Changes 2

Everything melted away. The chairs and couches and tables turned to brown and grey. The walls were a meaty red. He was in a barren apartment, but something was wrong. He looked at the table, the couch. Instead of wood and glass he saw hair and bone, woven and nailed together intricately to create furniture. A leather reclining chair had faint veins still splayed across it. The walls pulsed.

Then, the shapes became more familiar. Dr. Torres’ face peered out of the chair, flesh melded into flesh. Rob’s eyes stared blankly from the wall, beady and white. An arm began to slowly reach out of the table, an amalgamation of skin and other body parts in the mockery of a limb. More began to sprout, like fast-growing meat flowers, clawing, reaching. The room tried to grab Dr. Palma from a hundred different angles. It cried in a hundred voices. He could hear Dr. Santos’ voice, and Rob’s too in the cacophony.

Dr. Palma ran.

Out the door.

Out of the belly of the beast.