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The Full Monkey star star star star halfstar


"Ook!"

 

Behind the counter you have wandered over to, an old man sits studying what appears to be an inventory list. At the sound of your altered voice, he turns around without the slightest sign of surprise at your simian looks.

 

"Ah," he says with a brief smile. "That looks good on you, Miss. A perfect fit too."

 

Now that's not what you want to hear. You try explaining your problem, but you can't speak, and somehow your new fingers fail to make the right signs to get the message through. Nevertheless the man nods and walks around the counter until he stands right behind you. "I see," he says. "Let me give you a hand."

 

He gropes along the sides of your head, and seems to find the seam you missed. You feel such a relief at this that it takes a few moments to realize that he's behind you, and rather than pulling the mask forward and off your face, he is stretching the material backwards until the edges meet and merge in the back. A few more swift movement, and the dark furry skin covers your whole neck and everything visible above your blouse. Looking in the mirror behind the counter you realize you're all monkey from the neck up (and then some). And what happened to your hair??

 

Too upset to remember that he doesn't understand what you say, you turn around and start shrieking at the guy until he grabs one of your flailing arms by the wrist.

 

"Easy now, Miss. I can't help you if you keep flailing around like that. CALM!"

 

The last word is spoken in a commanding tone as he brushes the fingers of his free hand across your brow. Suddenly your fear and anger melt away. What are you so upset about? This man knows what he is doing!

 

Sure, he knows, but do you? You just stand watching calmly as he puts his free hand over the place on your pinned arm where your two skins meet. Rather than pull it down, his hand moves slowly upwards past the elbow and up under the short sleeve of your blouse. Under it your arm keeps changing, as if he was stretching the glove to an impossible length.

 

As you look curiously at your almost completely transformed arm, the old man, who you realize must be some kind of wizard, lets go of your wrist and starts giving your other arm the same treatment.

 

"Your first change can be quite upsetting," he says conversationally. "It is important to stay calm and try to enjoy the experience."

 

Turning back to the mirror, you now look like a complete monkey above the counter, and from the way you're itching you are not too sure about what's happening to the covered parts. You take a deep breath, turn to face the wizard and make another try to communicate.

 

This time you do succeed in finding the signs for 'Get it off me!' but while the old man does get the message he gets the subject wrong. Rather than remove what definitely appears to be (or at least have been) a magical costume, he starts unbuttoning your blouse, and you are momentarily distracted by the realization that your chest feels flatter than before. Sure enough, as the fabric is pulled aside it reveals more dark fur. Your bra is hanging limp and useless from your shoulders, and with a few swift movements that is gone too. As you turn your head for a quick glance in the mirror you realize that you are growing shorter, and while you are pondering that the wizard unzips your jeans and lets them fall to the floor. He grabs your arms and lifts you up on the counter for a full view, and you find that you are all chimpanzee - even your eyes have changed - and wearing nothing but your lucky panties.

 

Lucky? Some luck!!

 

"I guess you'll want to hang onto those for now," the wizard remarks. "And when you're ready you can get them off on your own. Ready to go?"

 

Go? Sure, you'd like to get out of here and this body, but that is not what the wizard has in mind. Putting his hands under your arms, he lifts you off the counter, lowers you almost to the floor and with a swift movement he throws you straight up. Anticipating a painful encounter with the ceiling you close your eye and throw up your arms, but you just keep moving upwards.

 

There is a moment of intense heat.

 

There is a moment of total darkness.

 

There is a moment of intense cold.

 

There is a flash of bright light.

 

Suddenly your flailing hands hit something thin and round with a rough uneven surface. Sensing how high up you must be, you grab hold and hang on for dear life. As the world stops spinning you open your eyes slowly.

 

You appear to be up a tree, both literally and metaphorically. You are hanging by your hands on a tree branch, surrounded by green leaves, and there is no telling how far below the ground is. It's warm, and there is a slight breeze carrying the faint scents of a hundred unfamiliar plants and animals. Unknown sounds reach your large ears from near and far.

 

It's not dark, and you are not wearing sunglasses.

 

You are, most definitely, not in Kansas any more.



Written by Won-Tolla on 09 November 2007


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