He was scrounging, looking, trying to find something. He didn’t know what it was, but he would know it when he saw it. (Maybe? Hopefully?) He digs through the heap of garbage; discarded articles of everything. It felt new. It smelled new. It all looked new. It was confusing, overwhelming, driving him mad. His brain (was it a brain?) taking in all these new sensations; sorting; processing; storing away; familiarizing. (WHERE IS IT? (what am I looking for?) Searching searching searching. He could smell it. Even though everything smelled different (everything) there was one smell in particular that was luring him, calling. He needed it (Where? Where is it?) His skin (is it skin?) no longer flexed, turned, contorted with his body. No, no no no… This… skin… was more like an insects. It doesn’t even feel like skin. It slips and slides as he moves. Adjusting, realigning, a constant motion. It feels so foreign (it is foreign!!) He was human once. He thinks, (hopes). He remembers (dreams…?) of a past life, a distant life. He hopes they’re memories. He does. It’s the only way he survives now. (What’s real? What’s not? Don’t know—WHERE IS IT?!) He shifts away a piece of metal and catches a big whiff of it. There it is. (Found it!!) The label reads clearly on the small metal can, though it is quite dirty: Cat food! He is filled with an irrational, almost animal, sense of both joy and desperation. The can is open, nearly empty; but there, (right there!) at the bottom is a small morsel. He sucks it up into his gullet quicker than the eye could see. He relishes the taste; bitter, salty, disgusting, revolting, and oh so good. He staggers, struck by sudden disorientation. His vision swims, the world, his head foggy. No thoughts; no feeling; no— Wikus blinks, bringing a clawed hand, that one claw shy of three, to his head. The episodes were getting worse, and were beginning to have longer duration. He didn’t know what this meant, but it was terrifying. I had been a decent two months since the change had completely taken over his body; there was nothing human about him left. At least, he didn’t think so. He had himself; his personality, his memories, his experiences. But apparently even those were fading now. He dreaded the concept. He doesn’t even know what to call himself now. Sure the derogatory name that all humans use; prawn. But it felt so wrong now. He was one of them now. How ironic; he was apart of a species he had no name for. He’d have to ask Christopher when he came back… if he comes back. Wikus shook his head piously. He’s coming back! He promised! Three years. If he was able to hold onto himself for that long. ----- Just got back from the midnight showing. Whipped this up while it was still fresh in my head. Maybe I'll take this somewhere. Maybe not. Iunno. Going to bed now. g'night
