Second Skin

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Second Skin

By Plot Roach

Phil showed his driver’s license to the clerk at the entrance of the hall. She smiled, scratched off his name on the master list and handed him his badge. “Is everybody… ‘normal’ in there?” he asked.

“I take it that this is your first time?”

“Yeah.”

“Everybody stays ‘tucked in’, if that’s what you’re asking. Though some of the more adventurous ones will let it all hang out in the after hours parties back at the hotel.”

“Isn’t that illegal? Showing yourself, I mean.”

“You’d be surprised what the hotel will let us get away with since we usually buy up a floor or two of rooms before the big show. Now get in there and have some fun.” She teased.

Phil took a deep breath and parted the curtain that lead to the main showroom. It was filled with booths of various merchandise. And in the center was a large stage. An announcer was busy advertising some of the latest products to debut at the Second Skin Convention. He had a male and female model beside him, both stripped down to their underwear. A beautiful, if not flawless, tan decorated their skin.

“You’re seen the outside, ladies and gentlemen. Now witness what we had hidden on the inside.” And with a flourish and wink to the audience, both models grabbed decorated daggers from the floor of the stage and began to cut away at their skin. No screams came from the audience, instead a series of pleasantly surprised murmurs emitted from the corners of the convention center as every eye studied the carnage on the stage. Strip after strip of bloody, but tanned, skin fell to the convention center floor. They are well rehearsed, Phil thought to himself, as the models managed to strip their bodies of all human flesh within three minutes. Once they were done, the female turned out to be a werewolf and the male a gargoyle of some type that Phil did not immediately recognize.

“New Skin, ladies and gentlemen. Available now in booth eighteen. It is able not only to simulate the real thing enough to fool even the most discerning human individual, but now comes in a UV formula that our daylight handicapped friends might appreciate.” the announcer said, winking at a group of vampires in the corner who seemed impressed with the product.

I wonder if it’s waterproof, Phil thought as the announcer and models exited the stage and a member of the convention staff began to clean up the piles of skin and pools of blood. Phil wandered past the booths of t-shits, eyeing a few of the ‘bestsellers’ and thinking he would pick up one or two for Christmas presents for various members of the family. “My other skin has fur”, “Ever get rug burn from a werewolf?”, “I massacred a small village in a third world country and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” and the ever popular “Never moon a werewolf.” It seemed that werewolves were the top dog in this year’s event, more than likely brought on by a popular, if not smothered in teenage angst, Hollywood movie. Give it a year or two, Phil thought, and the fangs will be back in business. Humans always loved vampire movies, novels and television shows. But they had gotten a bad wrap lately by a particular series that pulled new mythological powers out of the author’s imagination rather than based in actual fact. Vampires don’t sparkle, Phil thought. They might have white teeth and shining personality -especially if they wanted you to join them for dinner. But no self respecting predator of mankind would dare to glitter under sunlight -except maybe a diamond gnome. But those were out in Africa, chowing down on unsuspecting miners who mistook large deposits of raw diamonds for the creature’s eggs. And they rarely came out during the day.

Phil shook his head and perused the rest of the vendor’s stalls. Besides the spray on New Skin, and the ‘realistic’ human contact lenses, there was a dentist who could make human dentures to fit almost any fang or beak, and a woman who sold breath perfumes. He stopped at this stall and ran a hand through the display wrack. “Do you have anything to cover the smell of fish?” he asked the woman behind the counter. She smiled in an unnatural way and Phil wondered if she had a pair of the human dentures that had gotten caught in the smile position.

“Is this a ‘natural’ smell from your body, or something you feast on daily?”

“My food.” Phil admitted with a slight blush. “I have a thing for fresh tuna first thing in the morning.”

“Are you a Bog Beast, Shark Man or Swamp Denizen?”

“None of the above, actually.” Phil sighed. “I’m a Selkie.”

“Well you’re certainly a long way from home.” the woman said, rummaging through a box.

“There’s a small group of us living just off of Venice Beach. It’s a little crowded, but if your forget and show a little fin sometimes, the natives think they’re too stoned to swim and usually get out of the water.”

“That must be nice, though. With all those artist types.”

“Yeah, my uncle makes a decent living off of spray paint can artwork he creates as the customers watch.”

The woman finished rummaging around in the box and showed him several options. There was Minty Fresh with a hint of Nicotine, Garlic, Morning Breath and Coffee Breath.

“Oooo, Coffee Breath!” Phil exclaimed. “It’s not just coffee scented, is it?”

“No, sir. It smells and tastes like you’ve been drinking the foul black brew all day long. Just like your average cubicle dweller, high school teacher or IT tech.”

“I’ll take a couple of these now and if I can get your business card, I’ll order more when I need it.”

“I’d suggest getting as many now as you can.” she said. “These are going fast because no matter what you look like if you’re caught out in the open, nothing says human like bad coffee breath.”