Marigold by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — L337 1337 words according to Word and a manual count (don't trust OpenOffice) from below the break. Come on, that's short enough you shouldn't need a synopsis.

I knew something was up the moment Tweedledum and Tweedledee fell through the door laughing. I waited, they'd let me in on their gag soon enough.

“Hey, Doctor Dress code.” Shawn (Tweedledum) said with an emphasis on the 'dress' for any cerebrally challenged listeners. “There's someone down in interrogation room three who's right up your alley. The inspector asked if you would go talk to him.”

I grabbed my pencil and pad and headed for the cells, their hysterical laughter following me out the door. Recent legislation required all LGBT workers in public services declare themselves. On the downside, everyone knew which meant me getting flak from all sides. On the up side, I could dress how I wanted to work, not that I would of course, given the trouble with people just knowing. I made it down to IR3 and popped my head in.

“Hello James,” Inspector Thomas said. “We have an odd one here, as you can see,” he indicated them man sitting at the table, a little grubby, but otherwise normal, other than the pair of white, silk gloves that would have gone better with a sleeveless cocktail dress. “He's not a danger, but he refuses to talk. I was wondering if you could have a go. You know, given your, er, special understanding in these matters.”

The constable standing at the door snorted, then stared straight ahead as the inspector stared him down.

“Can I talk to him on my own?”

“In this case, I guess I can allow it. Benson will wait outside and only come in if you call, won't you constable?”

“Sir.”

They left, closing the door behind them. I sat opposite the odd character, placing my pad and pencil on the table.

“Hi. As you probably heard, my name's James.” He flinched away from my hand as though he had been stung. I tried a different approach.

“The reason the inspector asked me to talk to you, is because I'm transgendered. I like to express myself as a woman sometimes.” I hated owning up to it, especially to strangers, but if it got the results...
 
“I'm not trans-whatever.” Genuine indignation. Not what I expected.

“Then what's with the gloves?”

“You wouldn't believe me.” He hung his head, obviously deeply troubled by something.

“Try me.”

He regarded me carefully for a full minute. Something about my frankness must have made a difference.

“Alright, but you've been warned. Even I don’t believe it and it happened to me."
 
“I’m down on the beach this afternoon and find this old bottle in the sand. I brush the sand off but I can’t see anything through the glass, so I cleans this waxy stuff off the top and pops the cork.
 
“Straight away it starts streaming smoke and this enormous figure appears, laughing fit to bust. 'You have freed me, 'he says, 'I will grant you one wish.'

“Now all my life, everything I put my hands to turned to shit, so I tells this character, I wants everything I touch with my hands to become beautiful.

“'Done,' says he. 'How do I know?' says I. 'Look at the bottle,' says he, so I does and there's this beautifully ornate bottle covered in gold leaf and inlaid with mother of pearl. He sees that I'm satisfied and scoots off across the sea.

“So there I am sifting sand through my fingers and collecting the gold dust that falls from them, picking up pebbles and watching them turn into diamonds the size of dove's eggs, and I get this itch on my arm and reach over to scratch it all natural like.

“The next thing I know, I have a woman's arm and hand. Soft skin, hairless, slim delicate fingers, the works. I can't quite believe this is happening so I reach across and pinch my other arm. Yeah, guess what, now I've got two beautiful, slender, soft, milky smooth arms and hands, only they're attached to this body.

“I figure if I touch someone by mistake, I'm going to turn them into a girl or at least part of one, so I start panicking. There's this supermarket nearby so I runs up to it doing my best mad homeless guy impression, shouting 'don't touch me'. I search down the aisles until I find the kitchen supplies, and I grab a packet of marigolds. They only have smalls, but then that’s what fits me now. I rip the bag open and pull them on. Next thing I know I'm wearing these.” He held the white gloves up for me to look at.

“The shop owner starts yelling at me that I'm wrecking his place, so I chuck him one of my new diamonds hoping this will shut him up, but he turns out to be one of the honest ones. He calls the police and here I am.”

“So do the gloves work?” Regardless of how crazy something sounds, it's important to make it seem like you believe. There was something else here though. His hands did seem small.

He touched the table and nothing happened. Answer given.

“I wonder if you'd show me.” I pushed my pencil across the table. “You want me to believe you, this should be easy to prove.”

He shrugged his shoulders and peeled off a glove off. The next moment I have a golden pencil. Coldness flooded me. This was real.

An insane idea took me. Before I could think it through, I reached across and grabbed his bare hand.

“No,” he cried. “What are you doing?”
 
No tingling, no sensation of change, but suddenly there’s a woman’s slender hand on the end of my arm.
 
“I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, but you could help me.”
 
“What do you mean?”

I pointed at my hand and his.

“You don't want this. I get that, and I'm sorry, but I do. You could make my dreams come true, just by touching me. Look, you haven't committed a crime, but you have the means here to become a very wealthy man, and make a lot of people very happy.”

“How?”

“Do this for me and I'll help you. Just, do this, let me be sure it works before I tell you more.”

He nodded his head, conflicted but allowing himself to be led by my eagerness. I quickly stripped off my clothes down to my boxers while he removed his other glove. Over the next five minutes he passed his delicate touch over every part of my body, transforming me by degrees into a supermodel. All except for the contents of my boxers. I slipped them off and turned to him.

“I know this is asking a lot, but complete me please.”
 
I was breathing hard as his reluctant hands passed over my buttocks, smoothing them, rounding them. He closed his eyes and allowed me to guide his touch to my genitalia. They shrank and drew inside of me leaving me complete, as I had always wanted to be.

“Hard parts over, now just my clothes please.”

It was the work of moments. My shoes grew slim and elegant with stiletto heels, socks became stockings, boxers panties, my suit into a skirt suit and my shirt into a silk blouse.

By the time the inspector returned we were sitting talking through plans about setting up the ultimate beauty salon. It took a while to convince the inspector who I was, but once I did it was easy to persuade him that their prisoner had done nothing wrong, nor was he insane or a danger to himself or anyone else.

I go by Jamie now. It took a bit of money to buy the ID, but when you know someone who can turn rocks into diamonds, that's not so hard to come by. He's happy enough too. We have an amazing house by the coast and he gets to be with all the beautiful girls he wants. Of course they're not always beautiful when they arrive... Or girls for that matter.