I was born with a birthmark around my neck shaped like a zip, it even had a mole which hung like a zipper. People would laugh and I was told it couldn’t be removed, and make up didn’t do much good, for people knew, as if they could smell my difference.
Walking in the street one day I happened to stumble upon my boss, and fellow classmates from my teenage years. They all made a point of telling me to zip it, one too many zip its. People pointed thanks to the attention I was getting, and I was feeling real faint over it all. An old time classmate came up to me and pulled at my zipper mole, making a zipper noise as he did it. It hurt like hell and started to bleed, but I’d been pulled through worse.
But the camel’s back had snapped, it snapped long ago, and now I was going to react, because that’s what they want, that’s what they’ve wanted for a long time. I decided to show them how it’s done and I grabbed my zipper mole and slowly peeled it across the black marks which zig zagged around my neck. My skin began to peel, blood began to flow.
I pulled the skin which made my face over my head, wearing it like a hood, then grabbed and tore at the neck to widen the hole. My arms wiggled out of my stretched skin, and from there I crawled on out of my skin. People couldn’t keep their eyes off me, they watched each movement, and vomit filled the streets.
I left my skin crumpled on the floor and walked off, naked and red. A trail of blood followed, but no big deal, I’d had enough of the skin I lived in. I made a grown man cry and I happily told him to zip it. You could see how I was made up, all my muscles and veins. And for once I felt like they could point.