A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.
Chapter VI: Day/Page 52 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . The withered wretch reaches out a bent gnarled finger to protect the moth from the flame, and when she does, when she touches the moth, she ignites the flash of a kinetic spark, and the luminous green of the moth fades back to grey and black, while the sallow withered skin of the superannuated hag is transformed to a vibrant, robust pink. The flesh of her hands and arms and body swell. Her joints loosen and retighten with renewed vigor and strength. The matted hoary mane grows full, becomes lustrous and inky black. Her back straightens, her teeth return, and her eyes now blaze like sparkling green emeralds in brilliant bright light.
When the metamorphosis is complete, Sofia’s life-force usurps the body of the ancient woman, transmuting it to when she was 50 years younger. Fleeting memories of the woman’s venerated past remain, but Sofia’s life-force is dominant now, holding preeminent rule and domain.
Sofia jerks into consciousness and finds herself sitting cross-legged on the sodden banana-leaf carpet in the dismal little shack.
(I did it. I’m here. I’m on the Blue Planet.
But what the hell is this place?
Someone actually lives here… in this dirty little hovel… on purpose?)
Sofia glances down at the body she now wears. She studies her new hands in the dim candlelight, finding them not so unlike her own. (Good, I still have five fingers, that’s nice. But they’re kind of stubby, compared to mine—and what’s with those hideous nails?)
Instead of slender gracile talons, her fingernails are now blunt and thick. Her new arms and legs are similar to her own as well, she observes, though sturdier and stronger; and her skin feels smooth and glabrous, without a trace of her feathery down. (All my feathers are gone. How bizarre. This is my body now!)
She curiously, tentatively, anxiously lifts the tattered hem of the dress to examine her groin. (Oh, thank god! I’m a female!) She pats her chest and feels breasts. (Good… two of those, too. Whew! I can certainly do without having a flat hairy chest and a dick poking out. This is change enough already.)
Under different, more relaxed circumstances, Sofia would have enjoyed experiencing what it was like to have a male body—she’d always been curious—but, given everything else she had to contend with on this foreign world, she was thankful to have the more familiar female form.
She glances around the shack. Seeing nothing she can use for a . . .
TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW. . . .
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James All rights reserved