I have my grandmother’s skin. Her large breasts, body rolls, sharp nose, tiny ankles; they’re all there, in my hands.

I literally have my naked grandmother’s skin in between my hands. It’s hollow, though. Her features are there, but her insides are missing. Her eye sockets are empty, her mouth is uninhabited. I grab what is left of her jaw and drag it open. I put my arm in, seeing how far I can reach. Her liquid body lies on top of my shoulders as I touch the bottom of her heel. It’s an odd feeling. Her skin is soft, but unfamiliar. Not cold, not hot. It looks like my grandmother and smells like her, but I can’t help feeling uneasy at the thought of her naked goop sliding around without its shell. 

A knock resonates from the front door. I run and slap my body on it. Has she come back to take me away for uncovering her secret? I push myself up to reach the peephole. The delivery man. He knocks again, louder this time.

“Mrs. Moss? I have your new fridge.”

I squeal. The fridge!

“It’s 12h15, just like we agreed on…”

I look at the clock in the kitchen. It is 12h15. Where could she be at 12h15 without her skin?

“Mrs. Moss, I’m very sorry but I will have to charge you extra fees if you made me come all this way for nothing…”

And now fees?! I try to think. I can’t answer the door and tell him I don’t know where she is. I look at the skin on the floor.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Moss. I’ll come back another time.”

I open the door in a swift movement. I stand before the man, hidden in her skin.

“OhHh!” I cough, my voice still carrying my youth. “Come in, young man. So sorry… I had put my music so loud, I just couldn’t hear anything!”

I move out of the delivery man’s way, almost tumbling down the stairs as I trip on my grandmother’s feet.

He brings in the fridge, looking at me to indicate where it should be put.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, come with me, my dear. This way…” He follows me to the kitchen. I move the skin on my face around, the eye sockets allowing me only a partial view. I put my fingers in the holes and stretch them as wide as I can, seeing the oncoming fridge only at the last second. I bump into it and fall to the ground. The delivery man runs to me.

“Mrs. Moss, are you okay?!” I groan in pain. I try to rub the bump on my forehead with my skin gloves. Soft footsteps come from behind me.

“What is all of that noise?” asks my grandmother.

She looks at me, her face reddened by the rough fabric of her pillow. I look at her; her own face, pale and flaky, stares back into her eyes. The delivery man looks at me, then at her. I look at him. He screams. I scream. She screams. The man tries to stand, but faints before reaching his goal. His body, not cold, not hot, falls onto the kitchen floor of my skin-wearing grandmother.

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Vianne Lafond is a second year student at Concordia University in the program of Creative Writing. She writes plays, short pieces of comedic fiction, and is starting to touch more and more on poetry! When she's not travelling back and forth to school, she loves to make collages, read, and hike!