“I’m not a monster. Not by will, I’m their creation.”
I walk through the bluish mist of the city, a world that belongs to the blue and green monsters. The chill in the air is deceiving; this world is not mine, but theirs. I don’t belong here. Everything feels so alien, as though the very ground beneath my feet is artificial, a trap, as if I’m stuck inside a nightmare, in a game that I never chose to play. But I’m lying through my teeth. This isn’t a dream. This is real, harsh reality. No, harsh doesn’t even begin to cover it. Earth is a memory, a distant past. And this—this place—exists in the present, but its technology feels like it belongs to some other era, decades behind my own world.
I sigh, my gaze drifting down to the asphalt beneath my feet, where my leather boots tread. The same boots I stole from the monster—along with my pants, socks, shirt, and vest. Everything beige, except the socks and shirt, which are snow-white like the skin of the faceless creature whose head now lies in its chamber, shattered beyond recognition. Smashed—like the body of my brother, my blood. Ren.
The memory is still so fresh, as if it happened mere moments ago. His lifeless eyes, empty sockets staring back at me. His tongue hanging from his nose, the bloodied mess that was once his stomach torn apart. I still smell the stench of it. The blood. The carnage. It lingers, like a curse I can’t escape. I want to cry. I want to scream, to break down and fall apart. But I can’t afford that. Not now. If I shed a tear, I’ll ruin the disguise I’ve worked so hard to maintain. The makeup that covers my face—that is my mask. The one I found in the bathroom, after I pissed on the monster who tore my world apart.
The only thing I did before I left that place, the decrepit house that resembled my grandparents’ home, was brush my teeth. And then, I hid myself behind the mask of the people who enslaved my kind. I studied them through the windows, watching their every move. They have a strange, bluish tint to their skin, some even whiter than some of the Asian people from Earth, but there’s something more—a visible pulse of blue blood beneath their flesh. And so, I painted my nails, my knuckles, fingers, cheeks, ears, and lips. I turned myself into one of them, or at least, as close as I could manage. But it makes me feel sick. Uncomfortable. Like I’m wearing a suit of lies.
I walk past the people on the street, past the horse-drawn carriages, where the masters slap the horses to move faster. The way they treat these creatures—it’s the same as how they treat my kind. We are nothing but animals, beasts for their amusement. Less than that, even.
My knees tremble, barely able to keep me standing, under the weight of being discovered. But I push forward. I don’t stop. I keep walking, following the blue family ahead of me as I clutch my hands in tight fists.
Are they watching me? Can they smell the difference? Are they suspicious?
My breath hitches. I can feel the weight of my heartbeat pounding in my chest, too loud, too fast, like I’m suffocating under the pressure of being caught. I’m not ready to be exposed. Not yet.
Am I walking too fast? Too slow? Is there something off about the way I breathe? They can’t know. They can’t know I’m not one of them. I’m not supposed to be here, and yet, I keep moving, like some puppet on a string, lost in a world that doesn’t recognize me.
I squint as my eyes flicker across the streets, the houses rising sharply towards the turquoise sky. It’s a sight I once would have imagined in books, reading to Ren on stormy nights to calm his fears.
But now, it only deepens the hollow ache inside of me. I look from the gothic-like architecture of the buildings to the blue-skinned people dressed in the same clothes as me. Only some of them try harder—wearing cylinders and monocles, things I’ve only read about in history books. The mist, though not as thick as the day I was taken, still lingers, a strange fog that wraps around everything, a veil of mystery. It feels as though danger could come from any direction, and my nerves are raw, every sense tingling with the need to stay alert.
I’m not sure why I’m walking, but I keep moving, following the family ahead of me, careful not to pass them. I don’t dare step out of line. Not here. Not now. Can they tell?
The mist is thicker now, more oppressive, as if it has become part of me. I feel it in my skin, in my lungs, and it’s starting to drown me. I’m suffocating under it, but I push on.
The heat is unbearable. Despite the cold looking blue sun, it feels like I’m burning alive. I sweat beneath my long sleeves, my skin prickling, the air thick with the sharp smell of blood that never seems to fade. It’s as if I can feel my veins beneath my skin, boiling with heat, each drop of blood in my body seething in response to the blue monsters that surround me.