Chimera

Skin traced gently by fingertips; dead cells flaking on dulled fingerprints. The needle's tip glides, piercing the thin veil, and this creature, waiting, attempts to crawl along the floor on its own. When will this waiting end? When will it cover its ribs and claw at the floor? Will it end only when the needle’s point bores through calluses, passes epithelial cells, traverses muscle and bone, dissects the heart and lungs, and finally erupts through the pupils? Will it end only when every single cell splits, shedding its skin at last?