I woke befuddled and leaden, having to piss like there was no tomorrow. But it was, as a matter of fact 2:59 a.m tomorrow. I glanced at the clock radio and swore. Life's pressures were getting to me. Uncomfortable in my skin, I had been waking more and more often to go to the bathroom.

I stumbled from bed, wincing at the cold of the hardwood floor under my feet. I switched on the light, squinting against the glare. I was taken aback to see it sitting in the chair by the bedroom window. It was my skin. No doubt about it. After all, it had been mine for more than thirty years. If anyone could make a positive identification, it was me. It was clearly just my skin, and it had retained the shape of my body.

I looked down. Sure enough, my body was unpleasantly skinless. I was relieved that the level of pain one might expect in such circumstances was--thankfully--not present, though I did experience a cool tingling all over, and the air seemed to have grown more dense.

My skin appeared to be autonomous and regarded me with an attitude of disdain.

"Where do you think you're going?" it said. I jumped at the sound of my voice over there. Odd that my vocal chords were commandeered into this--er--skinny person. Did that mean I couldn't speak?

"Excuse me," I said, testing, bristling with indignation and a modicum of terror. "I don't like your tone of voice. You are my skin after all. What are you doing off of me?"

My skin shifted in the seat and crossed its arms - the classic defensive posture.

"Well?" I stood by the door, crossing my own somewhat more substantial arms. They squished against each other--rather distracting.

"Well, what?"

"Well, what are you doing off of me?"

"I don't owe you any explanations."

I flushed--sort of.

"You most certainly do owe me an explanation. I'll have it now."

My skin now looked like a child who'd been scolded. It must have known that, even though it could get away with a bit of fun, it was ultimately dependent on me for survival. What really rankled is that I was in the same predicament.

"I guess I was feeling kind of tied down."

I emitted a short barking laugh.

"So sorry to have inconvenienced you." I took a few steps toward it and leaned down. "Look, I am going to take a leak. When I come back I want you back on me. This is not a matter for debate."

I turned and.stalked into the bathroom. I stood over the open toilet, looking down, my mind beginning to buckle at the idea of how to cope with this particular activity now.

My skin spoke. "Alright. I've got you covered."

"Very clever. I said, with relief.

§ § §

William I. Lengeman III has published non-fiction in Saveur, Historic Traveler, Terra Nova, and the anthology, An Ear to the Ground. His fiction and poetry has appeared or been accepted for publication in AlienSkin, Andromeda Spaceways, City Slab, Dark Krypt, Deep Magic, The Dream People, Flashshot, The Harrow, Inkburns, Insolent Rudder, SDO Fantasy, and Word Riot. His humor e-book, S*** Happened, A Concise and Somewhat Confused Guide to History, is available from Booklocker.com. His web site, 499-Word Tales For The Modern Age, is located at http://wileng.home.mindspring.com/.

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This piece was first published in INK POT #1 - 2003, a literary journal.