literature

Mythanthrope, Wanda's Story, Part 1

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Wanda slowly opened her eyes. She was met with the sight of the white stucco surface of her room's ceiling. Yawning, she turned and gazed over at her LED alarm clock. She blinked irritably and squinted. Eventually, the blurred green mass coalesced into legible digits. She noted the time and glanced over at her window. Sunlight was shining between the closed shades.

With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt Wanda rolled out of bed. She reached over for her thick round glasses and put them. She sat there for a moment, then cursed under her breath and put her glasses back on her bedside cabinet. She walked out into the hallway and entered her bathroom.

While waiting for the shower to warm up she glanced at herself in the mirror. Although the world around her was blurred she could still make out the basic outline of her body. Short and stocky. Full-figured. Plump.

Fat.

The word reared up in her mind like some ugly beast. Wanda looked away.

She wasn't outright obese and wasn't particularly unfit. She wasn't even that unattractive. She had smooth brown hair, decent complexion, if a little pale. Still, there was no denying it. She could definitely stand to lose a couple...dozen pounds.

Sighing, Wanda stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower.

A half hour later she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She put on her glasses, got dressed, made her bed and opened her window's shades. She winced in the sudden glare but her eyes rapidly adjusted to the light.

It was an almost obnoxiously bright and sunny day. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, the grass on the lawn and those of her neighbors was green and vibrant, still moist with morning dew. Wanda watched a red sedan roar past, soon followed by a man in spandex riding an expensive-looking bike. A woman with a baby carriage was walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

A blonde centauress wearing a brown uniform carrying a heavy saddlebag trotted by, carefully maneuvering around the woman and child, her long, golden tail swishing in the air as she passed them by.

Wanda stared out the window.

"Haven't seen her around before," she remarked, watching the centauress.

She shrugged and headed towards the kitchen.

The sound of the radio filled her ears as entered. Wanda opened the refrigerator, reached for a can of soda, hesitated, and then grabbed a half-empty carton of orange juice instead. As she poured a glass she heard someone shout from somewhere in the house.

"Samantha, honey, is that you?" cried a woman.

"Yeah, mom," said Wanda unenthusiastically. "I'm up."

"I'm heading out to work, dear. Be sure to lock up before you go to school. Oh, and be sure to turn the radio off."

"Sure thing."

"Have a good time!"

The radio was briefly drowned out by the sounds of a garage door opening and the roar of an engine.

"Have a good time," muttered Wanda, shaking her head. She took a long swig from the cup, refilled it, and took another. As she drank, the music faded. A reporter briefly recounted the morning news in a bombastic voice before going to commercial break. Another song started playing - a cheesy, melodramatic piece.

"At first, I wasn't sure it was for me," intoned a female voice. "But once I gave shifting a chance, well, I love the new me. I feel stronger, more confident; but it didn't change who I was on the inside."

Wanda groaned. She'd heard this particular commercial before. Far, far too many times.

"...It brought out the best in me." The music surged. "Since its inception over ten years ago, Chrysalis has been consistently rated the best licensed conversion center in the country," stated a smooth male announcer. "Visit your local Chrysalis center today for a free consultation."

Wanda shook her head.

"Jeez, how many people buy into that crap?" she murmured, reaching for the apple cinnamon bread.


* * *


Wanda grimaced as she marched along the crowded corridors of her school. It was harder to spot teenagers that hadn't shifted. Granted, very few of them had moved beyond the first stage, tier, form or whatever the hell they called it. That took actual effort. Or ludicrous amounts of money. Most sported little more than tails, horns, pointed ears (cat ears were depressingly common), an unusual or unnatural skin tone or shade of hair or some combination thereof. It would have been easy for someone from fifteen years ago to dismiss it all as make-up. That is, until they noticed that some of the tails were moving on their own. There were a handful of genuine mythomorphs. Nothing major - no succubi, djinns, unicorns, greater fey, true yokai, giants or dragons. A few imps, one or two satyrs, a dryad, a three-tailed kitsune (exchange student), and a couple other Wanda couldn't identify.

The one-minute warning bell rang. Students excused themselves from conversations and hurried to their respective first period classes. Wanda had already arrived at her destination but was staring at the door with no small degree of trepidation. In her experience, there were three things that could make a class horrible to sit-through. One was a bad teacher, which in all honesty were far rarer than most students at her school would be willing to admit. Another was a difficult or boring subject matter. Last, and worst, was when a disproportionately high number of one's classmates enjoyed making one's life a living hell.

Wanda sighed, shaking her head, and stepped inside.

The interior walls were festooned with posters and charts depicting important historical events and figures as well as a few student-made presentations that had been deemed worthy enough to save for posterity. The desks, arranged in rows, were simple metal frames with plastic seats and folding wooden tablets, a third of which had often grotesque ink scribbles on them. A dozen or so students were already seated with expressions ranging from sleepy to resigned. The teacher - a serious looking man with graying hair, a moustache and a bad comb-over - was standing next to the whiteboard, thermos in hand.

Wanda took a few steps forward so as not to impede any new arrivals and carefully scanned the available seats. Eventually she selected a desk in the second row from the front next to the wall. There was already a student sitting behind her and one to her left, both of whom Wanda identified as non-hostile. She put her backpack down and sheepishly squeezed into the chair. Once settled she took out her textbook and notepad. More than a few of her classmates were sneaking glances at their smartphones. If the teacher noticed, he didn't say anything.

The rest of the class soon arrived. Among them, a trashy-looking redheaded teenage girl with short ivory horns and a forked tail wearing a leather jacket and tight, torn blue jeans accompanied by a burly male teen in a hockey jersey walking hand-in-hand with a skinny brunette sporting white cat ears and long whiskers that, in all honesty, made her resemble a rat more than a feline. Wanda carefully avoided their gaze while watching them in the corner of her eyes. To her mild distress they sat down in the row behind her directly to her left. Fortunately, they seemed too preoccupied with a bawdy story to take any notice of her or indeed anyone else. The teacher's brow furrowed but he remained silent.

The final bell rang and the muted conversation gradually dissipated. The students stared up at the teacher, who was standing there patiently.

"Alright, class, let's get started," he said a businesslike tone. "Last week we covered the events leading up to the American Civil War. Quick reminder, the pop quiz today will cover chapters 7 through..."

The lesson proceeded. Wanda soon found herself struggling to pay attention, let alone stay awake. It wasn't that she hated this class or the teacher. She just hated history. It was just memorizing facts, after all. Seemed kind of pointless in this day and age.

Thirty minutes in the monotony of the lecture was broken by the discussion period. As much as Wanda disliked the lesson, she hated this part even more. It meant interacting with the other students. Sometimes it wasn't too bad. Sometimes her neighbors just wanted to go through the motions of talking over what they had read and no more. Other times, well...

Wanda turned to the student to her left. A youngish, brown-haired, sharp-nosed youth wearing a dark hoodie riddled with acne and what appeared to be...fish scales?

"So..." began Wanda, trying to sound friendly.

"What?" said the boy in an unenthusiastic voice.

"Do you wanna talk about Fort Sumter or...?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "That, uh, that was the first battle of the war, right?"

Wanda frowned irritably. There was such a thing as at least making an effort.

"Yes, it was," she said. "So, what should we say were the most significant things about it?"

"I dunno," said the boy, yawning. "What do you think?"

"Well...the fact they ultimately surrendered without any real causalities, I suppose," said Wanda, a few neurons flaring to life. "It showed the confederates were reluctant to do anything too nasty at first?"

"Yeah, sure," said the boy. "Write it down."

Wanda glared at him. He hadn't written anything down himself. He hadn't even opened his notebook. Suddenly, she didn't feel like dealing with this.

"Look," she said. "If you're not going to contribute anything I'm just going to turn in this under my own name, OK?"

To Wanda's mild surprise the boy actually flinched. He turned and glared at her for a moment, and then sighed.

"Shit, look, I'm sorry OK?" he said, rubbing his forehead. Suddenly, he stopped, slowly lowered his hand and shivered. "I'm just not in the best of moods right now."

"Well...why?"

The boy rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely at his face, though he did not remove his hood.

"What, isn't it obvious?" he said.

"Um, no," said Wanda, equal parts confused and annoyed.

"Hello! I got shift-shafted."

His voice carried a little more than he had apparently intended, drawing a few glances from the other students. He cringed but continued speaking, albeit more softly.

"I went over to the North Highlands center over the weekend and got a bad case of scale-face," he said far more softly.

"They screwed up your conversion?" said Wanda, confused.

"What? No! That never happens. I guess. I mean, they say they can't always control what...what bloodline gets reactivated so it's really not their fault, but fuck this."

"So...you're some fish or lizard-thingy?" said Wanda, perplexed.

"A dracomorph, actually," he murmured.

Wanda cocked her head. "Isn't that supposed to be kind of rare and special?"

"Yeah, but I mean, come-on, my skin's bad enough as it is," said the boy, shaking his head. "All I got was a bunch of patchy scales and an elevated body temperature. I didn't even get a tail. I'll just wait for it to wear off and try again."

"So you're not going to try to...I dunno, shift up?"

"Fuck no," said the boy. "Did you hear about the shit some people have to go through to get there?" he shrugged. "I barely have the time to keep my grades up. I mean, it'd be cool and all. What's the next dracomorph stage, anyhow? I forget."

"No idea," said Wanda.

"Huh, guess you wouldn't," said the boy, looking up and down at her. "You don't shift, do you?"

"Oh she does," cut in a voice from behind. "She's actually a third stage pig demon."

Wanda shut her eyes and ground her teeth.

"I've never shifted in my life, Claudia," she retorted, not bothering to turn around.

"Please, we know you keep going to the conversion center," said a different voice, also female. "Dennis said so. You keep going but you keep getting shafted just like your friend. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Sammie."

"Wanda."

"Why fuck do you keep calling yourself by your middle name? It's weird."

"I like Wanda," murmured Wanda.

"Guess someone has to. Like I was saying, it just brings out what you are deep inside. Don't deny it. Embrace what you are."

Despite herself Wanda felt her face redden over the chuckles from the three teenagers behind her. The boy looked mildly amused as well, though somewhat embarrassed as well, to his credit.

"Well...why don't you shift?" he inquired. "Are you...I mean, is it for religious purposes?"

"No," said Wanda. She risked a glance behind and to her relief it seemed as though Claudia and her cronies had lost interest in her. "I mean, I'm Lutheran, or at least my mom is. Was. But I don't go to church or anything. I don't buy any of that crap about shifting being the tool of the devil. Those religious nutjobs are idiots."

"Well, to play devil's advocate, hah," said the boy, grinning. The scales around his mouth stretched weirdly as he smiled. "A lot of mythomorphs do look, uh, kinda evil."

"Yeah," said Wanda, staring at him. She shook her head. "Looking evil doesn't make them evil. Stupid, maybe, but not evil," she said, lowering her voice.

"Stupid?" said the boy.

"Look," she sighed. "Shifting - for the public - has only been around for, what, less than ten years? Even the experts barely understand how it works."

"Well, sorta," said the boy. "They say it, uh, reactivates ancient DNA that, uh, is linked with another dimension or something. Monsters that used to live on Earth but died off."

"Something like that," said Wanda uneasily, who didn't know much about it herself. "But they don't really understand what it does to a person's body or their mind. I read online that the rate of mental illness is, what, 20% higher among mythomorphs and people who regularly shift."

"So, what, 20% of the school is going to go psycho eventually?" said the boy. "Pretty much everyone I know here shifts."

"That's another thing," said Wanda. "They're...you're undergoing this really intense treatment just because it's popular? Just because it's cool?"

"Come on, it is pretty awesome," said the boy.

"People used to drink radioactive water just because some doctors claimed it was good for your health," retorted Wanda. "Because radium could treat some tumors. We know better now. I mean, I sort of understand the people who do it to...to better themselves. At least then there's a purpose to it, even if it's really messe-"

Wanda saw that the boy had suddenly gone stiff and was staring up at something behind her. She slowly turned and looked up. The teacher was standing next to them, arms folded. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The disapproving glare proved sufficient.

"Sorry, sir," said Wanda sheepishly, blushing.

Ignoring the giggles from Claudia and company, she picked up her notes and addressed the boy.

"So, um, about the battle of Sumter," she said.


* * *


Wanda was feeling curiously depressed and introspective as she trudged towards the bus stop. Behind her, students were pouring out of the main building, some heading for their cars, some to the buses, a tiny handful soaring up into the sky on wings. She glared up at one of her airborne classmates - a harpy, probably.

"Have fun getting sucked up into a jet engine," she muttered under her breath.

It had actually happened once.

Wanda felt something buzz in her right pocket. She reached down and retrieved her cell phone.

"Hi mom," she said morosely.

"Hello Samantha," came her mother's voice on the other end. "Have you already got on the bus?"

"Uh, not yet," said Wanda.

"Great. Listen, I need you to walk over to the store and pick up something for dinner tonight. I won't have time to cook."

"Huh?"

"It's this quarterly report, Samantha, it has to be done by tomorrow and I won't have time to-"

"Right, right, I got it, mom," sighed Samantha, rubbing her eyes. "What should I get?"

"Just, er, pick up a pizza and maybe some win-...oh, of course, you can't buy wine. Er, just get some pizza. Any kind you like. And one pizza margherita, medium. I'll pay you back."

"From the grocery store or the take-and-bake?"

"Take-and-bake. Wait for me in the parking lot of the mall and I'll pick you up, oh, around 5:45."

Wanda blinked in surprise.

"That's two hours, mom," she exclaimed. "It's only a fifteen minute walk there and thirty minutes for them to make the pizza, tops."

"Just...just hang out at the mall for time," replied her mother distractedly.

"I have homework, mom!" snapped Wanda after a brief pause. "I'll be up until midnight!"

"You won't be the only one!" retorted her mother.

Wanda was silent. Faint static and muted office chatter emanated from the phone speaker.

"Look, I'm sorry, honey," said her mother.

"No, no, it's OK," said Wanda softly. "I'll go and do it."

"Once this report is in I'll spend more time with you, I promise."

"Sure thing, mom," replied Wanda.

"I'll try to get out early. See you soon. Love you."

"Bye."

Wanda tapped the end call icon and pocketed her phone. She glanced over at the school buses, sighed, shook her head and turned in the opposite direction. She approached a nearby intersection, awkwardly moving between several groups of students, and waited.

"Well, it's not as though I couldn't use the exercise," admitted Wanda to herself as she walked. She gripped her admittedly generous love handles and shuddered.

The light turned green. Wanda crossed the street and entered a small residential neighborhood. Most the homes were old and varied considerably in architecture. One had a carport formed from the extension of its roof in place of a garage. Another had a curious circular window overlooking its front yard that brought one to mind of a ship's porthole. Apart from a few birdsongs and the omnipresent muted rumble of distant traffic, all was silent. There wasn't a soul in sight.

Wanda relaxed a little bit. She adjusted her backpack's straps and gazed around. She spotted a worn but functional tricycle sitting in a driveway across the street next to a pushcart, a beautiful collection of stained glass ornaments hanging behind a window of a home to her right. She turned her head and saw someone emerging from an open garage.

Apart from the furry, behooved lower body it looked like the father from out of a Norman Rockwell painting - a handsome, distinguished older gentleman dressed in a modest green collared shirt holding a pipe. Again, the only disconnect being he had goat legs. And small ivory horns.

Wanda stared at him. He turned, noticing her, and issued a friendly wave. Wanda managed a disingenuous smile, waved back and hurried along.

"Geez," she muttered, shaking her head. "At this rate there won't be any normal people left."

The shopping center was just a few blocks north of the school. It consisted of a large two-storied concrete and steel cathedral-like structure surrounded by a huge parking lot flanked by rows of smaller, free-standing buildings. It was busy. Shoppers of just about every age, class, gender, race and species were walking to, from and between various boutiques, eateries and offices. Dozens of cars were slowly moving up and down the crowded lot, searching for an empty parking spot or vehicle that was about to back out of one.

Wanda made her way across the parking lot and entered the pizzeria. After waiting in line for a couple of minutes she made her order, paid the pimply-faced, blue-skinned cashier and stepped out of the store, receipt in hand. She gazed somewhat dejectedly around the mall. For lack of anything better to do, walked towards the main building and entered it.

Soft, relaxing piano music and the conversations and footsteps of over a thousand people filled Wanda's ears as she stepped through the glass doors of the entrance. She entered the central courtyard, gazed uninterestedly at the shops and kiosks arrayed before her and checked her watch. Shrugging, she made her away along the east wing. Though hardly a fan of crowds, Wanda found herself starting to relax again. There were far fewer shifted and mythomorphs here and the people here were far less likely to tease and torment her. In addition, the piano music was actually quite nice. But again, just as she was starting to feel at ease she spied something that nearly made her freeze mid-step.

A previously empty space adjoining a shoe store was now a Chrysalis center. It had been completely remodeled and now resembled an ultramodern office more than a shop. Slick black desks equipped with equally slick computers manned by attractive twenty-something employees could be seen through spotless glass partition separating the center from the rest of the mall. A couple posters depicting smiling mythomorphs performing various activities - walking in the park, running, playing on the beach - were posted on the otherwise featureless grey walls. A small plastic rack full of pamphlets stood next to the entrance. The corporation's logo - an image of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon over the company's name - hung over the storefront.

"It's fucking everywhere," she murmured.

Wanda rolled her eyes. She went on for a couple more steps and then stopped, staring at the new center. She frowned, pursed her lips, and then bit them, still gazing at it.

"Maybe I'll just..." she began, and then trailed off. "No, no," she said firmly, shaking her head. "No way I'm..."

She was silent for a moment. A couple with a stroller passed in front of her.

"Ah, what the hell," she sighed. "I have time. Free consultation, right? Might as well give them a piece of my mind."

She walked towards the center.
The first part of the first story set in a new fictional universe/series called Mythanthrope. More about the story and setting will be revealed as the plot progresses.

Let me know what you think.
© 2015 - 2024 Heliotroph
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Rocker234's avatar
Hmm, I'm curious....