Bloodlust: The Metamorphosis
By: Ryan Sung
In the dusk room, shadows sidled along the ripped curtains, casting eerie silhouettes on the dusty plank floor. A cracked mirror hung askew on the wall, reflecting a pale face of a boy with bleach-haunted eyes.
The first few signs were subtle, almost imperceptible to casual observers. But for the experienced, there was an undeniable change, a nimbostratus cloud that had settled upon the youthful spirit. It was as if a brute had awoken within, ravenously relentless.
The clock points at 7 a.m., but the dark room just feels like a profound perplexion, a puzzling discernment between reality and dreams. It’s been a few minutes since you broke free from that grotesque dream, but you still find it difficult to recognize what’s real or not.
You step out of the house. You don’t seem to realize what is going on. Or maybe you do, but you choose not to think about it. The streets… smell oddly peculiar. The pedestrians… look so foreign. It’s unusual. That's the considered word. Unusual. But don’t be too scared, you knew it would come for you someday. But don’t be too audacious, because your future will certainly laugh at you.
There used to be a time when you always held your head upwards. Everyone is taller, everyone is smarter, and everyone is more experienced. When will I grow? you would frequently ask. That holly tree in the backyard was once tall and mature, and you aspired to become like it. They look so powerful and heroic, so you dream every night to escape from your premature self. However as time comes, you feel different about that tree. The way it stands stoic. The way it lives motionless. You start to question its life. Is it truly what I aspire to become? You feel afraid. You hate it too, because what lies behind it just looks revolting.
“Tae-Hyun! Look how greasy your hair is! Take a shower, you slob. I haven’t seen you taking a shower for a month.” Only if she knew that you took a shower yesterday.
“A thousand apologies my queen. Maybe just leave me in an orphanage, that might be of little help.” She was aghast, with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with disbelief.
“How dare… Wait, what’s wrong with your voice?” She stops for a second and approaches you, touching your forehead as mothers do when they check your temperature. Your vision suddenly turns blood red. Your mouth instinctively waters down your throat with an insatiable craving for flesh. You think to yourself, something’s not right… But in a split second, your body impulsively leans forward. You barely stop yourself right before sinking your teeth into her.
Thankfully, she simply thinks you are lightheaded and drags you back to bed. You hunch over the mirror. Your fingers tremble as you touch your face, tracing the lines of decay.
Your body reacts to the turmoil within as your left eyelid twitches. Chill runs down your spine and stretches out your hunched back.
Feeling better, you walk out to the living room. You habitually scan the area, though you don’t need to. You can paint an exact picture with your eyes closed; the gray couch, the blue rug, mom drinking a can of beer, and eating Korean silkworm pupa snack to the audience’s laughter from Jimmy Kimmel Live - it’s all too familiar. Even the magazines open on the countertop have been on the same page for what seems like years—stuck, stagnant. Your eyes stop for a moment and go back to the pupa snacks. Boiled and seasoned cocoons, forever stunting the young worms’ perhaps could-be beautiful metamorphosis into moths. As mom eats them one by one, you imagine the crunch that releases the juices of unfulfilled youth which slides down your mother’s throat. She offers one in a gesture to say, You want some? You ignore her and walk back to bed. You notice some odd feelings; maybe it's empathy - it sure smells awful. They look awful too. But knowing that they could have turned into adult moths, you feel an ambivalent connection to them. Mom notices you.
The clock points at 7 a.m., but today feels different. The room is rather bright as the sun rises from the fog. The ripped curtain no longer grants shadows but radiates the natural light. You didn’t have any lucid dreams. It no longer feels like a profound perplexion, but rather feels like crisp clarity. You just feel like you know it. You realize it, but it feels too daring to accept it. The mirror is now reflecting the finally complete zombie. Ripped-off skin and blood-red dots are what dominate the once-innocent face. You smell horrible like the rotten insides of food waste. You instinctively say to yourself, “No, no,” but even your voice has morphed… into a raspy growl. Your mouth opens and shakes for a long time and then gives a quick and short exhale as people do in utter shock.
“What do you want, mom?” ...seconds later… “Mom!”
You look at the mirror once again and rub your eyes, just to check if it’s a dream like yesterday; or maybe it was an attempt to stand against an unknown impulse, but it seems resistance is futile.
You drop down to the floor. You are faced down but slightly tilted upwards so that the shadow created by the sun cannot completely conceal your monstrosity. You slowly stand up like a puppet as the joints of your body crack, making retracting sounds of a plastic air intake tube. The bleach-haunted eyes stain red like there has been a puncture wound. You instantly turn your head towards the door with your mouth dropping bloody saliva; that is exactly when the film blacked out, and you don’t have any recollection of what happened next.
Crashes…
Screams…
Red splashes…
…
Silence…
You slowly open your eyes. The red sclera gradually turns back white. It was as if a blood moon had finished devouring its feast. You find yourself sitting in a corner, leaning on the wooden wall. There is a pepper spray, but you don’t recall using it. You are delirious but have enough consciousness to envision the scene. You slowly stand up and shamble towards the mirror. You stare at your reflected self in the mirror and notice that the mouth is covered with liquid and dry blood. Huh? You hear mumbling sounds of laughter and buzzing. You limp in the direction of the sound. Your unstable body sways and bumps side to side on the wall, but you don’t feel any pain. You feel numb all over.
It’s the same scene again. You see Mom sitting on the gray couch, drinking beer and eating pupa snacks. In confusion, you slightly tilt your head because there is something different about her. Was that blood on her? Wait, is she missing an arm? She looks pale too. You want to ask her if she is feeling okay, so you grunt.
“Urghhhgh. (Hey, mom, you doing alright?)”
She grunts back, “Grrhuuggh. (Yes, sweetheart, I’m fine. Want a pupa?)”
Why not? You think to yourself. You join her on the couch.
***
It’s been a beautiful day, birds sing their harmonious melody, and the calm wind lightly touches the surface of the leaves. The golden sun slowly dips below the horizon. The light hits one particular holly tree which casts an all-consuming shadow on Tae-Hyun’s home. As the sun sets, the shadow darkens until all that’s left is the faint voice of Jimmy Kimmel.
The first few signs were subtle, almost imperceptible to casual observers. But for the experienced, there was an undeniable change, a nimbostratus cloud that had settled upon the youthful spirit. It was as if a brute had awoken within, ravenously relentless.
The clock points at 7 a.m., but the dark room just feels like a profound perplexion, a puzzling discernment between reality and dreams. It’s been a few minutes since you broke free from that grotesque dream, but you still find it difficult to recognize what’s real or not.
You step out of the house. You don’t seem to realize what is going on. Or maybe you do, but you choose not to think about it. The streets… smell oddly peculiar. The pedestrians… look so foreign. It’s unusual. That's the considered word. Unusual. But don’t be too scared, you knew it would come for you someday. But don’t be too audacious, because your future will certainly laugh at you.
There used to be a time when you always held your head upwards. Everyone is taller, everyone is smarter, and everyone is more experienced. When will I grow? you would frequently ask. That holly tree in the backyard was once tall and mature, and you aspired to become like it. They look so powerful and heroic, so you dream every night to escape from your premature self. However as time comes, you feel different about that tree. The way it stands stoic. The way it lives motionless. You start to question its life. Is it truly what I aspire to become? You feel afraid. You hate it too, because what lies behind it just looks revolting.
“Tae-Hyun! Look how greasy your hair is! Take a shower, you slob. I haven’t seen you taking a shower for a month.” Only if she knew that you took a shower yesterday.
“A thousand apologies my queen. Maybe just leave me in an orphanage, that might be of little help.” She was aghast, with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with disbelief.
“How dare… Wait, what’s wrong with your voice?” She stops for a second and approaches you, touching your forehead as mothers do when they check your temperature. Your vision suddenly turns blood red. Your mouth instinctively waters down your throat with an insatiable craving for flesh. You think to yourself, something’s not right… But in a split second, your body impulsively leans forward. You barely stop yourself right before sinking your teeth into her.
Thankfully, she simply thinks you are lightheaded and drags you back to bed. You hunch over the mirror. Your fingers tremble as you touch your face, tracing the lines of decay.
Your body reacts to the turmoil within as your left eyelid twitches. Chill runs down your spine and stretches out your hunched back.
Feeling better, you walk out to the living room. You habitually scan the area, though you don’t need to. You can paint an exact picture with your eyes closed; the gray couch, the blue rug, mom drinking a can of beer, and eating Korean silkworm pupa snack to the audience’s laughter from Jimmy Kimmel Live - it’s all too familiar. Even the magazines open on the countertop have been on the same page for what seems like years—stuck, stagnant. Your eyes stop for a moment and go back to the pupa snacks. Boiled and seasoned cocoons, forever stunting the young worms’ perhaps could-be beautiful metamorphosis into moths. As mom eats them one by one, you imagine the crunch that releases the juices of unfulfilled youth which slides down your mother’s throat. She offers one in a gesture to say, You want some? You ignore her and walk back to bed. You notice some odd feelings; maybe it's empathy - it sure smells awful. They look awful too. But knowing that they could have turned into adult moths, you feel an ambivalent connection to them. Mom notices you.
The clock points at 7 a.m., but today feels different. The room is rather bright as the sun rises from the fog. The ripped curtain no longer grants shadows but radiates the natural light. You didn’t have any lucid dreams. It no longer feels like a profound perplexion, but rather feels like crisp clarity. You just feel like you know it. You realize it, but it feels too daring to accept it. The mirror is now reflecting the finally complete zombie. Ripped-off skin and blood-red dots are what dominate the once-innocent face. You smell horrible like the rotten insides of food waste. You instinctively say to yourself, “No, no,” but even your voice has morphed… into a raspy growl. Your mouth opens and shakes for a long time and then gives a quick and short exhale as people do in utter shock.
“What do you want, mom?” ...seconds later… “Mom!”
You look at the mirror once again and rub your eyes, just to check if it’s a dream like yesterday; or maybe it was an attempt to stand against an unknown impulse, but it seems resistance is futile.
You drop down to the floor. You are faced down but slightly tilted upwards so that the shadow created by the sun cannot completely conceal your monstrosity. You slowly stand up like a puppet as the joints of your body crack, making retracting sounds of a plastic air intake tube. The bleach-haunted eyes stain red like there has been a puncture wound. You instantly turn your head towards the door with your mouth dropping bloody saliva; that is exactly when the film blacked out, and you don’t have any recollection of what happened next.
Crashes…
Screams…
Red splashes…
…
Silence…
You slowly open your eyes. The red sclera gradually turns back white. It was as if a blood moon had finished devouring its feast. You find yourself sitting in a corner, leaning on the wooden wall. There is a pepper spray, but you don’t recall using it. You are delirious but have enough consciousness to envision the scene. You slowly stand up and shamble towards the mirror. You stare at your reflected self in the mirror and notice that the mouth is covered with liquid and dry blood. Huh? You hear mumbling sounds of laughter and buzzing. You limp in the direction of the sound. Your unstable body sways and bumps side to side on the wall, but you don’t feel any pain. You feel numb all over.
It’s the same scene again. You see Mom sitting on the gray couch, drinking beer and eating pupa snacks. In confusion, you slightly tilt your head because there is something different about her. Was that blood on her? Wait, is she missing an arm? She looks pale too. You want to ask her if she is feeling okay, so you grunt.
“Urghhhgh. (Hey, mom, you doing alright?)”
She grunts back, “Grrhuuggh. (Yes, sweetheart, I’m fine. Want a pupa?)”
Why not? You think to yourself. You join her on the couch.
***
It’s been a beautiful day, birds sing their harmonious melody, and the calm wind lightly touches the surface of the leaves. The golden sun slowly dips below the horizon. The light hits one particular holly tree which casts an all-consuming shadow on Tae-Hyun’s home. As the sun sets, the shadow darkens until all that’s left is the faint voice of Jimmy Kimmel.
Writer's Statement: Bloodlust is a series of chapterized short stories I wrote about my life. Bloodlust: The Metamorphosis is a second-person narrative that delves through the gruesome transformation of Tae-hyun, a seemingly ordinary boy, into something otherworldly: an illustration of my experience through adolescence. With active use of symbolism and dialogue, the story depicts my time period of confusion in life.