On any other day, the comedy movie playing on the tv would have brightened Taylor’s spirits. Her occasional peels of laughter would have echoed down the hall, or through the closed door if her mother and sister were home. Had they been home, either or both might have pounded on her door to tell her, in vain, to keep it down.

But not today. Today was high school graduation. Taylor’s thoughts had raced ahead of her, pouring down dark pathways. Images of her ex-friends happy and smiling. They would be posing for pictures. She could just picture Brandy embracing her own, whole, family with tears flowing down her face. Even if her mother and sister didn’t hate her, it was an experience she couldn’t share; she’d dropped out two years ago. Pathetic. What kind of loser couldn’t finish high school? Daddy would be so disappointed. And that thought led to even worse places.

The whole experience left her exhausted and praying for something, anything, to lift the crushing malaise beating her into the ground. As if her worries had physical weight, she sank deeper into the kiddie pool that sat in the middle of her room.

Or rather, the solid parts of her sank deeper. At the moment, she was just a head, shoulders, and two droopy, half-melted arms. The rest of her was a thick, syrupy purple ooze. For the moment, anyway. It was a state Taylor called her ‘goopy phase’. She lifted an arm, and watched the streams of ooze stop mid-drip and then reverse direction. The streams pulled into something that could be mistaken for a normal human girl’s arm, if only painted deep purple and unnaturally smooth. Poreless and hairless, lacking even the normal wrinkles that would form at the joints. She dropped her arm again, and the pseudo-flesh relaxed into its half-melted state again.

Taylor leaned her head back against the pool’s rim. Her eyes tracked the spinning blades of her ceiling fan until she began to get dizzy. Then she returned her attention to the movie. It was the best part, too; the scene where the shy catgirl gets her brazen hellhound friend to help out her confidence. The visual gags in the montage never failed to put a smile on Taylor’s face. But this time, her smile felt false on her face. Like a mask. That thought started another spiral. Sighing, Taylor closed her eyes and waited for the movie to end. Waited for the day to end. Waited for the world to end.

Eventually, the movie did end. The disc spun back to the main menu. The soundtrack and effects looped over and over again. It looped for what felt to Taylor like hours, until she finally grew irritated at the sound. With some effort, she formed a tentacle out of her ooze-self and snaked it up to switch off the tv. Darkened silence flooded the room. Taylor retracted her tentacle and dissolved it.

The ceiling fan continued to spin. The light in the room shifted and then slowly died as the sun made its way across the sky before sinking beneath the horizon. After several eternities, the tedium of staring at the ceiling managed to pierce even Taylor’s malaise. The patch of ooze-flesh that corresponded to her chest inflated with a deep sigh and then deflated.

Placing her arms on either side of the kiddie pool, Taylor hefted herself up. Her body stiffened and congealed, sloughing together like a snowman melting in reverse. First her arms fully solidified, then her chest, then stomach and hips. Starting there, her command over her own ooze-flesh wavered as it usually did; she’d long ago learned keeping a pair of humanoid legs formed took far too much concentration. The longest she’d been able to maintain humanoid legs was about 15 minutes and the act of walking required more focus than she had. So instead, she settled for a column of ooze supporting herself. The act of writhing this column and pulling herself forward along with pseudopods, while seemingly impossible when she’d first attempted it, had long ago become second nature.

So writhing and pulling, she moved herself to the door. She edged open the door and stuck her head out, looking forward down the hall and to the right down the stairs. Neither mother nor sister were apparent, though her sister’s door was closed and Taylor could hear muted music coming through. Deciding to risk it, Taylor slid her way out into the hall and closer to he other end. Halfway there, she ducked into the bathroom and shut herself in. Sitting on the toilet, she tried not to think too much about the false anatomy the mere act of using the bathroom required her to generate. But, as a horrid experience years ago and one ruined mattress later, it was this or slosh it out through her “skin” in her sleep.

Done with her business, she flushed, washed her hands, and flung wide the door. And there was Emma, her sister.

Taylor and Emma stared at each other. Then a look of shear terror erupted on Emma’s face. She screamed, staggered back and dropped to the ground while clutching at her eyes.

“Ia! Ia! Cthulhu ftagn!” she shouted. “Ia! Ia!”

Taylor’s nonexistent heart sank. Tears (or something like them) welled up in her eyes. But she’d be damned if she let Emma see her stale, over-used joke had actually hurt. “Shut up! It’s not funny!” she shouted back with all the venom she could manage.

From downstairs, the her mother’s voice floated up at her. “Taylor! Don’t pick fights with your sister.” Said sister had stopped screaming and was now rolling on the ground, holding her stomach as she laughed uproariously.

“Emma’s the one who,” she started, then gave up. Mother would be on Emma’s side. Mother was always on Emma’s side.

Instead, Taylor moped her way back to her bedroom. Slamming the door, she sagged against it. A few deep, hitching breaths steadied her. Then her eyes lit on her computer sitting in the corner. She made her way over, eyes still threatening to brim over with tears, sat down and began to browse the internet.

Upon checking her email, she saw a newsletter from a local bookstore. She’d signed up years ago and then hardly ever paid attention. They advertised for other local businesses; this one was for a local nightclub. She was going to simply delete it, but then opened it despite herself. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

The ad was for the club Lilith’s. Even though Taylor had never been, the place was infamous for catering to the rowdier set. Hellhounds, oni, that sort. Tonight, apparently, they were hosting a live music night. Just before she backed out, she saw the last line of the ad:

ALL OOZES DRINK FREE! TONIGHT ONLY!

Taylor sat there and mused. Loud music, alcohol, and crowds weren’t her thing. They were, in fact, the opposite of her ‘thing’. But on the other hand…. The fresh memory of Emma’s face, twisted in mocking laughter, raced to the front of her mind.

Fuck it. Loud music and crowds it was.