by M. O. McLeod
The first thing Kurma saw when she woke up was the goose bumps that covered her olive skin. The sky was clear, and the air was cold. Her hair had air dried, and her hands and feet were dirty.
Kurma was naked—had been since she’d transformed back into her original body. She uncurled herself from her little corner by the stone hole in the wall that served as a window. She looked out over the sill and saw the green trees and open space. This place was peaceful, an orb inside of a concrete sphere. She watched as the sun came up over the horizon. The trees lit up and glowed, and the air was crisp and clean in the park. Kurma couldn’t stay there forever, though. She needed clothes, she needed food, and she needed her home.
“No, get up. Go find some clothes,” she said out loud to herself. She stretched her body and watched as the muscles tightened and loosened. She arched her back and examined her arms. Where had the metal rods gone? Kurma took the steps back down to the stone museum’s main entrance. In the daylight the rocks looked ashy and dry, brittle and crumbly.
Kurma poked her head out of the entrance. Birds chirped, and she saw squirrels chasing after one another, but no people to speak of. She remembered she had seen some homeless people’s carts last night. She didn’t want to walk around smelling like a bum, but at this point she had no choice.
She snuck from the stone museum and ran quickly through the bushes, toward the group of makeshifts shacks hidden by pine trees. On the edge of the dirt path stood shelters made of cardboard boxes, pieces of clothes, and discarded baskets and carts. Kurma could see through the bushes that the little community of homeless people were asleep in their crude dwellings. She looked to the first row of shopping carts, where she saw feet sticking out from under covers. She snuck past the feet and looked into the cart, which was brimming with old junk. Kurma, naked and exposed, tried quickly to find anything that could cover her lady parts. She found dirty shirts and an old pair of jeans, three oversized shoes that wouldn’t fit her, and a hat that looked as if someone had thrown up in it. Kurma took the pants and put them on, and covered her chest as she moved to the next shanty. There she found an old bucket beside a couple who were sound asleep, sharing a torn cover. Inside the bucket Kurma found two old sneakers and a plaid shirt that smelled like mildew. She kept going down the row of carts until she had a whole outfit.
The last shack on the row was the biggest Kurma had seen. It was next to a tree and used its leaves and branches as decorations. Kurma tried to walk around the pine cones without making a sound. She saw two carts full of junk and wished she had come here first. These bums were loaded. Kurma opened the flap around the shopping cart and saw chairs, bags, old utensils, and jackpot—a big, puffy coat, perfect for the nights when she was sleeping outside. She went to dig the jacket out when she heard branches breaking behind her. She froze in place and prayed she wouldn’t turn into a Raptor.
“Get the hell away from my cart!” screamed a voice.
A dog barked at Kurma as she turned to face an old woman, fully clothed and holding an old, leather collar that could barely keep the canine in check. The dog was so close to Kurma’s face, she could smell it had eaten human food that morning. She bared her teeth at the beast and felt her hands itching. The dog kept barking, and the women didn’t try to make it stop. Kurma inched away from the cart, but then thought about it. She needed the jacket more than the woman did; clearly she was a bag lady hoarding stuff around with her.
Kurma snatched the puffy jacket from the cart, and the lady gasped loudly. The leather leash slipped from her hands, and she let her beast of a dog attack Kurma, who turned to run, her feet flying out from under her and her hair flapping in the wind. The dog was close on her heels. Kurma ran here and there as she tried to navigate her way through the park’s dirt roads and cobblestone lanes. The dog kept on chasing her; she was his sport. She was being preyed on and didn’t like the feeling at all.
When she realized that a dog was the least of her worries, she stopped abruptly, turned, and roared at the pit bull. The dog screeched to a halt, his toenails scratching the pavement. He bared his teeth at her, his hair rising and his tail sticking straight out. Kurma inched nearer and growled deeply. They looked each other dead in the eye. Kurma didn’t back down.
She heard a whistle far off. The dog heard it too and all of a sudden whimpered and turned around, leaving Kurma and the jacket alone.
“You’d better run,” Kurma screamed at its tail.
She walked a few yards and saw the gamekeeper’s lodge. She wanted to watch the news, take a shower, eat some hot food, and put on new clean clothes. But that wasn’t going to happen. Kurma walked out onto the empty streets. Behind her the park was a sea of green, her getaway from all that was wrong. She might even try and camp out a few more times. When night returned so would she, regardless of that crazy bag lady and her dog. Hopefully her spot would remain unoccupied.
Kurma walked up Vespers Lane and noticed the quiet little bakery and coffee shops. Inside, people were sitting, talking, drinking, oblivious to what she was or what was going on with her. She felt like an outsider all over again, and this time it wasn’t by choice. She had no money, and her debit card was back at her house, so she couldn’t get food. Her ID was at home as well. Kurma thought about waiting for her family to go to school and work so she could sneak into her room and take some possessions without risking questions and harassment, but thought more and realized it was the weekend—there was no school or work.
As she continued her walk, she tried to keep her head down and keep as close to the buildings as possible. She didn’t want anyone noticing her or mistaking her for a homeless teenager, even though that was what she was. She entered a small, quiet, mom-and-pop café off Griselda Street. She sat down, and a plump waitress came over and immediately filled a cup of coffee for her.
“What are you having, dear?” the waitress asked.
Kurma had no money but didn’t think the waitress could know that. “Let me get some eggs and toast.”
The waitress paused her writing and looked Kurma over, taking in her shabby clothes and disheveled hair. “You paying cash or credit?”
Kurma looked at her and thought, Free ninety-nine. But instead she said, “I’m paying credit.”
“Our machine is down, so it’s only cash. There’s an ATM over there, sweetheart,” the waitress said. Kurma gave her a deadly stare, huffed in annoyance, and got up to leave. In her hurry she accidently pushed a young girl who was coming in.
“Watch it, señorita,” the teenage girl said with an attitude. “There is a thing called excuse me.”
Before the young redhead could finish, her words became tied up in her throat. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tripped over her own feet.
Kurma held on to the door as she heard the girl’s voice catch on something. She paused and looked back, her stomach dropping as if she were on a roller coaster. The girl stood in the middle of the café with one of her arms out to brace herself. She stumbled over into a red-leather booth and began hyperventilating.
“You’re going to have to keep that door closed now. Don’t want the flies coming in,” the waitress said as she moseyed over behind the counter.
Kurma closed the door and rushed over to the redhead. She looked into the girl’s face and saw the same signs she had experienced when she was turning into a Raptor some hours back. She looked down at her hands and knew she had passed on this curse to the girl. She felt sorry for her, she really did. How was she supposed to know she was contagious?
“You have to come with me,” Kurma whispered into the girl’s ear. She tried to pull on her arm and was met with a little resistance.
“We can do this loudly or low key,” said Kurma. The girl started shivering and whimpering. Kurma tried again to move her arm, and the redhead slid across the seats. Kurma wrapped her arm around the girl’s waist and carried her weight.
“I’m so c
old… And my stomach, oh my God.” The girl sounded like she was in agony.
“Don’t worry, I got you.” Kurma opened the door, and the two girls were out in the crisp day, the redheaded girl dragging her feet, barely able to walk upright.
“Is she okay?” a stranger asked Kurma.
“Yeah,” she responded, trying to brush off the concerned woman, who turned to watch as Kurma carried the redhead off around the corner. Kurma hoped the woman wasn’t the nosey type and wouldn’t want to investigate further. She hated such people; they always got in the way instead of being any kind of help.
Kurma and the girl stumbled into a back alley and hid behind two huge dumpsters. Kurma dropped the redhead in a pile of ripped plastic and dirty palettes. She looked up in between the buildings and didn’t see any windows that would allow someone up high to see her below.
Kurma looked back down at the new girl. She was really pretty, with pasty, white skin, huge cheekbones, and a widow’s peak that made her resemble an owl. However, her face was turning red, as was her hair. She trembled and screwed her eyes tight. She thrashed about in the junk, and Kurma tried to restrain her as best she could.
“Make it stop, make it stop,” the girl begged.
Kurma was helpless. She looked back at the street to see if there was anyone around who might see them. She ducked down next to the girl to shield her from sight.
“I’m hot. I’m on fire. Please, I’m going to die.”
“No, I promise you, you are not going to die,” Kurma said, trying to console her. She understood exactly how the new girl felt. Kurma felt as if she were going to die when she changed into a Raptor.
Kurma watched as the redhead’s body grew in size, as if swollen. It was working so hard to turn from human form into the Raptor form, it doubled in temperature, and Kurma had no cold water to cool off the process. The redhead’s limbs grew grotesquely; some parts thinned out, others grew muscular.
A noise came from deep in the alley. Kurma looked and saw trash flying in the air. She heard a commotion, as if someone were digging in the garbage, but she couldn’t hear any voices; there must have been only one person. Kurma looked back to see if the redhead had finished the transmutation, but she hadn’t. Her wings had not popped out.
“Damn,” said Kurma. She rolled the redhead’s body over, then picked her up and tossed her in the dumpster. Kurma hopped in right after. Her body sank deep inside the vile, cold container filled with smells and wet stuff. Bags and bags kept the redhead covered.
Kurma listened for the lone stranger as he hopped from his dumpster. She heard his footsteps as he hoisted himself up onto another dumpster, the second to last one in the alley. Kurma and the girl were in the last. Hopefully the stranger would hit the jackpot where he was and leave Kurma to her own business.
The girl gasped as metal rods came from her arm and sliced through the trash. Kurma quickly covered her mouth and strained her ears to listen to the man’s movements. He hadn’t stopped jumping about in the other dumpster. As Kurma waited for the girl to finish changing, she thought about how she was going to get out of this situation. She had touched the girl and somehow passed along whatever she was. Her hands were contagious. The girl would be too. She would have to understand and accept a lot of new information whenever she came out of her change, including that they could have no contact with anyone, ever…no matter how lonely they became…they. Kurma had a companion on this journey. She peered under the trash bags and saw wings poking out, covered in brown-colored skin. The girl’s head rocked back and forth, and she opened her eyes. She tried to sit up, but her body only sank farther.
“You have to be quiet. Someone is out there,” Kurma whispered to the redhead, signaling up out of the dumpster.
The girl looked frightened. All her clothes were gone, her shoes halfway hanging off, and her arms felt heavy. She knew she was in a dumpster—the smell and trash bags were a major giveaway. She touched herself and realized she had short, fine hair all over body, and a scaly face. She was scared and didn’t know who this girl was in front of her. She heard rustling outside, and her body froze, her eyebrows raised like hills. The girl tried to move her body toward the girls but was held in place.
Usually she was good in these predicaments. She lived on the streets, so she was tough. She was eighteen and had been through more stuff than she liked to admit. Her name was Rimselda, and she was originally from the super-city of Dublin Estates. She had run away when she was twelve from an abusive mother and a drunken father. She’d left her brothers and sisters behind; she was better alone. She could look after and defend herself. It would have been hard to do that if she had to be responsible for three younger siblings. Rimselda knew how to take care of herself, but at the moment, she felt sick—like emergency needs-a-hospital sick.
Kurma heard the man come closer to the last dumpster. Her hands itched, and she didn’t know what to do. Could she scare him enough to make him run away? Would he tell someone about her? What if he wanted to hurt her and the new girl? He could have been harmless, though, and Kurma didn’t want to hurt anyone if she could avoid it, and she certainly wanted to avoid all human contact if possible.
The lid of the dumpster opened, and Kurma could have sworn her heartbeat doubled. She heard the man place his feet on the dumpster and waited for him to look inside. Kurma popped up from the trash and yelled. He had a mushed face, with whiskers and furry eyebrows. He sported an ugly beanie on his head and had a prodder in his hand that he swiped at Kurma’s head in shock.
With her new reflexes, Kurma’s hand went out, and her metal rod struck the bum across his face. He fell back and stumbled across the alley, then ran off screaming, “Help, help, help!”
Kurma could see blood spots trailing behind him. She panicked. Behind her, the girl struggled to pull herself up. Kurma knew she didn’t have enough time to make a run for it. For all she knew, the bum would run and tell a cop that he’d been attacked in the alley.
Kurma looked at her own arm and saw her wing had come back. Great, she thought.
“A little help, please,” said Rimselda.
“Oh, yeah,” said Kurma, then pulled the girl’s hand, and out she popped—wings, metal rod, and all.
“Oh my God!” Rimselda nervously laughed and looked at Kurma.
“We have to get out of here,” Kurma told her.
“Not the way I’m looking.” Rimselda thought she must have been dreaming. She looked hideous. Why did she have wings? There must have been some kind of mistake. “I legit have wings. I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else.”
She poked her head out of the dumpster. No one was around, but still, there must have been cameras or two-way mirrors out there. This wasn’t real. “Do you hear me? I’m not coming out to be someone’s guinea pig!”
Kurma quickly covered the girl’s mouth. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”
“Like hell I am.” Rimselda crossed her arms in front of her and felt the metal rods in her arms. “Eeeww, what the hell man?”
The girl gave Kurma no choice. She head butted the redhead and watched as she fell back in a daze.
Kurma commanded her own body to transform. She concentrated on her arms and back, as she had done the previous night. She thought about her legs and hands, and made her body break and bend where necessary. Her wings took up the whole dumpster. “I’m going to smell after this.”
Kurma’s second-hand clothes were stretched to the max and fell away from her body. She felt hot and squished in the little dumpster. She quickly grabbed the new girl and threw her over her shoulder. She braced her hands on the dumpster’s edge and flapped her wings over and over until she felt the air currents surrounding her, lifting her into the air.
Kurma flapped harder. The redhead was big and tall, and weighed her down. Kurma came out of the dumpster and kick
ed off with her feet, and gradually achieved elevation. She watched the building windows, praying no one would peek out or pull up their blinds and spot her and the unconscious girl with brown wings. She looked to the ground and saw two figures rounding the alley’s corner—the bum had returned with back up. The two men searched in the garbage, looking for Kurma. They never thought to look up, where she was steadily rising. If they had they would have seen two bodies, four wings, and long, red and brown hair intertwined and swirling in the morning air.
12.
Rimselda the Rogue
Rimselda dreamed of Nathanial, her old crush. He was Italian, beautiful, and taken. In her dream she walked around her old block back in Dublin Estates. All the kids were out playing in the narrow streets. She noticed he was on his porch, looking at her as she walked by. She always liked when he did this; it seemed as if he only had eyes for her.
Rimselda approached his walkway. He came down the steps, smiling his perfect smile. She was so happy; she loved hanging out with him. If she could only tell him that. He came closer, dragging his feet, toying with Rimselda. He was almost there, so close Rimselda could smell the cologne he always wore. She loved his smell. All he had to do was open the fence and then he would be hers.
As he drew near, his smile faltered. Behind him the front door of the house opened, and a tall grasshopper of a girl stepped out. She was thin and bony, with long hair like a horse. Rimselda watched as Nathanial turned to her. The girl yelled his name out loud.
No, Rimselda thought, don’t go. But he walked away. Rimselda’s heart ached as she watched him go. The grasshopper girl smiled and laughed, showing big, straight teeth. Nathanial turned to her one last time with a somber face. She reached over the gate for him. He turned away and slammed the door. She fiddled the lock on the gate, and it turned to dust in her hand. She looked back at the house and saw it too was crumbling. She backed away and looked around. All the kids and the old neighborhood were gone. She was on an empty street, a dead end, and there was only silence.
