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Forgeck About It by:MalicTheWriter

I shouldn’t have been crying. I felt stupid for crying. Where did crying come from anyway? Some stupid nonverbal way to convey pain I think, or at least that’s what I read about on the internet once. It seemed uselessly out of place here in the digital age.

I felt stupid for crying.

Now the extent of my pain over the prior interaction amounted to little more than the last message shared between the both of us insofar as I wa aware. A pithy little jab of an “okay”, an explicit approval that the bridge be burned, the account be blocked. So it was.

The tears were private then, a personal admonishment for fucking up this badly. For taking something as complex and beautiful as a friendship and blowing it up to the tune of an awkward conversation turned angry. I was livid. I was pitiful. I was sad.

All the world seemed wrong. It was as though some misaligned quirk of the universe had evoked from within our most assholish selves, but then how much of this was really just projection on my part? Had they really been cruel? Or had I been foolish?

Any and every conversation is composed in part from the energy you put into it after all. Did I ive enough veiled spite and loathing from the start to set this all off? I felt too geared up on the loss to judge properly. It all happened so effortfully.

I’m sure there are people out there that can handle this sort of thing, but I almost have to think that the people who can handle such things don’t get embroiled in them nearly as often as idiots like me.

“I’m sorry,” I whined aloud.

Incompatibility. That was their explanation. I could only agree now, but even more than they thought. I felt incompatible with everyone. Deep inside me there was always something wrong, a party of me that seemed to bubble up from the parts of me that I wanted not to be.

Wiping more tears from my eyes I sat there in front of my computer sniffling and suttering to no avail. I was not so far gone as to turn to the computer for emotional comfort straight off of that. No, I would not sign up for the latest and greatest in artificially and allegedly intelligent friends so as to vent about this. Instead what I needed was simple. I needed a good sulk.

The greatest of all sulks are often done with chemical assistance. Sure on some level that’s probably a terrible idea to have, but I felt I knew deep down I was in no shape to really process this loss of a friend sober. I simply felt too raw.

“Damn it all,” I grumbled.

With the swift and secure swoosh of the drawer slider I found myself thumbing through a thorough and exhaustive lack of any and all substances to abuse. Right, withdrawals of all kinds bubbling up had me acting unwise. That’s probably why I “needed” to push that idiotic topic as far as it could go no matter the consequences.

“Gotta be something…” I pleaded.

The drug drawer made it a point not to spontaneously generate a set of eyes and a mouth and sing to me the praises of sobriety, and for this I was most thankful. No, despite the advice of that one rap song about facing grief sober I was not in the mood to bother. Deeply now I yearned to face this any way other than of sound mind.

Up I went, emerging from my chair. After who knows how many hours too; despite countless health warnings urging people to get up and move around at least every two hours and ideally every hour. If I was out of distractions for this perhaps my roommate wouldn’t be.

Emerging from the rooms at last I let out a sigh. There was always with the regards to substances and such, a sort of pre-imbibed state of euphoria. I didn’t even know what it was I might be thinking of taking yet and already felt strangely excited.

“How pathetic, how truly pitiful…”

My little rebuke of the self was not enough to truly reject the course of action. Shame is so often only felt in the abstract, a pit in the heart composed of self-pity and loathing in roughly equal measure. So it was I yearned to rise above such desires, but lacked entirely the capacity. I was simply too stricken.

My lizard was a roommate. No, backwards. Roommate lizard. A fantastical fact that he announced to the world some decade or so ago after taking up with some biotech company run by a snake. It was a fact of life further communicated to me in the moment by the “Beware of Lizard” sign adorning his door. No lizard around to beware of though, he was away for days.

Do lizards even do drugs? More specifically, did they do the kind of drugs I liked to do, and wanted to do, and probably not needed to do but fuck all if it didn’t feel like I needed to do… I opened the door, its cheap wood adjacent veneer failing to convey the sheer weight of the thing.

Inside the walls were heavy-set and metallic as well. It all had the look of an advanced science lab because it was exactly that and little else, though there was a small bed in the corner. All around lay beakers and tubes and things I didn’t know the names of but looked awfully cool and sciency irregardless of any ignorance.

Trawling around for but a moment I took note of the blinking light just in the corner of the well lit laboratory. I wondered on inside and hastily plucked up the first thing that caught my eyes, an eyedropper bottle labeled thus:

For-”Geck” About It.

Sure the odds that this things side effects would turn me into some form of Gecko was 100% but I could hardly care about such things. I was a fan of those smarmy car insurance adds all those years ago, so fuck it, right? I wanted to forget, even if just for a moment, and I would be willing to turn into anything up to a fungus to do it.

Slipping off into my room and then more specifically my bathroom I could already feel my hands shaking around the glass eye dropper bottle. I was anxious for so many reasons at that point I could hardly process them at all. The minimal description on the bottle had me hoping that whatever this would do to me would mostly be focused on the forgetfulness gestured at in the pun name.

“Come on super science, don’t fail me now,” I said, thumbing the dropper.

The scratchy tapping of a glass stopper was just the right move to further crank up the anxiety of it all. I felt fo r a moment the glass would bust and I’d somehow end up like some kind of fractured glass-gecko golem forever cursed to shatter into endlessly smaller pieces of glass until there was nothing to me but dust.

“Stop. Stop thinking right now. I’m too anxiety brained to think any good thoughts right now…”

Believe it or not the glass did not bust open from twisting it the way that it was in fact designed to twist, and soon I was holding a full dropper in one hand and an open bottle with the other as I delicately made my way over to the mirror in my bathroom.

Setting the bottle to the left of the sink I glanced back at the stopper. Reaching to remove my glasses I looked up and leaned back slightly, carefully raising the stopper up and over my left eye. I blinked twice, nice and tight too so that I could open my eyes for longer.

“How many drops was it?” I muttered to myself quietly.

I did not bother checking. Sure it was possible the bottle contained detailed instructions upon its usage, and perhaps even particulars about its effects, but I was feeling improvisational. Two drops rained down into the left, and then three rolled into the right. Lots of strange feeling blinking followed as I returned the dropper into the bottle. There was a great and thankfully pain-free pressure building up inside my eyes as the super science worked its magic.

For a moment there was a great and surreal pressing forward as the once normal human eyes at the touch of strange fluid seemed to spill out and bulge in unison, folding the world about me. I felt as though I was tilting forward into the mirror, and all the while the pressure built up inside. It seemed as though my skull would have cracked or even shattered in the face of such a scaling, but I noted that the eyes slipped forward just as well.

I stared rather wildly at the mirror, a protracted fact made rather mandatory by the fact that my eyelids had yet to adjust at all in relation to the scale shift in eyeball. It was both shocking and horrific, watching as they sagged off my face like waywardly aligned breasts for a time. I tried then very hard to blink.

This was when the wind took a sluggish and compressive turn for the better. Words became a dulled tool to merely paw in the direction of understanding, as apposed to at the very least a sharp set of tools to do the same. My left eye, the one with the two drops, was just as enlarged in its totality as the one on the right, but it still had a vaguely human shape to its pupil, and as a result my vision was differently coned in a somewhat dizzying way.

It was both eyes in unison though that dipped deep back into my head. Each one felt like a punch to the brain in the best of all possible ways, displacing who knows how many billions of little neurons in the process. Suddenly the whole world seemed to smooth out so soft and enjoyable. I let out a somewhat oafish chuckle and meandered out into the living room.

With ablink I rolled out onto the couch, dimly spreading out across its soft and welcome embrace. If noone was my friend at least this couch was still my friend. Another blink. No thought, head emptied utterly as the dropper rest on the coffee table before me now. Eyes opened, only the sensory.

World looked weird, yet normal. Things. Things all around. Angles make up shapes make up tables and chairs and sofas and shelves and books and remote controls and discarded mugs and bluetooth speakers and coasters and coasting. I’ve been coasting all my lifesavers and board game boxes and rugs and recliners with a cut open back for tails to poke through like my roommates but maybe one day mine as well at this rate.

Oh this stuff hit the spot. Everything and anything once conceived of became, for an all too brief moment, utterly novel. All that elaborate list became a set of irregular surfaces within me which lurked a desire to climb and scamper upon. Overwhelming novelty reigned. Another blink, and it was back again; more ands and ands for miles, as it became starkly clear how beautiful and highly detailed the world of a living room could be with so little of the knowledge as to what once made it up.

“Oh fuck… Oh fuck… I…”

It was all so much with a side categorization of too much. Too much so that it became nothing, the vaguest of impressions of surfaces and colors careening around two expanded cones of vision at about 671 million miles per hour (or thereabouts 300,000 kilometers per second to you more European and by-second oriented readers perception and/or contemplation wise, but I digress). Too fast for me to comprehend. It was all so overwhelming in precisely the way that I wished it would have been. Not that I could have quite processed even that between the big blinks, not fully anyway.

I let out a sigh. It came from deeper in me than even my lungs. It was an embodied sort of sigh which seemed to take all of me up with it. Up and out of or away from this place as even the concept of this place became as if an other world. A world where I was just some dumb leopard gecko eyed chum loafing on a couch which belonged to who even knew really…

The sigh trailed ever onwards. My anxiety sublimated. I was equal parts comfy, aroused, and confused in the most ideal way possible given my entry mental state. A still human pecker prodded at the inside of my boxers and suddenly the erection became all I could think about.

Another blink, a double banishment of memories. I hardly knew what it was I was up to as I began to work my pants down over my butt and under my balls. The elastic in the pants tugged at them and something seemed rather strange atop all the pre-established strangeness as it was all these vaguely human seeming bits that did not seem right to me in the slightest.

Up it came regardless though, that human pecker poking up at attention and yearning for a lot only to find fingers flowing flush with it. Poorly emulating a warm slick passage yet more than satisfying enough for the poor thing. It stood at its attention, a stalwalt soldier who had faced a thousand thousand images of delight and not much more than that save for the occasional indulgence in soft toy usage sometime a few years back.

The head state was sublime though, the perfect forgetful blend of subject-object disorientation. Things as complex as relationships and their failings became so abstract and difficult to follow they may as well have been the undiscovered missing link between quantum mechanics and combination game theory, beyond all comprehension.

It was exactly what I thought I needed, but now I could hardly think to recall why or what for. Forgeck about it. I found myself chuckling quietly at the pun. It was a little silly sure, but with another big bulging-eyed blink the notion of puns and language diminished within me to the point where the story simply demanded first person omniscience to even get to this point in a remotely cognizant manner.

I was not losing it. I had lost it. Head empty was as much the physical as it was the mental state, and each blink seemed to drive it further home. Another sigh. Some reverberated aftershock of the first and far more sensational sigh. Hadn’t I been tugging something?

Another blink of blissful ignorance. Another deeper drift down this flattened and satisfied slate until… release. A deep throbbing rush of endorphins. Not quite knowing what cumming si while it happens makes for a remarkably thrilling and confusing time. Out flows a rush like a sigh that builds and builds and this is gone leaving not but a mess upon the hand.

Then a mess on the shirt.

Hand shaped.

How utterly shameless.

How much of shame is baked into recollection of shames long past? Of anxieties and fears cultivated by other people pointing out what you did wrong except…

Except except it’s much more. For the brain has a so funny way of taking those past and so private prior judgments that once pruned your soul and projects out a thousand little hypotheticals or more every day as to how dreadfully the world might respond to even the slightest of eccentricities.

Maybe one day we’ll be really free. Free to be as so-called cringe as we yearn to be before even the inner critic sets about leashing us to our every fear. In that moment there though, I could feel that freedom, a total disconnect from the torment either inner or perceived-as-outer. Because it was all inner of course you see, where else could it be contemplated but within? It’s really no wonder some people turn so completely to drugs.

But where was I again? Somewhere between blinking and bliss. But then…

Something bubbled up past the memory free malaise. My cones of vision had begun to shrink, as with the eyes that made them. Time had passed me by. I had begun to revert.

“Hours… hours…” I muttered pitifully.

It was funny, even the conceptualization of time had to bubble back up first and foremost before I could begin to process at all how much had passed by in my still partly present stupor. With it came the return of the pain, as the blinking eyes unembiggened inside my rearranging skull. Another blink offered but half the relief of the initial effect, and as a result I found myself poised somewhere in between a pain half remembered and thrice forgotten. It was a most curious agony.

What a way this was to live. I could not stand it at once, for even nested inside less than a quarter-recalled ruin was everything I had run from and more. Painlessness. That was what I was after. I yearned for total nullification of the mind, for all the pain I had felt to be rebuked so completely that there was nothing to be felt save perhaps its absence.

Anything less would not suffice.

As my mind returned so did its memories, and so both the recollection of the hurt as well as the method for its banishment bubbled up together to help transform unyielding fear into swift and immediate action. Dimly yet distinctly aware I grasped pitifully for the stopper now, tring and failing to properly open it up. Out it spilled, sprawling along the glass surface of the cofee table.

“Damn it, no no no,” I scrambled and catastrophized all at once, briefly fearing that the coffee table might absorb it and change itself into the forgetful gecko I yearned to be.

Onto all fours I rolled off the couch, almost going so far as to begin lapping it up off the table before I dimly recalled that it was the eyes that needed all the exposure insofar as I was aware. So I made little cups with my hands and held aloft two handfulls of the curious concoction and I knew better. Deep down I knew better even then in that half altered state that there would be lasting consequences for all these actions, but in the end, when weren’t there? For everything must in the end lead unto something else. How else could it be?

“Forget this, forget everything,” I intoned as though wishing.

Up came the hands now; as full as could be of my special borrowed and spilt medicine, the small puddles in my hand swiftly draining into the eyes which seemed to drink with a thirst as robust and whole as my desire to let it all go in the blink of an eye and then another.

Bliss. The seemingly eternal bubbly bliss of a complete and total failure to recollect much of nothing. And it was so good. And I was o good. So very good I could lay out on the couch and sprout roots for all the worries I had about the scenario as it presented itself to me. It did not matter how far it would go, so long as I could forget what had taken me there.

And so then I forgot. And as I forgot I felt what I was once dimly aware of as humanity draining out of me so completely in as much mind as well as body. It all started with the eyes of course, those big bulging and so blinky things that seemed to look all around this way and that so obviously turned all puilary and wide eyed as I once more took in the room and all its many surfaces as a thing that could soon be climbed upon.

Out across the brow now. So much more than eyes. I could feel my forehead growing sleek and deeply sloped and so very flat as the painful memories once again faded unto an oh so welcome nothingness. Another retractive blink followed, but the pressure felt more in tune with this new face shape in a way that it didn’t before.

“Thank you…” I said to myself, scarcely fathoming why I did what I did and certainly not realizing that it would be the last human words out of my mouth for months…

Down I shrunk between blinks. The whole of the room began to enlarge in equal measures as I began to shrink. Each and every shrinky blink managed to shift my perspective of the room to great effect. Still though I grasped at the subtance as it pooled in shifting hands, rubbing it yet again into my big rounded gecko eyes even as the number of fingers trailed downwards with the rest of me.

“What… was… thinking…” I tried to say only to squeak and squeal my gesture in the direction of words.

I forgot. Again and again, head emptied with each and every blink as the too-large fabric once concievable as a shirt weighed me down and clung to my flesh unlike the ways it had ever been adorned upon me before. With three toed grippy fingers I found it quite difficult indeed to let go of much of anything. In my mind though there was nothing but good vibes, the shirt that gripped around every bit of what was now about three feet of me was something of an entertainment for now.

As my tail grew out it became the first part of my new body to slip out from under my shirt and all too briefly touch the air around me. Down I shrank further still, becoming the exact sort of leopard gecko in shape as well as size that my roommate had synthesized this wonderful and strange concoction from.

How much further could it go? I did not and could not know, as the sensory information coming at me from all over in the form of this freshly remade skin was enough and a half to keep my similarly shrunken mind dwelling on what could well have been a mistake?

But when did I not make a mistake?

The question stabbed right through all the sensory noise. My depressing ass headspace just could not help but throw one last hail mary of a jab straight through the confusion and sheer sensation to send me realing deeper into the recesses of a brain well smothered by the sweet unloving embrace of super science.

I reached out nice and far with my stretchy new tongue and licked one eyeball completely clean of that strange and particular substance, briefly smacking my elongated if tinier jaw before properly applicating tongue to second eyeball so as to clean it much the same. Such was life as agecko, having already mastered about 1/3rd of the essentials (the others being climbing and nibbling).

Almost gone now. The remnant of the last mental jab had seemingly retreated with the rest of me, regressing into some inner space buried so deep down It might as well have been gone. So much of me was gone then, and I was glad for it.

Oh how completely now was the tucking. My big dumb shirt sprawled over my tiny little body. To what what I was by then it felt as though I were in some sort of cave, a cave of strange soft fabric certainly, but a cave no less. It pushed me down, and all around my upturned belly I could feel a dull and thankfully painless squeezing.

I kept my eyes shut, feeling the fabric clinging close to my head. I lurched forward and with all the leopard gecko strength I could muster, which turned out to be quite a lot actually. Soon the glorious exit of the neckhole loomed large above me, and I went stomping out onto the couch entirely gecked from tip to tail.

Eyes open and uncovered now, I took in that made mysterious room as a vast set of colorful climbable surfaces throughout which I hunted for two things. Bugs to munch upon, and other Geckos with which perhaps to fornicate should I prove pretty enough for them.

All the emotional baggage once tethered up around mating as a human had become insurmountably incomprehensible. The sheer notion of utilizing a globally connected computer system to screen for mates and meet for an elaborate meal prepared by others of your species might as well have been a big old pile of absolute and total gibberish to my bug eater brain.

Even when all my tiny stomping turned on my smartphone just below me these things hardly registered as what they actually where. As the lights circled on and around underneath me, the extent of my thought process insofar as it could be transposed into words might well have amounted to “wow that’s something” and of course “not exactly dangerous???”

This is all due to the fact that I was so tiny and little now that even a mouse (if adequately agitated at me) might prove deathly lethal! Oh there was such fear in that little brain of mine as I began to scamper this way and that upon the phone I had wandered upon.

If only I retrained some of my mind I might have parsed out that the little baubles which danced below my scampering as if skimming the surface of a great and endless black pool were nothing but the widgets and gizmos of a species which spent most of its life fleeing from boredom rather than predators.

Not me though. Couldn’t happen to me. I was imply too tiny and little to take a chance with those convoluted widgets and watchyoumacallits darting around below me in that forever dark pool that seemed to want to swallow me up and never let me go.

Sure to the old me this would probably be adorable burgeoning on quite silly but the me-me? To the me I was then and there? Absolute surreal horror show from which the only escape was to scamper at maximum speed. Back unto the fabric I went, launching myself into the shirt so as to escape before running out further past it still and dramatically making it to the couch.

What followed then were the hungry days. A week spent dimly aware of my surroundings and their distinct lack of food in the form of bugs. It seemed my roommate had kept a rather tight lid on things since he ran a biotech lab out of here. At least there was plenty of water like stuff to drink in the form of a great big puddle on the table near the center of the room. Just a shame that every drop I drank from said puddle added months to the length of what had become of me.

Then the big maw arrived.

I am thankful that the big maw arrived. I did not recognize him at all. He was my roommate of course, but between my shot through memory and his penchent for body modifications I could only really see those giant teeth clattering on as his chiding transformed into concern and eventual resignation and let me just say that from the bottom of my little leapard gecko heart I love big maw so very much.

Forgetfullness becomes the life of apet. For however dimly aware of the world I am I know that I belong to him. That I am the product of his genetic craft eludes me as vastly as the particulars of his sciences once did. No longer though does he frighten me.

Where once I might have scuttled from his sigh and scent, they now excite me so, because for one he so often brings with him food things for me to hunt and pounce and bite and eat and then…

On other days he changes…

He will look through the glass of my tank after a long day of work and will offer up unto the world a sigh not unlike the one I remember giving to the world one day and he will say things I do not understand but I will enjoy the words because he will take out the eye droppers after and drop into his eyes five little drops each which is just enough drops it seems to turn a big lizard like him into a small lizard like me.

Only these drops are different.

These drops keep him male.

And his so good smell becomes better still and he shrinks down to half his size and pops open the lid and slides on into the so perfect home he has made for me and we grow closer and closer.

So very very close indeed.

I don’t know him but I do know him and I love how much he tries to get to know me and soon we are all licking me favorite things in the world to lick like all the nectar he gives to me.

Then we are climbing and exploring the things he made for me and I am showing him them as though they are like new for because after a while for him they are new too. That thing I once would have called a terrarium perhaps, but now call my home, and I am happy and we are happy and soon he is licking me and I am licking him and then it happens the way I always want it to.

I love it more than anything when we do this. When he goes from exploring with me to exploring me. My body is already so gravid with his eggs from our first time some while or two ago when he first went from simply licking me to sliding something inside of me. I am very glad he has done this and still continues to do this.

The pleasure is my everything. On days when I am at my most thinky and thus most regretful I find pleasure a most welcoming distraction. I secretly wish to be bred forever, to eternally know feel the seemingly too good feeling he makes happen through my body every time he becomes small and little like me everywhere except for where it counts the most of course.

He is so much better smelling like this too!

I have forgotten all other relationships. There is only mate for now, though from the size of my belly I know kin will be on the way soon. Who knows how many, but I hope lots, and that my strange mate who is sometimes big and sometimes small will care for them in ways that no normal gecko could, leapard or otherwise.

And so again too soon I go scampering off and he recoils and I wait for the want of such carnal pleasures to bring him and me back together once again.

Oh how we make love.

It is something worth remembering.