The Lizard Wizard

I sneeze for the umpteenth time from the unsettled dust sprites using my home as a shedding spot. The glass tube I’m holding slithers between my fingers, though I’m able to recover just in time to tighten my grip. The murky green liquid swirling inside sloshes and settles. My cumbersome hat flops over my eyes. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is another accident in the workshop. There’s a reason that the nobles all refuse to keep replacing my assistants.

Bah!

Humans have proven useless to me. I don’t once regret holing myself at the helm of this old tower. Sure, it may be cold, dim and  up with dust sprites but the isolation is invigorating. Also, since I’ve situated myself upon the edge of the town, I am privy to the finest view of the forest. I removed the rotting wooden shutters to the window above my desk upon moving into the place, just so I could overlook this glory of nature every day, all day as I work. I find it inspiring.

It’s also very distracting.

Straightening my hat and cloak, I glance back over the workbench before me. A plethora of colourful, bubbling fluids encased in bottles and pots are laid out in disorganised form. Not even I know what half of them do. A wizard need not know everything, but only be unafraid to try everything.  

Perhaps I shouldn’t speak so soon however?

As I reach over to place the tube I’m holding back on the table, I feel that well of burning discomfort erupt without warning in my nose.

 “Ah…”

No.

“Ah...ah…”

Not now, come on!

“ACHOO!”

The force of the sneeze sends my body into a brief convulsion. Apparently, one so powerful that at once I recognise the implications of the tinkle of various glasses all shattering at once. Despite the open window, the smog that ruptures from the mess is so thick that it swiftly envelops the room. One inhale and I’m on the floor choking. My lungs feel like they’re going to explode!

I shut my watering eyes and curl into myself, collapsed and unable to sense the world around me. 

Seconds, minutes, hours pass. I’m not sure. I stick out my tongue.

I’m treated to the amalgamated smell of gases my little mind recognises yet cannot remember. All I know is it stinks. I plod and pace across the floor in frustration. Some instinct deep within compels me to wiggle my butt aggressively. The weight of something hanging limply, loosely dragging back and forth as I wiggle disturbs me, as natural as it feels.

I stick out my tongue again. The taste of fog still hasn’t dissipated. In frustration I dig my feet into floor, the roughness of the stone scraping against my appendages. By the intensity of the feeling I can understand that somehow, by all miracles, my horribly chewed up fingernails have somehow grown.

Let’s test something here.

I stick my tongue out one more time to lick at my hands. What I am treated to are not exactly hands. 

They’re dry, skinnier, with scaly bumps and small, sharp extensions where my fingernails should be. 

The physiology is rather…rather…

My mind is slipping. I’d say it was old age, but I had a good few years left. No, whatever happened is decaying my brain. I plod around in circles for a bit, constantly flickering my tongue in and out so as to stay alert of my surroundings. The fog appears to be dissipating into a thin mist that dries out my eyes. Despite my best efforts my eyelids don’t appear to move. Sadly, the only solution I can fathom is to wet them myself. Reluctantly, I lick them clean. The revolting sensation sends my body into disgusted shivers. Once this is over, I gander a look around the room. This proves difficult when the midday light burns my poor little retinas. Pushing through this, I can see shapes, some colours but other than that it’s a mild blur.

How useful. No matter though. It’s as I said…something about not knowing and experimenting. I forget. No choice but the venture forth I suppose. It takes a few minutes to adjust to the awkward new placement of my limbs, though with enough effort I’m able pick up a nice scoot. Heading in a random direction, in a few circles, I discover that I’m somehow more easily manoeuvring around…

CRACK!

The smack of my skull against whatever object is in my path explodes in a blinding pain unlike any I’ve ever known, Sure, I’ve whacked my head on doorways before, but this?

This is excruciating!

It’s like my entire structure feels weaker than before. Discomfort flares, causing me to the scratch at 

the thing with the sharp tips of my little feet. A weird tingle, like the buzz of static, resonates between my foot and the object. Out of sheer curiosity I place my other front foot upon it. The same sensation.

I reach a little further, and further, until I find myself halfway up the object, clinging tightly. It feels a lot like wood. Too smooth to be a tree.

Wait…my desk perhaps?

Utilising the strange smooth stickiness I have to this surface, I glide upwards and over the edge, halting immediately after pricking my foot on an almost invisible shard. Curse this terrible eyesight. 

Flicking out my tongue by compulsion, the smell of blood mixing with in with faints wisps of 

otherworldly tangs catches my attention. Licking downwards, I swallow up the sources of the smells. 

To my dismay, for everything I taste it yields no results. I am still…still…

Reptilian!

That’s word I was searching for. I knew whatever it was, it wasn’t human. Perhaps ‘it’ is the wrong referral here. After all, it is I who is no longer human.

I suppose that’s not entirely the worst thing.

Tilting my stiff neck upwards, the remnants of my human memory recalls the ivy vines that trail down from the outer edges of the window. I feel my head bobbing, like it’s saying ‘yes, go on!’

Within seconds I skitter up and out the tower, eager to explore a world I never would have known as I was before.