Part 4

Turning from the mirror, Oriana headed for the master bedroom and plunked herself on the floor. She pulled a cardboard box toward her and rummaged through until she found the box of bubble wrap envelopes. Only seven remained from a pack of twenty-five. Grabbing her Sharpie, she crossed her legs and began writing on an envelope:

Spruce Valley Curling Rink – Donation – Anonymous

Oriana placed the envelope on the carpet and found her pocket knife and alcohol wipes in the box. The knife’s blade reflected Oriana’s golden scales as she unfolded it, sending more sparkles across the wall.

The front door, the open highway, called to Oriana but she turned to her phone, found her playlist, and cranked the volume.

As the moan of a cello filled the room, Oriana fished a ceramic mug and a plastic bowl from the box. Bracing the mug upside down against the worn carpet, she dragged the knife’s blade across the edge again and again, her focus locked on the soothing, rhythmic process.

The smell of alcohol and cleaner pricked at Oriana as she pulled a wipe from its packaging. She blocked the outside world from her mind and concentrated on cleaning the sharpened blade, ensuring every inch was disinfected. With her playlist carrying from her phone and filling the room with something normal, Oriana began to peel.

She started on her forearm. She slipped the blade under a golden scale, then pressed down and winced. Biting her tongue and focusing on the melody that danced around her, she pulled back on the knife, a two-inch length of glittering gold coming with it. The raw skin beneath oozed pink. Oriana cleaned the back of the golden piece with a fresh alcohol wipe and placed the glittering flake in the bowl.

Next, Oriana moved to the side of her elbow, mindful of the painful lesson that creases do not heal quickly, and repeated the process.

An hour later, as the battery on her phone burned red, Oriana laid a final piece of gold on top of the pile in the bowl. Body on fire, she gathered the golden flakes in her hands and began to squeeze and shape as though she were merely fashioning a snowball.

When she was satisfied, Oriana dropped the palm-sized brick of gold into the envelope and sealed it. She plugged her phone into the wall, found the next playlist, and rifled through the box for her first-aid kit.

Fire ripped through Oriana as she cleaned the open wounds and spread ointment over every oozing pink patch. The roll of bandage fumbled in her grasp as she covered the open spots until she looked part mummy, part chryselephantine sculpture.

With the box’s contents returned and tucked away for another day, Oriana slipped her pajamas over her head, tucked the bulging envelope under her pillow, and settled under the covers. As her lids grew heavy, her thoughts drifted to her new temporary family and how they would proudly cut a ribbon in front of their renovated curling rink.