One-shot

Eh… to be honest, it's kinda hard to know where to start this story. But if I had to choose a point, I guess it'd be that morning in July. That day, I woke up early and went through my usual routine. Brushed my teeth, washed my face, and finally, looked at myself in the mirror...

As expected, I wasn't happy with what I saw.

Back in therapy, my psychologist once told me that whenever I felt this way—dissatisfied with my image—I should try looking at myself with kindness and list my good traits. Not judge how weird I looked with all my flaws, but instead recognize the beauty I still had despite them.

His main argument was Lacan's mirror stage. The doctor said what I was looking at was just an externalized image of myself, and that reflection didn't define who I truly was. The problem was… every time I tried thinking that way, I ended up closing my eyes and picturing the most attractive person I could remember. Somehow, by projecting myself onto that ideal model, I thought it might help me.

But it was during one of those mental exercises that everything changed.

When I opened my eyes and looked back at the mirror, my face had completely shifted. My jawline was perfectly shaped, my nose at the right angle, even my crooked teeth had been fixed. At first I thought it was just a glitch between my imagination and reality. Maybe I was still half-asleep, hallucinating. But no matter how many times I splashed water on my face or rubbed my eyes, the illusion didn't go away. So I ran to the kitchen, desperate, yelling: "Mom! Dad! Help me! I was looking in the mirror and suddenly I turned into Michael B. Jordan!"

I was panicking, screaming like a lunatic around the house, but strangely enough, my parents didn't look surprised at all. They sat me down by the sink and made me some chamomile tea to calm me down. Then they stared into my brand-new eyes and muttered: "Ah, so the day finally came."

The calm way they explained it felt exactly like when parents decide their kid is old enough to know where babies come from. I was restless, but watching them laugh did help me relax.

According to them, my 'skinwalker' blood had awakened. And that this was just one of the many abilities I'd eventually have at my disposal. The way they said it made it sound ridiculous, yet after a few nights of thinking it over, I couldn't deny how much it all made sense.

Creepy as it was to realize I wasn't human anymore, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it was cool. I mean, c'mon, I was practically a superhero.

Every day at school I carried a huge grin on my face. My friends kept asking why I looked so damn happy. Rumors spread. Some said I'd won the lottery, others swore the girl I liked had confessed to me. But the real reason remained a mystery, since not even in my wildest dreams could I reveal my secret identity to them

As time went by, I felt the need to test my abilities. I know that with great power comes great responsibility, but it was pointless for me to be special if I couldn't use it to have some fun.

At night, I'd sneak out just to push my limits. Cats bolted out of every alley I walked through (which was great, since I hated animals anyway), and I could see perfectly in the dark.

It was surreal. Just throwing on a hoodie was enough to make me feel like a Stan Lee character. But it wasn't about appearances, the real thrill was the rush of adrenaline in my veins.

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop was as natural as breathing. Running a hundred meters? Easy. I could dust Usain Bolt without even breaking a sweat. But the most insane thing was the shapeshifting. I could morph into anyone I wanted just by imagining it. My height, my bone structure, eye color, skin tone, hair length. Everything was customizable. With enough effort, I could even become other species (not that I particularly enjoyed it).

Still, I knew the risks. Changing too drastically would draw suspicion. So I had to stick to things people could believe. I took tons of pictures of myself and photoshopped them; visual references to avoid turning into a Cronenberg nightmare.

I started small. Longer hair. A slightly slimmer jaw. Pretended I was going to the dentist to explain away straighter teeth. Even hit the gym so people would buy the muscle gain. Everything had to have a logical excuse. And with those changes came confidence. I stopped walking with my head down. Smiled openly at people I passed.

After school, I played with my powers. Changing my voice to prank-call everyone I knew. It was hilarious hearing their secrets, the nasty stuff they said about each other. Without their social masks, they sounded like completely different people. The things they whispered to close friends were so filthy I couldn't repeat them. And before I knew it, I was addicted to seeing how far I could bend their personas (though I always stopped before things got too dangerous).

I noticed too how people's treatment of me shifted. Girls started approaching me. Even her—the one I'd always liked—began paying attention. During tests, I'd catch her sneaking glances. Every time our eyes were about to meet, she'd look away. At first, I thought it was cute. But I grew impatient. I wanted to run up to her and confess everything. Of course, I couldn't do it in front of everyone. (I still had my fears, after all.)

So I worked up all the courage I had and slipped a note under her notebook, asking her to meet me behind the gym after class. I was terrified she wouldn't show, but to my shock, there she was.

I stammered like I'd just learned how to talk. Words tripped over themselves, and all the confidence I'd built over the past weeks evaporated. Still, I managed to get my feelings across. And somehow we started dating.

Every day we exchanged messages. Whether in class or at home, we were always talking, in a way that made people around us start calling us the clingy couple (which always embarrassed me). On weekends, we'd go out together everywhere. We'd take the train and get off at the last stop, just so we could enjoy each other's company. Her smile was beautiful. Whenever she cupped my face and kissed me, I turned into a fool, only to catch her off guard with a kiss of my own. (An endless loop of tenderness.) Sometimes I'd rest my head on her lap in silence, staring at my reflection in her eyes. They sparkled whenever she looked at me. For the first time in my life, I felt complete. I prayed every night it would last forever. 

We wore matching socks, had cheesy couple wallpapers on our phones (she loved capturing my embarrassing faces). At the movies, I liked holding her hand and feeling her heartbeat through her palm. I did everything I could to make her feel safe with me. When we couldn't see each other, she'd ask to borrow my hoodie so she wouldn't miss me as much. And to keep things mutual, I'd ask for hers too.

I thought so many times about bringing her home to meet my parents. But somehow, it never happened. Whether it was work or some other excuse, they were never around.

During lunch breaks, we ate on the rooftop. Whenever she brought something new in her bento, I'd steal a bite just to see her pout. (There wasn't a single part of her face I didn't love.)

Even when she rambled endlessly, I loved listening to her voice. Every nuance in her tone, her whispers, sometimes even her singing, though she always insisted her voice wasn't good enough. And that's when conversations drifted to topics I hated.

She'd lower her voice and share her existential crises. I knew it was part of our bond, just normal adolescence… but still—

I hated it.

Hated when she talked about appearance.

Hated when she tried convincing me image was just an illusion. That artificiality was meaningless. 

God, how her speeches pissed me off.

She told me she used to think about plastic surgery, but over time she learned to love her natural self. That she hated society's obsession with looks. 

That true beauty lay in the small imperfections. In asymmetry.

She even quoted that damned Little Prince.

And I could see the hypocrisy dripping from her lips with every contradiction she spewed. Hah… Her. The same girl who never once looked at me before I transformed telling me appearance didn't matter.

That it was all meaningless.

Fabricated.

That it was—

"A-ah… y-your face…"

I saw the fear in her eyes.

The first time she'd ever looked at me like that.

Like she was seeing the real me.

"S-stay away from me!" she screamed, but I kept walking toward her.

That look shattered me.

My heart cracked open.

The thought that the girl I loved saw me as a monster tore me apart.

Her diaphragm rose and fell, her breath growing more frantic with each step I took. I had no other choice.

So I pushed her.

Shoved her off the rooftop then bolted away, so fast the ground barely touched my feet.

My face was completely disfigured.

Something wet dripped down my cheeks. I couldn't tell if it was tears or my own skin melting off. The only thought left in my head was fixing this.

I burst into the house, calling for my parents.

If anyone could fix me, it had to be them. But… they weren't there.

That's when it hit me: I hadn't seen them in days. Couldn't even remember the last time they'd been home.

I noticed the bathroom door slightly open. With trembling steps, I stood in front of the mirror. Again. That cursed mirror. I stared for hours until finally stabilizing my face. But my body was still rotting. No matter what I tried, I couldn't change it.

Alright… my parents. They had to know the answer.

I needed to find them.

Only they could help me.

I threw on long clothes to hide my appearance and went to their workplace. But when I got there, the receptionists said they didn't know anyone by those names. Their pictures weren't on the employee board either.

I stormed back home, furious.

Tore through the house until I found an old dusty album in the attic. I ripped out every photo with them in it and ran through the neighborhood showing people. The neighbors called me insane. Everyone swore they didn't know who I was talking about.

Just when I was about to give up, an old lady down the block called me over. She said she knew them, said she could tell me where they lived. At first, I doubted her, but in my desperation, I had no choice but to believe.

Following her directions, I took the subway to the far side of the city.

I searched from morning to noon, noon to evening, but there was no trace of them.

By then, I was falling apart.

After so many transformations, my nerves were failing. My legs barely worked, one arm was shorter than the other, my hair was falling out in clumps.

Then I saw it. A black car pulling up to a wooden house by the bridge. Its headlights were my light at the end of the tunnel.

There they were. My parents.

My voice came out broken and hoarse, but I screamed anyway. Didn't matter how I sounded. That was the woman who carried me, the man who raised me. They knew me better than anyone.

"Mom! Dad! It's me, your son! Look what I've become! Please, fix me! Bring me back to normal! I'm begging you!!!"

They turned toward me.

Finally... I'd found them.

Of course it'd end this way.

Haha… obviously they'd recognize me.

It was clear—

"Who are you?"