The Changed (Completed)

Chapter Three: Changes

Mom worked long shifts at the hospital. My only company was my own.

Loneliness set in like a fever and accompanied my days like a shadow. Each night ended in migraines from watching the television. At first, I'd busied myself, unloading and reloading the dishwasher, folding clothes, vacuuming, or scrubbing the tub. But with only two of us living in the small apartment, there was only so much mess to clean.

I did nothing all day, yet I was tired. It was too easy to stay up all night thinking and then sleep until the late afternoon. Through the cracks in the blinds, I watched the birds land on the telephone poles. I gave them names and pretended to know what they were chirping about.

The streets were apocalyptic. No cars passed the apartment complex besides the sporadic police car or ambulances. I raced to the window when I heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles. It became a vessel of excitement in my boring existence.

When it rained, I imagined how nice it would be to feel the water on my face. Once I complained when it stormed and I had to cross the parking lot to the car. Now I longed for the days when my uniform was wet and my hair sopping.

Mom could sense my depression, but there was little she could do. She was exhausted. I stayed up waiting for her to come home only to question her about the others. Those imaginative survivors that were hiding in their houses, had they been brave enough to come forward?

The fatality rate was unwavering. If there were others like me, they were not making themselves known. The why was beginning to emerge like buds after winter's frost. Yet, I stomped the blooms back into the frozen dirt, far from ready to accept any more change.

But I felt it whenever I was still. Electricity.

Through my fingertips, in my toes, vibrations or tingling. I felt strong. Whatever the power was, coursed through my ears and eyes. It seemingly sharpened my hearing and sight.

I heard everything. The buzzing of a fly on a rotting banana in the kitchen, a cellphone ringing in a distant apartment. Someone was spraying Lysol or sniffling in their sleep. I tried to convince myself that the walls were thin. If I had only been focused before I would have heard the noises just as clearly.

The more days that passed, the more of a wreck my mother became. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of shattering glass. Mom was in the kitchen, sweeping hysterically whilst sobbing into the broom handle.

Wrapping my arms around her, I offered to take the broom, "Mom, are you okay? Let me help you."

She held the broom tightly, shaking her head, "No, go to bed. You're barefoot," she gestured to her slippers. I'd never seen her look so exhausted as if all the life had drained out of her.

In my room, I found a shard of glass sticking out of my foot. I gasped as I hadn't felt it go in. Not wanting to disturb my mom, I gritted my teeth and pulled it out. To my surprise it was three inches long, the two inches I hadn't seen having dug into my foot.

Blood spurted from the cut for a moment and I limped around teary-eyed looking for something to wipe it with. Finding a face-washing cloth on my dresser, I wiped the bottom of my foot. When the blood was cleaned, however, I noticed there was no source. Squeezing the flesh, there was no pain. In fact, there was no sign that the shard had ever been in my foot. Thinking I was losing my mind, I found the shard on the carpet and checked to make sure it had blood on it. It had definitely been in my foot.

I wrapped the shard in the cloth, throwing it into the garbage can. Looking at the blood made me feel ill.

Hi! To those new to this book, hello and welcome. I hope you're enjoying the story. To those who are reading the new version of The Changed and comparing it to the old one, I hope you are loving the improved version. Also, this version will progress much slower than the first. Expect lots more filler scenes that build the characters and relationships better... old fans will know what I might be hinting at....Happy reading! - N.K Ansley 

Question for the comments: How relatable was Margo's isolation compared to how you felt during quarantine?