finally to something approaching my skin tone. In a few seconds it was indistinguishable from my back. The change was so sudden I didn’t realize what was happening until it was already done.
A foreign thought wormed its way into my mind. The shell was acclimating to something it couldn’t quite define. As soon as it was finished it would tell me more. After a moment, another thought followed grumpily on the heels of the first. When it was finished acclimating, communication would be much easier.
Well, I thought, at least it seems friendly. My stomach growled again, somewhat painfully. I took a deep breath and pulled on my forgotten pair of jeans and a light blue shirt. I didn’t want to admit it, but I felt a lot better when the shell was covered up.
“Ya gotta eat, Greg,” I said to my reflection. “Ya gotta eat.”
The shell pulled away from my body under my clothes. It might have looked like metal, but it was as flexible as rubber: in a matter of seconds it had rolled itself up from either side and twisted its way out of the back of my collar. Then it flattened itself out and lowered over my shirt, as conspicuous in tan on blue as it had been in black on tan. I noted in a detached way that the fabric on my back was still breathable.
“God dammit,” I mumbled. My voice was hoarse, so I cleared my throat. The shell changed color again, faster this time, from tan to sky blue. When it was done it was nearly invisible. If I had seen me from a distance I might not have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Whatever it was, it didn’t want to be seen.
It could think, and it had wants. It was alive. There was a living thing hiding on my back, burrowed into my neck. Nobody knew was there. It was like a metaphor, or a horrible, horrible monster.
The Adventures of Gregory Samson, Space Explorer: The Origami Man-Free Sample! Page 4
