The Death of Docia Mills

Docia Mills imagined the splitting would be painful. But it was excruciating. The fact that people did this to themselves brought a deep sob up, like a whale on a fishhook. Her chest, the ocean. She used an invention poured like poetry through mechanical fingers. A means to an end. A way out. Or a way in, depending on how you looked at things.

Docia was not an optimist. She needed a way out, or she would need a body bag.

Carver had been killed 23 days ago. The grey man showed up at their red door.

Why a red door?

I see a red door and I want it painted black

Sorry Ma’am. On behalf of the Combined Government Forces…

Docia burned his letters and the giant flag. She emptied his room in 2 pissed off days of crying and smoking and snorting cocaine. She rolled a joint with his Social Security card. She scratched his name into her thigh in 3 inch tall letters, bloody slashes.

On the third trembling dawn, when her mind let Docia accept he was gone, she turned on the TV for company. A heavy ashtray squatted in her lap. Her head was cushioned, her eyes wouldn’t close but her neck was done working. She exhaled, flicked, inhaled, flicked, and exhaled. Even her cunt ached.

There is an answer.

There is? Her addled brain asked of the TV.

There is an answer.

What is it?

The New Skin/Newborn© Kit.

What?

For only $399.99. Your satisfaction is guaranteed.

It is?

It’s a newborn you!

The garbage truck advanced up the street, pulling a wedding gown train of grey dawn in its wake. Oh dawn, Docia lamented and giggled to the empty room. Looking down, her body was in his long sleeve blue shirt and the same old pair of jeans. Her belly was curved in soft metamorphosis. She slept for 17 hours.

The next morning she showered and ate corn flakes. Docia placed her bowl on his initials written in marker. All over the kitchen table his name climbed and reclined, squirmed and squiggled, crashed and reacted. The blond wood was now wounded, word lined, forever branded in the name of the master of the house.

Suddenly, something darted across the back yard. Docia paused mid-chew and padded over to the sliding glass doors. She swallowed hard. Nothing. Her eyes dropped and a piece of paper was taped to the bottom of the door. Her heart beat fast, like coincidence was a friggin myth, NOT REAL. Everything happened for a reason. 1-872-NEW-SKIN in her fretful, violent hand. She looked to the right and the left, squirreling away the note, slid away to find the phone.

2 weeks?

Yes ma’am.

No express shipping or anything?

No, ma’am, due to the nature of the product, a 2 week waiting period is required.

I see. Ok.

Docia clicked the phone off and went to find her computer. She pulled up studies and reviews. A French website promised delivery in 1 week.

The splitting can be painful. Small price to pay for a brand new you! Satisfaction Guaranteed!

China said 3 days. She clicked the order button and climbed onto the window seat to wait.

It actually took 4 days, but Docia did not care. She slept, awoke, kept watch, slept again.

I need your signature Ma’am.

My signature? Why?

It’s a waiver, Ma’am.

I see. Ok.

Ma’am?

Yes?

Be careful.

She chuckled at the concerned delivery man. No worries friend, she thought, I’m already dead. Holding the white box, squarish and flat, she briskly jogged upstairs to her room. She had researched. She had lined his bureau with bottles of water, protein bars. Her own bureau had several medical clamps and gauze. Draped over the bed was an extra-large trash bag, cut open and drawn tightly over the mattress, like a fitted sheet. Placing the box on the bed, she kneeled in front of it and opened it carefully. Emptying the box, Docia made sure the kit was complete.

Recovery is only a matter of days. Life changing!

Docia stared at the contents. She stood up, then at the window, turning her back on the box. She returned to the bed and spooned the kit. She caressed the bottles and tubes, reading their ingredients. Leaving the bed, she fetched a look in the mirror. Her blond hair was in need of a cut. She usually cut it in a trim pixie. It was greasy and heavy on her head, when usually (BEFORE) it had been golden and light, like fluff. Her skin was a wretched grey, the color of rained on newspaper.

Docia did not lack confidence in her appearance. She was not part of the 83.9% of consumers purchasing the kit as a solution to “odd asthetics”. Even now she could see, she could clean up, get back to being beautiful. But she was among the 6.1% who didn’t give a shit about that. Docia cared about seeing Mrs. Carver Mills every day for the rest of her life. This dark parcel of an idea, squirming like a miscarried bundle in the center of her mind flung her into impassioned action.

After you apply the cream to your skin, you will feel a slow sensation of tightening.

Docia dumped her hands full of the cream, started coating her whole body, using her nails inadvertently but moaning from the sensation. Luminous with the sheen, she meteor-crashed to the floor and covered her feet and her legs. Then, the tightening started.

Docia remembered she was supposed to be on the bed and feared it was too late. She quickly pushed herself to standing and the skin on her legs felt aflame. She landed on the bed sitting. To assess damage she leaned over slowly.

The splitting had started. Her sobs escaped, prisoners in black and white striped jumpsuits.

After I used The New Skin/Newborn© Kit, I had a whole new life. I love the new person I am!

Docia coughed and spit blood from her lips.

The splitting will quickly be replaced with new growth! Hair, face, body and skin, all NEW!

Quickly?!? The popping of her carapace kept making her jump and gasp with agony. Weeping was now not an option. It hurt too much. Her brain was running around in frantic circles with its ass on fire, searching for a cartoon bucket of water.

Warning: You may need surgical instruments as listed to remove remaining skin after cream use.

Docia didn’t dare move. She had flopped back on the trash bag and like a doe in labor, she relaxed herself into pure placidity. Is this what being reborn feels like? She moved her eyes only, far away inside her mind she tried to retreat.

New cells were caterwauling down to a biological big bang birth. Docia felt the heat take over her body once again. And she was itchy. All around her was a ring of moisture, a sweat aura. The sound of a million crowded tiny bubbles bursting in rapid succession filled her bedroom. Like chattering geese, the new skin had started to come in. Docia glimpsed a change in timid slanted glances.

Make sure to stay hydrated! Your body will be using lots of moisture to build the new you!

The commercial nagged Docia with a ringing inside her head. She should have some water. Ever so cautiously, she elevated a single digit, to test the waters, so to speak. Next, she sweetly asked her wrist to bend, then another sugary request to her elbow. Her whole body seemed to throb in symphony with her heart. She used her stomach muscles and was upright. The journey brought her face to face with the mirror over her drawers.

Docia had hoped she wouldn’t have to pull any skin, hoped it would cooperate, that her sheer will could make it run away in fear. Her hand was shaking as it extended to reach the surgical clamps. They were surprisingly warm to the touch despite their cold, spotless appearance. Docia was a lefty. Her right arm was the first to be dealt with. She peeled the resistant skin with the confident pinch of a stamp collector and placed the sheddings in a pile.

The skin Carver touched was gone. Done away with, or undone, depending on your perspective. Docia was not an optimist. She had wanted a way out so she wouldn’t need a body bag.

Carver had been killed 24 days ago.