The woman was still ringing the bell when Symon slid it away from her with his best customer service smile. 

“Good morning ma'am, Welcome to Raja’s Relics, how are you on this fine morning?” He asked in his almost robotically pleasant customer service voice.

 “Horrible!” The woman snapped. Symon flinched, but didn't break character. “About time this place opens. Do you know how long I was waiting outside? You walked right past me and didn't even say anything!”

“I'm terribly sorry, ma’am. There was some unexpected delays in-”

“I don't care!” she interrupted. “I need you to deal with your mistake.”

“Ah…” Symon had a bad feeling about this. “What seems to be the problem?”

The woman slammed down a wooden music box with such force that Symon twitched at the thought it might break something. “I bought this music box for my daughter and the dancer’s arms are broken!” 

“Heh, well let's calm down and I'll have a look at it okay?”

Symon opened said music box, which was hand carved and as soon as it opened you were greeted with a intricately painted swan lake scene and a dancing ballerina figure in the center. It worked beautifully, but indeed the poor ballerina was missing her arms. 

“She’s a crippled freak!” The daughter spat from across the room.

“Well, Ma’am, I agree it's very unfortunate that this item isn't in mint condition; but I believe I informed you when I sold you this item that it had damage that was irreparable. These things just happen with old items.” He explained. “It was even marked down in value than it would have been if it was a complete piece.”

“This is unacceptable!” The mother shouted. “I want a new one!”

“As much as I'd love to do that for you, I’m afraid that’s not possible. This stopped being manufactured 30 years ago. Hence why it was in an antique shop.” Symon argued. “But the shop has many unique and beautiful items in stock, so perhaps you'd like to trade this for another item of equal value?” 

“No. I want this music box, and I’m not leaving here without a proper gift for my little girl. I want this fixed now.” She demanded.

“I mean, I suppose I could try to recreate the arms with some clay but-”

“I don't want you tampering with it. I want it in its original condition.” 

“Ma’am, the original arms were broken before we even acquired the item, they are long gone.” Symon tried to reason, when he picked up the sound of rattling on the shelves. He glanced over in horror to see the young girl trying to reach for a porcelain doll on the shelf. “Ah! Y-young lady please be careful and leave that alone, it's quite fragile.”

“Don’t talk to my daughter like that. Let her play with the doll.” The mother snapped.

Symon’s eye twitched. “I am certainly not trying to overstep, but I need to be clear that it's not a toy, it's a display ite-”

CRASH-!

“Oops.” The young girl mumbled as she knocked the doll over, causing its face to shatter on the floor.

Symon made a sound in his throat that could only be compared to a dog being kicked in the stomach. He could feel his anxiety rising and his throat closing up. A nerve twitched in his forehead.

“That could have injured my daughter! What kind of place are you running here?!”

“I’ll… go clean that up.” He mumbled through smiling teeth.

He grabbed a broom and started sweeping. The child on the other hand pouted.

“Everything in this dumb shop is broken!” She kicked the wall, causing items on the shelves to rattle.

“Stop doing that!” He snapped, shooing her away from the shelves with the broom.

“How dare you touch my little girl!” The mother huffed. 

“Or perhaps you should learn to parent your child.” Symon snarked, losing the patience to handle things politely. “Do you know how expensive that was?”

“You should keep it out of reach of children.”

Symon could feel his blood pressure rising. His stomach tightened. His head throbbed. He was too unwell for this. “And you should keep your child on a leash!” 

The mother gasped in offense, but Symon had no energy to care. No, instead, his head felt like it was going to explode. He gripped his head and yelled out as it felt like something was burrowing into his skull. The pain was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and his body felt so hot. 

He could hear the woman saying something to him, but the rushing of his own blood in his ears made it impossible to hear. He was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He excused himself and rushed into the bathroom in the back. He turned on the light only briefly, as its flash banged his eyes and burned. He allowed the room to stay dark as he blindly stumbled to the sink and retched. 

He heard the tiny clink of something hard hitting the sink and warm fluid dripping from his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw a tooth, his tooth, sitting in a small pool of blood. His eyes shot up to the mirror to check his mouth. His gums were swollen and bleeding out of nowhere. He also noticed blood trickling from his forehead. He felt his hair brush up against something that shot uncomfortable sensations down into the back of his neck, As he brushed his hair away he looked on in horror at two long, thick hair like growths that formed out of the welts on his head. They were extremely sensitive, and he jumped a little when he saw them twitch and move like they were alive.

They were insect antennae.

He fell against the wall behind him in a panic; unable to control his breathing. He let out a fearful wail. What was happening to him?

The tiny bathroom was so hot and suffocating, but he couldn't let anyone see him in this state. He collected his teeth and watched his face with cold water, which sent a shock into his now sensitive antennae. 

He stumbled out of the bathroom, face red and soaked. The woman noticed the blood on his shirt and squinted.

“I think you should leave.” Symon mumbled.

“What? Why I-” 

“Please. Leave!” Symon pleaded, voice dripping with frustration. 

The woman stuck up her nose and dragged her child out of the shop with her, leaving Symon alone in silence. He was quick to change the sign for the shop to “closed” to make sure no one else came in during his crisis.

He hugged himself and drifted back to the floor. Something was wrong with him. He wasn't just sick with the flu, his body felt strange. The antennae freely poked out his bangs, wriggling and taking in scents and pheromones he wasn't used to. It was overwhelming. But he didn't wanna retreat back home just yet. No, his father would just call him a layabout again.

He hid his antennae behind his bangs and continued working in a haze. He retreated into the back of the store, attempting in vain to fix the poor porcelain doll. Her face was broken in so many tiny pieces that she would certainly never look the same even if he did put them back together. A once rare and valuable item became worthless in a mere instant.

Symon wished to just retreat into the back room for the entirety of his shift, but with great fortune to his wallet and misfortune to his sanity, Raja's store was incredibly popular. And anyone who has ever spent even a moment in the shoes of a customer service worker knows the pain of dealing with people back to back. Especially when said people frequently argue with you about prices and values, question your intelligence and get angry when they don't get their way. Symon had become quite good at being yelled at over the years, but today managing people was extra nerve wracking, as he tried to shove down his growing anxiety, and hide his unwanted new features under an oversized hat that made his head look too big for his body. 

He tried to tell himself it could be worse. He could be with Raja right now on one of his many trips to the Linabo street market. He'd always insist that it was more profitable to bring the goods to people than the other way around. Those street markets were always an assault to every sense in his body. They were loud, crowded, hot with sweaty people and foul smells. You'd have to shout at the top of your lungs to get heard, and Symon had much experience screaming over a horde of chatter to get attention to their little booth, and ending the day with no voice left, only to sleep in a dingy hotel with bugs and bad springs, and eat grease soaked street food before doing it all over again the next day. Thinking about all that left him thankful he was here in the quiet shop. At least here, he could find himself zoning out, and wandering his own imagination instead. The market streets, on the other hand, are too loud to even hear yourself think.

But as his luck tends to swing, his problems wouldn’t end there. Later that evening he found himself cleaning up before closing when without warning, a wave of searing pain washed over him. It was body shock as if he was being electrocuted. He dropped his broom and collapsed to the floor. He gasped for air and wrapped his arms around his stomach. He groaned as he felt horrendous gurgling and shifting in his gut. It was as if his internal organs were being pulled like taffy and slithering into new positions. His stomach bloated up and his back stiffened into a hunch.

His thoughts were a mix of What is happening to me? And God make it stop! But words refused to come out. Instead bile rose into his mouth and onto the floor uncontrollably.

His muscles bubbled and he heard something snap. His hands and feet cramped up, and he stared as his fingers popped and cracked. Elongating. Fusing together. He screamed, but no one was around to hear him. It was like a nightmare. He had to be experiencing some sort of medical emergency that was causing him to hallucinate.

He had to get home.

Determined to not lose control of his body, he mustered up enough strength to flip over, pushing the burning pain and disturbing visuals to the back of his mind. He managed to grab the broom and with some effort pull himself up to a standing position. His legs shook violently beneath him, and he practiced breathing to manage the pain.

He hobbled out the back entrance, he’d be taking the alleyway to his house. He couldn’t dare let himself be spotted by anyone and start a scene. He was thankful that whatever affliction he’d been dealt decided to manifest late at night, where the cover of dark would keep anyone from seeing the changes on his body; if they were even real of course…

His home was only a few miles away, but every step took tremendous effort. He leaned up against a wall to maintain balance as his spine cracked and curved, and he’d bite down on his tongue to keep from letting out the visceral scream that escaped his throat. 

 He saw colors flashing in response to a pressure behind his eyes, causing his vision to go blurry. His tears burned as they were pushed out by the swelling. He let out an agonized whimper when it became too much to bear. He was navigating like a blind infirm, feeling his way around and using the vague colors of blurry shapes to get his bearings.

He eventually found his street, then his house, then his steps, and his door. Part of him was almost proud of getting this far. He’d like to see his father call him weak now

Once again, the front room was vacant. No one was around to help him, even if he wanted help. But he didn't want help. He didn't even want his family to see him like this. He didn't even bother to turn on the lights as he crawled his way to the stairs and up onto his room.

Sleep… I just… need sleep. He told himself as he had to take breaks every couple of steps to catch his breath, even then, he kept pushing himself to keep moving, feeling as though if he stopped for too long, he'd give in and collapse there, and his family would surely find him. The last thing he needed from his father was a tongue lashing over passing out on the stairs. 

As soon as he crossed the boundary of his room, his body gave out and he quivered, muscles aching and chest burning as he heaved shallow, uncontrolled panting. Everything felt like he had run a marathon and then stumbled directly off a cliff afterwards. As he suspected, as soon as he stopped moving, any will to move again evaporated. Even the simple act of kicking the door shut sent shuddering pains down every bone in his body.

He couldn't even pull himself any further to get into the comfort of his own bed, instead, curling up into the fetal position and sleeping there on the cold, hard floor, hoping in the morning, everything would be normal again.