ones who point themselves in my direction are a frustrating lot- they seem interested in my presence, and some even make noises at me, but as soon as I get within touching distance they flee.

When the girl ran I assumed she was having some sort of problem unique to her situation, but when the population of an entire street becomes fearful and agitated at my presence… It feels bad. Or more specifically, it makes me feel like I am bad. Like my very being is enough to make a bad day worse, like something about me is inherently and unchangeably toxic.

I try to ignore the feeling the best I can- reasoning that I don't know why people are behaving in such a way, and that it could mean so many different things that I have no context for. It is a cold comfort.

I get tantalizingly close to the smell which I've been following before a lump of people burst in front of me.

I had- of course- heard them coming, but had assumed based on everyone else's reactions that they would turn and leave once they caught 'sight' of me- (whatever that meant.)

They did not.

Seven erratic heartbeats pulsed distractingly in front of me- the bodies attached to them breathing heavily and tensing their muscles. Two of them held long wooden objects, three clutched sharp metallic triangles, and two held nothing at all. They smelled of thick sweat, rainwater, cigarette smoke, and blood.

Something about them put me on edge, which was enough to get me to stop my leisurely walk and adjust myself into a crouched state more beneficial for movement.

There was a moment of silence before the one at the head of the pack spoke. Or at least, I assume he spoke- it certainly fit the pattern more than him randomly deciding to make sounds at me. I tilted my head, perking my ears in concentration.

"Yuhoohwinn fthuah rroawnnuh pahhtovve tuhhwwnnuh ffreek! Iaeyennoowuh yuhoohw aaennthuh wwuunnaah uss!"

Hmm. Hmmm….

Nope. I still didn't get it. He talked far too fast and his words- and I was pretty sure he was speaking words- slid messily into each other in a way that vaguely hurt my head to hear. Also, he didn't sound particularly friendly, voice low and threatening, which made my stomach clench tight and my ears pin backwards nervously.

For the first time I really registered how much…bigger most people were compared to me. Standing at my full height probably would only put me at around the man's waist, and walking on all fours it was more like his knees.

The thought made me uneasy.

The man continued to speak for a bit, a lack of understanding or response on my part seemingly only making his tone more aggressive and loud.

I listened as the street rapidly lost its population, people scurrying towards other streets or turning around where they came from. The few that stayed were either hidden well or pointing that odd clicking rectangle thing in my direction.

My attention snapped back to the men as the lead one barked out something louder than before and then-

His muscles stretched and pulled, his bones creaked and his organs sloshed in his belly as he stepped forward, his movements somehow abrupt and incredibly slow at the same time.

I leapt to the side in time to hear his wild swing cut the air aggressively as he aimed where I had been but now was not. This was apparently the signal the other men had been waiting for, because they all sprinted forward as well.

This allowed me to realize something very important- these people were loud and slow enough that I could easily dodge them- but, and this was key- not all at once. Whatever process it was that allowed me to listen to the inhale and exhale of an entire city filled with thousands of people and not go crazy apparently did not apply to multitasking in terms of my movement.

I'd duck, knowing full well that I'd be putting my body in the way of another attack- but what was I supposed to do? I might have been faster than them in terms of reaction, but it wasn't like I stopped time- or that my body pushed through the air lighter than theirs did.

A fist detonated into my side and I cried out in automatic pain- the first noise I'd ever make vocally- the momentum of the hit slamming me perfectly into the arc of another man's kick. My head burned with a sharp stabbing fire- and I scrambled to my feet- just in time to have my tail yanked at from behind me- slamming me to the ground.

My chin blossomed with pain and I twisted, scrabbling like a mad feral thing, hands clawing at whatever thing was closest to me in an attempt to get them to stop- my claws sheared through flesh and I felt a burst of satisfaction as warm blood splashed onto my hand, only to lose my breath as a heavy boot stomped onto my back from behind.

Air was expelled painfully from my lungs and my stomach lit up in agony as I was ground into the dirty cement like a spent cigarette, my body under an onslaught of attacks that I was only able to predict but not dodge.

A long object whistled through the air, and I frantically guessed at its trajectory, dragging my leg upward enough that the hard wood only clipped it. Clipping it- however- was not much better.

Something cracked in my leg and as my entire foot seemed to bubble and boil with a hot never-ending burn I cried out, my voice wobbling and echoing against the wet pavement.

It was all I could do to curl into a ball, tucking my head under my arms and legs and curling my tail around myself- hoping that if I became small and quiet enough the pain would stop.

To my surprise, it did.

The men were panting, and the one I'd scratched was leaning against the wall, hands rustling against fabric as he tried to stop the flow of bitter blood that was leaking rapidly from his leg.

After a few seconds the lead one spoke again, and this time I didn't even bother to try to understand- I kept perfectly still, hushing my breathing and trying to stop my trembling. I listened to the wheeze of an old truck starting up a few blocks away- of a dog snoring contentedly in its bed.

The men sounded less angry, though there was something inherently uncomfortable about the tone of their voices. It was an odd cross between how I'd overheard people talking to their pets and how they had been growling when we first met. I didn't like it.

Fabric shifted, and I could feel the displaced air as one of the men reached down.

My heart pounded so loud that even my ears couldn't hear over it, but I didn't dare react otherwise. Maybe I was quick enough to scamper away from between their legs, but if I wasn't and they caught me-

Well. Death was a concept I hadn't forgotten.

Rough hands clasped around my throat and heaved me roughly up- I let myself go limp despite the pain the harsh handling brought to my neck and to the throbbing bruise my body had become.

I expected the man to transfer me into some other hold, or perhaps shove me in a bag- but he didn't- seemingly content to haul me carelessly around my by neck.

It hurt- and more than that, the casual disregard for my comfort or my- my humanity, if that's what you could call it- it hurt me somewhere deep inside, carving a spot out in my guts and nestling comfortably in the bloody hole it dug.

I wanted to be anywhere but here, but unfortunately, now more than ever I was trapped. Fighting back would likely just harm me further, and if I was going to escape then it was probably going to be later- when their guards were down.

I let myself go limp, tail dragging pathetically across the rough ground.

The only upside to my dire situation was small and bitter- that I now understood fully what cruel element I had to avoid and be wary of.

People.

Spoiler

this is what our main character looks like if you are interested! (though obviously without the clothes whoops)

 

[pailRomantic]

What a great description of how disorienting new senses and a new sense of self would be. You gave us a lot of time to steep in the unnaturalness of it all and had it pay off at just the right moment at the end.

 

[Aurora Raven]

Right, that's three stories of yours that I'm eagerly following, I'm just going to follow your profile.

We shall watch your career with great interest.

 

[Junebugtwin]

Right, that's three stories of yours that I'm eagerly following, I'm just going to follow your profile.

We shall watch your career with great interest.

Click to shrink...

Wow thank you! I'm kind of amazed that people have been enjoying my stuff as much as they have- I mainly write assuming that I'll end up the most satisfied party of any given story. So I guess thanks Senator Palpatine, for boosting my confidence.

 

[Junebugtwin]

What a great description of how disorienting new senses and a new sense of self would be. You gave us a lot of time to steep in the unnaturalness of it all and had it pay off at just the right moment at the end.

Click to shrink...

Thank you! I'm kind of obsessed with the idea concept of memory and how it infects our personality in general, and I'm glad I'm not the only one!

 

[ccstat]

This is ambitious to write a character who has both no sight and no understanding of the language. Sure, this particular person has other senses, but it severely limits you as an author in the way that you present information. I hope you manage to continue this one in addition to your other stories.