I had an idea for a new story come to me in my dreams last night. And now I must write it. I’m pretty thrilled to have something to work on. There will need to be refinement. This is just a first draft. Figured I’d share it as I worked on it.
Soul Transfer was not a spell I wished to be an unexpected recipient of. I also didn’t want to find myself blindfolded, bound in too much rope, floating who knows how high in the sky at the time I registered that baritone phrase flitting through my head. I could only hope that whoever transferred into my body didn’t land Gregory on the floor. I was in the middle of a Grande Jete and Gregory was going to catch. Whatever jerk took over my body had better be thanking me I’d been stretching for weeks to get that split perfect. Finding myself suspended, blindfolded, with blistering cold air rushing across my face, I wished I had left my tendons tight to spite the bastard.
At least I got a wish I had wanted since I was young. And I didn’t need surgery for it, or god knows how many years of therapy and hormone shots and waiting to reach the end of my professional career as a ballet dancer to transition. People ask that asinine question on social media of what you would do if you woke up as a different gender one day. Well. I’ve had the wrong equipment since the day I was born. I think of myself more as gender neutral or pangendered, something like it fits the situation, but outward appearance wise, I sure don’t look like what’s in my head. I know that. I stand in front of mirrors for too many hours a day to recognize the stranger staring back at me as not quite right. You know what? Waking up as the correct physical sensation is pretty epic. Save for the probably going to die in five minutes part. And the general screaming. And really hoping I wasn’t about to die. That wasn’t how I thought I’d get this dream of mine.
The next weird thing to discover about myself in this new, precarious position I find myself in, outside of wondering if I will hear the words Soul Transfer again and end up missing my step and breaking my ankle, is the fact that I can reach a phenomenally high octave. I discovered this upon hearing a twang and subsequently plummeting to earth. I call it earth. I hit a variety of foliage and partially impaled several small twigs into my arms and bruised my ribs pretty good on the way to molded undergrowth and that cold slime of decaying leaves.
I guess when life wants to drop you into life, you just roll with it. Or fall with it. Now, the big arms and low muttering echoing against my side and being flipped over a shoulder and trounced about from the cold undergrowth to a sunny spot. That was outside of my five minutes of expectations I had come to with my new life at this point. Was I to anticipate my archenemy or my hero? Oh wait, what about frenemies? That’s a thing.
My heart was quite certain it still was in the mood to pursue the I’m Going to Die train of thought. My brain was trying it’s hardest to convince it that there was the optimistic potential for this person to not be evil. Then there was the rest of my body that was floundering to not get banged about on the other person’s body or shove those twigs deeper into my skin.
There’s this concept that time stretches when you’re scared, when you’re blind, or when you are experiencing something intense. Time doesn’t do any of that. Time’s a construct, an invention. No. What’s happening is you are flipping out and thinking way too many things and that makes you feel like time slows down because you usually don’t think of that many runaway bunny paths at once. And time had slowed way down for me. There’s also the bit where the flip goes from way too much thought to numb empty brain case where all you become aware of is the air escaping your lungs. I could not tell you which one feels slower. I’m willing to say neither are pleasant, repeatable experiences I wish to be readily subjected to again in the near future.