Slipping Away...
10.05.07 - Despite getting back to work and actually seeing people, something isn't quite right with Oz...
Oz stuggled into his duplex, first battling with stairs that threw off his already two-legged wobbly balance, and then having to squeeze himself through the door-frame. He still hadn't talked to Gaius about widening it or something.
But would it even matter after a certain point?
The mostly-gorilla slumped onto the damaged bed, sighing heavily. He snapped the support structure underneath after his change. Since then, he just curled up in the middle of the bed, dragging every duvet and blanket to and around him, constructing a 'nest' as it were. Of course, he'd be mortified to realise that was a part of gorilla behaviour. Sighing once more, those inhuman eyes looked about the room.
Wall. Wall. Wardrobe. Chest of drawers. TV. Wall. All the same really.
The wardrobe and chest of drawers were empty and their contents strewn about the room in tattered fragments. All torn whilst trying to prove he could still wear some of them. So far, only the pair of jeans he wore on the eve of his change had survived his gerth, but they were filthy. Mud and blood alike staining his 'loincloth' a gruesome green-blue.
Eyes wandered around the room again, only the laboured sound of his massive lungs breathing to fill the room. He looked at the clock/calendar, which still followed the staff's little prank. For a brief moment, a rebellious smile tugged at his mouth.
He knew.
He knew the REAL date and the relief that washed over him when he found out was indescribable. If short-lived.
After overcoming the fear of 'complications' in his changes, he was brought back to the morbid task of thinking too much. Sure, maybe he HADN'T just spent months in the labs or months in a coma, but that didn't take away the fact that he had undergone another back-breaking and mind-numbing change. Another step towards being an animal.
An animal.
That word just rolled around his skull for the rest of his waking moments. Nostrils flared in mild panic as his brain worked overtime to think of anything, ANYTHING to take his mind of that word. To take his mind back to a happier time.
But it was all for nought.
Looking back over his little scrapbook of achievements just curdled the rage in his belly. Photographs of him as a child with his siblings, clutching awards, parents smiling proudly. Newspaper and magazine clippings all about his debut as a rugby player. Even a pinup he was part of for a women's magazine. Of course, he'd asked his sister to pick that one up for him.
Everything...a human face staring back. A human face that just didn't exist anymore. A human that might not exist anymore in a few months time.
As much as he had to regret about his life, Oz never once regretted BEING alive. He could say he'd drank with the best of them, played with the best of them, and just lived his life to live. But now...?
"They've taken it away from me..." he whispered to himself, those strong vocal chords strangled behind tears.
He looked up at the ceiling, tearing his eyes away from long-gone memories. But before he could realise what he was doing, hands came savagely down on the scrapbook, like a rabid animal into its prey. He tore it apart. Shreds of faces, names, words. All thrown about in this vicious attack.
Only fragments of words escaped his mouth. Like the gorilla inside just stifled every last shred of him that was human. Panting and whimpering, he suddenly stopped to survey the mess he'd made, the memories he'd single-handedly destroyed forever. With a long arm, he reached out for a blanket from his bed and dragged it along the floor as he curled up in a corner of the room, the blanket draped about him. It gave him comfort. As warm as he already was, and as much as he missed the feeling of blanket to skin...there was a strange comfort in its weight as it lightly fell against his muscles, his fur.
Oz stayed like that for a while. Barely moving except to shuffle his legs and arms to keep the 'pins and needles' at bay. His breathing had calmed greatly, but he still made that impressively loud sighing noise with each breath through wide nostrils. Sometimes his head was resting against the wall. Sometimes he was resting on his hands. Sometimes he was staring at the ceiling again. He'd chew his tongue or lick his lips ocassionally, that wet saliva sound echoing around the grey duplex.
Then his eyes settled on his wardrobe. Somewhere inside, he knew what it was, and what it was used for. But regardless, something forced him to his feet, to the natural four-legged stance of a gorilla, and he ambled over to it. He inspected the outside, feeling the smooth surface against wrinkled fingers. He opened and closed the doors several times, in many combinations, almost revelling in the entertainment value of opening both doors at the same time!
But why? Why had this piece of furniture suddenly become a fascination for him? His hands explored all the inside, brushing against the odd hanger now and then. A sense of embarrassment began to wash over Oz and he took a few steps back from the wardrobe.
It was like a child who realised they were doing something they were too old to enjoy.
In a split-second, Oz went from unsure to stark-raving mad. He launched at the wardrobe, finding it easy to topple and whack around the room. His chest of drawers following suit.
I don't need these anymore! Why are they even here! The bastards KNOW I can't wear clothes anymore. They KNOW what they've done to me! So why are they even bothering to keep things NORMAL!
NONE OF THIS IS NORMAL! NONE OF THIS IS ******** NORMAL!An inner monologue played out in his head, but all that came from his mouth and lungs were explosive growls and roars. Poor Aislinn. Her duplex was just downstairs. She'd be forgiven for thinking Oz had gone insane. Or worse - feral.
With barely anytime for his mind to accept the damage he'd done to his things, Oz just crumpled onto his bed in tears and whimpers, clutching at his large head.
"Make it...s.top....make it...st.t...o...oooppp.....NOO..R..ROOOOAAARRRR!"
