The Pride Festival Creature

Bob was a big hairy beast. A large muscle bound freak who creaked when he moved.

As the days drew closer to gay Pride week, I noticed changes in Bob. He became withdrawn, sat on the sofa all day to neglect his regular visits to the gym. The muscle eventually turned to fat, the fat turned to liquid and evaporated through his enlarged stinky pores.

'What's wrong with you Bob?' I asked him. He sat still, almost motionless on that sofa, staring at the television through eyes crusted with sleepy dust. He didn't even glance at me to respond.
'I'm getting better...' he spoke hoarsely through his rotten scurvy lips, 'can't you see? I'm getting better...' His breathing was shallow and irregular, wheezing like a punctured tyre. 'I'm getting better...'

Then one morning, as I filled the kettle with water, I noticed Bob lying on the sofa. Concerned that he may have died, I walked over to his body, and noticed that his sweat had hardened to form a thin crusty shell over his skin. It felt hard and oozed yellowy pus as I pressed it. Squeamishly, I picked up his wrist and felt for a pulse. I could feel a weak beat coming from beneath a spiderweb of purple veins. His blood shot eyes opened and his pupils swung slowly around at me.

'Bob, you're not well, I should call a doctor.' I said as I gently laid his arm down by his side.
'I'm getting betterrrr...' he moaned through his strained exhalation. I picked up the phone and called the doctor.

A while later, an unshaven scrawny man showed up. He was carrying a medical bag over his shoulder. A cigarette hung loosely from his bottom lip. 'Where's the fucking patient?' he demanded impatiently as I opened the door, I pointed him over to Bob on the couch. He hurried over and placed the medical bag onto Bob's chest. 'He looks fine, I'm going to prescribe him a couple of shots of penicillin, and we'll see if his condition improves.' He reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe that was tinged with red and a small vial of liquid penicillin.

‘He doesn’t look so great to me, I’m pretty sure he’s dying…’ I stuttered.

He stabbed the needle into the small glass container, ‘Are you a fucking doctor?’

I looked at him. His eyes were piercing and aggressively penetrating, they twitched wildly like restless ants. ‘Are you a fucking doctor?’ he repeated forcefully.

‘Uh… no.’

He threw the empty glass vessel, smashing it against the wall, ‘then shut the fuck up!’ He injected Bob’s pale and lifeless body with the medicine.

‘I just want him to get better.’ I stammered nervously, ‘gay pride week starts tomorrow, and Bob’s never missed a single one.’ The doctor looked at me with a puzzled expression, then proceeded to collect his belongings and promptly left our apartment.

Throughout the night, I maintained a vigil on Bob. The crust around his body appeared to thicken as pustules would erupt beneath the skin. As morning approached, I drifted to sleep in the wooden chair next to him.

I remembered being woken up by the loud sound of cracking as if someone was breaking polystyrene blocks. Through my cloudy vision, I could make out the contours of Bob splitting open and another figure crawling out.

I looked at the form that stood before me. It was Bob; but he looked different. He was wearing a rather flamboyant pink dress. A tall blonde curly wig flounced around his long eyelashes and ruby red lips. Blusher and white powder made a poor attempt to hide his four o’clock shadow. He spun around on his tall platform heels, and giggled as the skirt helicoptered upwards to reveal his thick hairy legs. Bob had transformed into a drag queen.