Everyone has a story to tell, right? Stuck on ball of dirt orbiting the sun at twenty kajillion miles an hour, lost in the haze of one galaxy piled on another, but we all believe we're the centre of the universe. Nobody bothers to think about why we're here, what our purpose is, or who is pulling all the strings that make us dance.

Whoa, stop. Rewind.

Okay, this isn't nearly that big a deal. I got a little carried away there, self importance and all. What I'm talking about isn't going to change your life. Nope, my story isn't quite what you'd expect from a girl charting the events of her life in some blog (besides, I can't camwhore. I do have standards, ya know).

This is just a sweet tale about what happens when you take life for granted, and how the world could be if things were just a little different.

So relax, sit back and walk a mile in my shoes. Why? Because stuff like this is good for your soul. Trust me.

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I sank a little deeper into the passenger seat of Nicks 79’ Camero, blazing hot summer pouring in the car through open windows. I could feel cracked upholstery pressed against me, slick with sweat against my skin. Nick craned his neck, looking over from the driver’s seat. “Close the damn window, that’s what I bought the air-conditioner for.”

I smirked lazily “Gee...let me see....hmmm....wait for it.........no.”

“Stop being brutally retarded and just close the window”.

My smile broadened “No way. Besides, I think the air-con is broken anyway.”

Nick gave me a confused look. “What?”

“Well it's either broken, or there’s a howling void that's opened up inside that leads to the waffle-dimension.”

Nick shook his head “I don’t get it.”

“Warranty doesn’t cover shit like that. I think you're screwed.” I added.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I could smell asphalt burning in the afternoon sun, its acrid smell lingering on the wind while we made our way through suburbia. At first glance, most people would call us a couple of geeks. But see, that's not really how I view myself. Of course, I'm petty sure Uwe Boll doesn’t see himself as the harbinger of the apocalypse, so maybe I haven't thought this through completely.

Not that it really matters, since we fit right in at college. Both Nick and I are in the final year of our majors, with Nick studying commercial art while I'm sticking with computer science. But hey, today's the day we finally move into our new place. Sure, twenty two is a little late for me to be taking the plunge, but it's not like Nick's any better. Amongst other things, it's my solemn hope that it'll finally start paying dividends with ladies, if you know what I'm saying. Try saying “Let’s go back to your place, I think my parents are still playing Twister” and see how far it gets you.

So the Nick and I pooled our funds and came up with just enough cash to rent a house a little south of Delacroix High, which I figured was a pretty good deal, provided I don’t have to yell at the Emo kids to get off my lawn.

For those of you who can’t keep up, here’s a little Culture 101:

Emo: Noun; A teenager who feels that Punk cannot truly convey their depth of emotional pain, but lacks the commitment to be completely Goth. And that’s Goth in the actual sense, not the stereotypical crap you see on MTV.

The Camero rolled smoothly into the driveway of our new abode, stopping gently inside the garage. The place was an old redbrick home built in the mid 80’s with a spacious front yard and wooden fence. The grass was lush and green, scattered with pine needles and wilted leaves that crackled underfoot.

I was surprised at how cheaply we were able to rent the place, considering it being a decent chunk of land with a two bedroom house planted in the middle. I'd heard rumours that the previous owner left mysteriously due to an illness in the family, which prepared me for the possibility of corpses being hidden under the floorboards. Nick suggested we hang them out front as a lawn ornament.

Okay, introductions begin….now: The name is Kane, but you can call me “Special K” if you want. I’ve yet to get any takers on that offer, by the way. Big words, I know. But I’m a pretty big guy. That’s big tall, not big fat. I keep my hair long and uncut, since I can barely afford instant ramen let alone any kind of personal grooming.

Nick is pretty tall too, but in more of a beanpole kind of way. Short blonde hair he keeps trimmed with clippers, or steak knife, I could never tell. He stood beside me, wearing khaki shorts and T-Shirt that read “I wish I could hate you to death”. Classy stuff.

I took a step inside, and immediately felt a sense of relief wash over me. This place was ours. No more parents. No more cleaning up. No more “You’re not wearing that outside the house, you look like some homeless person, go and find something else.” The world suddenly seemed so full of limitless possibilities.

While drinking in the newfound sense of freedom, I spied a door which I hadn’t paid any attention to previously. We’d inspected the place in kind of a rush, so it made sense there were one or two things that had escaped my notice.

I opened the door, which compelled a frightening sensation to slam into me with full force. Have you ever felt like you were wading through tar? Stupid question, don’t answer. Everything just felt wrong. Not a gut feeling, not superstition. The kind of wrong you feel with every fibre of your being, right to the bone.

I watched as Nick became aware of the sensation, his expression settling somewhere between horror and morbid curiosity “Okay....this is a little odd.”

“I think I’ve found the reason for the dramatic fall in property value” I replied flatly.

“No shit.” He murmured.

I took a step back and felt the odd sensation ebb away. “I nominate this as the storage room.”

“Seconded” Nick nodded in agreement. “And while we’re at it, I call the far bedroom. “

“That only leaves one more bedroom.”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“The one right across the hall.”

Nick frowned, puzzled by my expression “Why are you staring at me like that?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m trying to make your heart explode.”

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Some days you’re the pigeon, some days you’re the statue. And some days the clock radio wakes you up three hours early because it’s been set to completely the wrong time. I couldn't tell if it was playing commercial radio or if Nick had filled my bed with scorpions. The pain was too blinding to tell. I reached over and slapped the alarm wearily, ignoring the lingering sounds of the Billboard top 40 boring into my skull.

Cool floorboards flexed gently beneath me with every step, still barely conscious as I made my way to the kitchen fridge. I tried to fix myself a cup of coffee, but just wound up spilling it everywhere before I could even guide the sugar into the cup.

The ruckus I was making seemed to awaken Nick, who shuffled out of his bedroom, looking at me dispassionately. ”What are you doing, man?”

I held up the cup I'd been pouring coffee into. “I'm in the kitchen, staring into your favourite mug and altering its behaviour in ways that will not be obvious.”

His expression didn't change a bit. “I always hated you....I always hated you the most.”

Nick disappeared into the bathroom while I snagged a piece of leftover pizza, taking a thoughtful a bite. We’d spent yesterday unpacking and moving furniture the whole afternoon, trying to get it all done in one hit.... which is great in theory. Everything works in theory, even Communism. In reality the whole experience left me completely exhausted, weary from the first exercise I’d done in longer than I'd care to remember. I had expected to feel worse for wear the next day, but this felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

A little short on motivation, I fell into the couch and flicked on the television. Pulling a curtain of hair behind my ears, I settled into a dull stupor until Nick emerged from his bedroom some time later, fully dressed and looking less sociopathic on the whole.

“Yo.” He muttered as he made his way to the fridge, noting where I’d spilt all the coffee.

“Better get back to bed dude, the beauty sleep isn’t working yet.”

Nick flipped me the bird as he pulled a bottle of milk from the depths of the fridge, pouring himself a bowel of cereal. Taking a bite, he sat beside me on the couch. “What’s on?”

“Crap.” I said nonchalantly.

He looked at me with a pained expression “Then change the channel.”

“I would....but that would require effort.”

He punched me in the shoulder playfully, before returning to watching the TV. I didn’t see it, but Nick studied me for a moment before going back to eating his breakfast.

Being a Saturday, we didn’t have to go back to college until Monday. And being in college, we didn’t have any money. So the two of us felt quite content to lounge around the house all day, wasting time on video games and obscure Japanese anime.

It was during one of these cultural cinema sessions that Nick ventured into my bedroom, trying to find a network cable to connect his Xbox to the local network. He rummaged through my drawers while I barely paid him any attention, instead focusing on the animated mayhem playing out on my flatscreen. Nick paused, considering his words for a moment before speaking up. “You look kinda different. Have you colored your hair or something?”

I craned my neck, eyeing him curiously. “Nope. What, you think that I did?”

He looked at me closely for a moment, as if he knew the answer but it still eluded him. “Well, it’s longer and kinda dark. I figured you were going to grow it out or something.”

I shrugged off his comment and turned back to the monitor. “Might want to try getting out in the sun, too much time in that little tomb you’ve set up is damaging your eyesight.”

“Fuck you.” He muttered. “I like to keep my curtains drawn.”

“Sure, I don’t want to know what’s going on in your room anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I did mention the fuck you, right?”

With the witty banter portion of the conversation concluded, Nick disappeared into his bedroom (henceforth known as the Fortress of Solitude) leaving me undisturbed for the rest of the day. Warm afternoon sunlight slowly bled in the murky ink of night, and before I knew it the light of the alarm clock was burning “3:00am” into my corneas. I shut my computer down, feeling a shiver creep up my spine as I glanced at the storeroom. If this were a typical Hollywood movie, our house would have been built on an ancient burial ground, probably of a sacred moose. At any moment the phantom moose could break free of its spiritual prison to spread evil among helpless teenage girls.

Now that I think about it, maybe a phantom moose wouldn’t be a bad thing.

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On reflection, waking up three hours early yesterday hadn’t been so bad, now that I had something for comparison. This was largely due to fact that I couldn’t see anything at all. My first reaction was that the zombie apocalypse had finally begun, and the first thing they’d done was devour my eyes. My second reaction was realizing how goddamn stupid that was: Everyone knows zombies eat your brain first.

Sadly nobody had come in the night to feast on my noggin. Instead I came to realize my vision was obscured by a veil of long, smooth hair that tickled my skin with the slightest movement. .

Most people would freak out in a situation like this. However given that I’d already been “Antiqued” once before by Nick and a large canister of cornflower, the idea that he’d strapped a Persian cat to my head didn’t seem so far fetched.

Shuffling into the bathroom, I leant forward and peered into the mirror’s reflection. I could see that my hair was a now good deal longer, lapping at the top of my shoulders. That wouldn’t have been quite so odd if I could explain how it had shifted from a light brown to a lustrous ebony hue. I reached back and pulled the dark mane behind my ears, giving me a better view of the production that had gotten underway without me. I gazed into my visage, slowly noting other changes that had taken place over the night. Nothing was really obvious, but if you’ve lived in my body for as long as I have, you have a pretty good idea of where everything should be.

It wasn’t just one thing I could put my finger on, it was like everything was tweaked slightly, making things smaller and kinda elegant....or something. Maybe I'm not explaining this very well. I took a deep breath and tried to relax, walking to my room while trying to rationalize this. Maybe I was struck down by some weird, exotic disease bought on by global warming and the migration of unladen African swallows.

That wasn't the end of it either. I hate to skip on details here.... but it's not really something I like to think about. You know how sometimes something really bad happens, and you just need to block it out? Like not only do you refuse to think about it, but you actually don't want to remember that you refuse to think about it. And that's in a “la-la-la I'm not listening!” plug your fingers in your ears kinda way.

So let's make a deal, kay? I'm going to skip over the next few weeks. Yeah, I know, you feel cheated. You want to hear all the juicy details: Tits, ass...that kinda stuff. But come on, you can figure it out, right? It's not like I need to draw you a picture. The thing is.... It was physically and emotionally brutal. I've seen movies where one day the guy just wakes up as the girl, and sometimes I really wished it was that easy.

What I went through was totally different. It was slow, gradual, and took....well, I don't know how long. It's hard to say. I didn't really keep track, what with all the depression and complete freak-out episodes. So yeah, you don't get to watch. Sorry.

Go on, make up a scene in your head and do it any way you like. I promise I'll wait. Just picture all the sweet and sexy stuff you want. If you're a perv, knock yourself out. It's not like I'll ever know anyway.

Done yet?

Good, because once that time had passed, I barely resembled my former self. I had all the desirable accoutrements: svelte figure, graceful curves....all the stuff you'd normally expect from member of the fairer sex.

And I hated every minute of it.

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“So, let’s do it.” I said, heart racing as I looked at Nick.

“But what are we looking for?”

“How the hell should I know?” Nick was a good head taller than me now, making me look up at him as I spoke.

“Fine.” He muttered, opening the door “But whatever happens, remember this was your idea.”

Bursting through like a couple of cops in a drug bust, we found ourselves standing in the storage room, engulfed by the miasma of strange sensations and a noxious feelings of ill will. I had formulated the idea that somehow, if we looked hard enough, we'd find the mound of murderous, satanic crickets that had been constructed to cause my ceaseless transformation. Maybe it was behind the fountain of blood we'd overlooked.

We searched the room high and low, looking in and every conceivable nook and cranny, but we didn’t find anything vaguely interesting aside from a box of Yu-Gi-Oh cards and a packet of Tropical Fruit Bubbleicious gum. After all, the room was empty when we had moved in, so it made sense this effort was a doomed effort.

That was until Nick spoke up, all hunched in a corner. “Kane, take a look at this.”

“Huh....What is it?” I walked over to where he knelt, watching as he dug his fingers under the edge of an old floorboard, prying it up effortlessly. I could see the nails had been removed some time ago as he stuck a hand into the space below, and produced a small wooden box.

“Give me that!” I snatched the box out of his hand, instantly regretting doing so. I bit my lip and looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Sorry.”

Nick nodded solemnly. “It’s alright.”

I opened the box and peered inside, not really knowing what to expect. It was just a box, crammed with a few old personal belongings of the previous tenant; a couple of necklaces and a bag of pot that was swollen with mould. Rummaging through the contents, I hit the jackpot: A small leather-bound diary belonging to someone called ‘Darla’ buried at the bottom.

The book was pretty incoherent. Whoever had written in it was either in a hurry, rabid or just plain unhinged. The entries started out well enough: A girl talking about life in high school, boys and how she felt about her friends. If fact, I felt kinda guilty reading it. Like I was peeking into someone’s life without their permission.

She kept writing about her best friend, a girl called Emily. But as I read from one page to another, seeing how they hung out and had fun. But as I moved from one entry to the next, her notes became more feverish and disjointed. From what I could gather, she was jealous of someone who was taking Emily away from her, and poisoning their relationship.

The last entry was dated several years ago. It was barely legible, but the message was pretty clear:

“As I write this, the forces I have summoned are beyond my control. The price of vengeance is high, and I fear it will consume me body and soul. By condemning Martin, I realize too late that I have doomed myself. Ionly hope that the Mother can grant me the wisdom, and the Father gives me the strength to survive this mistake.”

I closed the book at stared at Nick. Suddenly everything was beginning to make some kind of fucked up sense, even though I really didn’t want it to. They say the truth will set you free. I say the truth just scared the living crap out of me.

“What do you want to do with this stuff?” He asked.

I looked back to him, my mind clear for the first time in weeks.

“Burn it.”

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We stood outside in the cold night air, watching the dance of flames cast shadows across the yard. I gazed at the old steel bucket, fire destroying the last possessions of a woman who had left her presence behind when she disappeared. Though now I understand it was because she committed an act so heinous it had destroyed herself in the process. Tiny embers were picked up by the wind and scattered into the air, twisting like butterflies before falling back to earth.

I began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all. I thought that by destroying her belongings, we may be able to remove whatever force it was that still lingered. But was I sealing my fate? I had looked through the diary one last time before I placed it in the bucket, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I was driving the last nail into my own coffin.

Over the next few days, the presence had begun to fade from the spooky room. It wasn’t gone by any means, but it was slowly diminishing, the source of its power having vanished in the last embers of the fire. Regardless, the curse afflicting me was determined to run its course, with or without the diary and its contents.

I had given away college completely. The last time I showed up to a programming class, the lecturer looked at me and asked what my student number was, assuming I had arrived in the wrong classroom. I didn’t even stick around to tell him. I just ran out the door and hid around the cafeteria, waiting for Nick to arrive for his morning break. He sat down at the opposite edge of the table, took one look at me and exclaimed “Jesus .H Christ, you look like hell.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious.” I said, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Look, I think you should at least see a doctor, maybe they can tell you what’s going on.”

“And tell them what?” I cried, struggling to keep my voice low enough that nobody could hear us “That I’m some freak with a weird voodoo curse?”

We didn’t talk after that; Nick simply ate his lunch in silence, before leaving me behind to attend his next class.

I began to spend more and more time in the solitude of my bedroom, my crossover into girlhood continuing ceaselessly. Since the incident in the Cafeteria, I had banned Nick from entering without express permission. I couldn’t bear to be seen by anyone. I felt like I was a freak, or some kind of monster. Alone in the darkness of my room, I began to notice something else about my skin: It wasn’t just soft skin; it looked more youthful, like some L’Oreal advertisement belched up by Satan himself. Was I getting younger? What kind of fucked up logic was that?

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I awoke the next morning, but instead of getting up I lay in bed with my eyes still closed, my skin tingling with the fresh kiss of morning air. It was a moment where deprived of sensory feedback, I could imagine nothing had changed at all. Time could stand still, and I could wait forever in that moment of blissful ignorance.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end. Reaching out in the darkness, I clasped a small mirror I’d been keeping beside the bed. I guess when your body is being reshaped slowly against your will, you tend to obsess over every little detail.

Looking into the mirror, I had no option but to finally accept the truth of what was taking place. Lustrous dark hair hung to my shoulders, tousled from a rough nights sleep. My features were feminine and smooth, with rounded cheekbones and small, pouty lips. At first glance you could guess I was a half-cast, maybe Japanese or Korean, but it wasn’t deeply apparent save for the eyes and the light olive skin.

If what had happened to my face was a locomotive diving onto jagged rocks, then my body was the passenger cars full of screaming children. Naked save for a pair of boxer shorts, I could see that I was just about done on my trip to a fresh pair of XX chromosomes. My body looked so small and fragile compared to the pillar of manhood (Hey, I can dream too, can't I?) I had been not so long ago. This was more than I could bear. I mean, who can be expected to deal with this kind of crap? I pulled my knees up to my chest and sobbed quietly, feeling completely overwhelmed.

I didn’t notice Nick when he entered my room until he sat on the edge of the bed, smiling weakly but not really sure what to say.

“Look…..Maybe we should go out for a while. You’ve been spending way too much time around the house. Maybe you should get out and relax a little. Let off some steam, ya know?”

I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze. “Not gonna happen.”

He sighed quietly. “Come on Kane. Look, I know something is happening to you, but you’re still the same guy on the inside.”

“What the fuck would you know?” I shrieked, frustrations quickly boiling to the surface. “How could you possibly begin to conceive what is happening to me? Don’t even begin to tell me what the fuck I should do!”

I waited for his reaction, but instead he sat silent. And for the first time I could see the pain and anger he must be experiencing, watching events unfold but being unable to do a thing about it.

“How do you think I feel? I have best friend who has turned into the living dead because of some…..fucked up…..something! Jesus, is this how it’s gonna be? Are you just going to roll over? Is that it? Well fuck that. If you want to give up and die, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to help you.”

He stood up and walked out, the bedroom door slamming shut behind him. I don’t know how long I sat silently in disbelief, feeling like a complete jerk. Nick was right. I was pushing away the only person in the world that could help me. I shook my head and stood up, pulling on a t-shirt which covered me down to my hips. Stepping outside, I could see Nick watching television on the sofa.

“Nick…..I’m sorry. It’s just a lot for me to deal with right now…...”

Nick nodded. “I understand. Would you consider going out now? You can say no if you really want.”

The truth was I didn’t want to go anywhere. The idea of going out seemed more abhorrent than staying here and letting my body convert itself to total femininity. But Nick was trying to help, and I didn’t want to completely alienate him before we reached lunchtime. In the end I caved, no longer willing to fight.

“I guess so.”

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Of course, I had my own terms and conditions for this little exercise in civility. Firstly, I insisted that we go out to dinner that evening. My reasoning was at least it would be difficult for anyone to see me properly, hidden in a crowd. Secondly…..well, it wasn’t really a condition. I just wanted to get something different than the usual fare of Pizza and Chicken. So we agreed to try some Chinese food.

Getting dressed was becoming a problem, since none of my clothes properly fit anymore. I had to settle on a pair of shorts that looked entirely big on my small frame. The only saving grace was they were almost obscured by the shirt which was so big I felt like I was wearing a tent. Checking my reflection, for all intents and purposes I looked like a young girl dressed in her older brothers clothes. For a moment I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, before Nick stood behind me and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Ready?”

“Sure....” I said, forcing a smile.

The trip downtown was spent in silence. I watched the world pass by from the passenger window, the town alive and vibrant as teens and college students revelled without a care or worry to speak of. I could feel jealousy building in my stomach like a cancer, swelling with nothing but contempt for the hand fate had dealt me.

The streets were lined with trees draped in faerie lights, adding to the festive atmosphere that in turn only fed my resentment. I should have been happy, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

The car came to a stop outside a row of shops nestled against the beachfront, and I could smell the salty tang wafting through the air while I stepped out of the car. Glancing at a neon sign hanging above us, I turned to Nick with a puzzled expression. “A sushi bar?”

Nick smiled as he climbed out of the car. “Sure, you said you wanted something different.”

“I guess so, but I’ve never had sushi before. What if it sucks?” I felt the damp sea breeze ruffle my hair.

Nick shrugged. “Then we’ll go somewhere else.”

To be perfectly honest, Japanese food has never really agreed with my palette. Once I bought a bottle of Sake after watching anime one too many times, and I couldn’t stand the taste of it. So I was a little sceptical about sushi to say the least. We sat at a small wooden table and enjoyed the atmosphere as best we could. An attractive blonde girl took our orders, and while I didn’t miss an opportunity to steal a glance at her cleavage, I didn’t really feel anything special about it. I tried to shrug it off as just being stressed. I really hoped it was stress.

To my disappointment, the sushi was just strange as I expected it to be, but I tried to keep up with Nick as we attempted any form of normal communication. Not that we really had any success. I was beyond depression, my whole body felt numb, almost like this was happening to someone else.

Nick tried to look nonchalant as he took a bite of his meal “So, I guess we’ll have to work out what to do now?”

“Yeah” I nodded quietly, staring at my plate.

“I’m being serious here.”

I looked up and stared blankly “Huh?”

“I’ve been thinking, ever since the argument we had this morning.” His expression shifted while he spoke, looking slightly more reluctant. “I’ve been considering our options. I could take you to a doctor, but I’m not sure what good it would do. I think it’s pretty obvious that we’re dealing with something that isn’t normal.”

He sighed, looking at his meal. “Fuck it, we both know that this is some kind of super-doom-evil-magic deal, but until we find out whatever the hell it is, we’ll just have to try and adapt to the situation.”

I felt like I should be angry, as though he was suggesting we should give up. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Nick was making sense. I may end up being a girl, but if I fought it every step of the way, maybe we could find a way to undo what had been done before it was too late.

As though on cue, the heavens opened outside and sent rain pouring into the streets. I watched crowds scatter for cover in every direction from the onslaught. I did try to have a more light hearted conversation with Nick after his confession, talking about movies and the kind of stuff we usually enjoyed. But the whole time neither of us could really shake the feeling of how weird this was. Deciding that we’d had our fill of Asian culture for the evening; Nick stood up and went to pay the bill just as the staff shifts were rotating. New arrivals began getting ready while others disappeared into the storm outside.

I stood outside while I waited for Nick in front of the restaurant, hidden safely in an alcove as rain fell ceaselessly beyond. A lone figure exited the back of the sushi bar and began to make its way to the street, features obscured by a long raincoat and hoodie to shield it from the elements. As the stranger moved, a small, feminine hand plucked a cigarette from it’s mouth and tossed it away, landing by my feet.

Everything is capable of affecting something else in a small, subtle way. Look it up on Wikipedia. It’s called The Observer Effect: By interacting with an object you also change it (I did mention I was part geek, yes?). As the small figure passed by, I felt weak at the knees. Every fibre of my being seemed to react to her presence somehow. I closed my eyes and opened them, trying to understand what I was feeling. As my senses returned, I searched for the mysterious figure, but she had already vanished from my sight.

By the time Nick had emerged at the front of the restaurant, I was already off and running through the downpour. I heard a cry of surprise as he started moving after me, but the distance between us was already too great for him to cover. My clothes were soaked and strands of wet hair clung to my skin. But through it all I kept running until my throat was raw and my legs couldn't carry me any further.

I found myself standing at the edge of a wooden pier, listening to the sound of waves crashing against pylons below. Rain stung my face as the wind whipped by, cold enough that it felt like it razors cutting my skin. I’d lost the stranger a long way back, so what was I doing here? I didn’t know why I ran before. It seemed like the only thing I could do. Folding my arms to shield myself from the gale, I looked out to the horizon through the storm, watching the ocean churn and swell with anger.

I felt so alone standing against the fury of the elements, like I could step over the edge and vanish from this world forever. I found myself peering over the lip of the pier, lamenting everything that had been inflicted on me. As I observed the rage of the ocean below, I realized that I would never stand a chance in such a raging swell. A strange feeling overtook me: I felt calm and at peace with myself, for the first time since this ordeal began. Before I even realized what was happening I had one foot over the edge, and the world spun around as the waves rushed up to meet my face.

Life itself seemed to waver as I was tossed about beneath the surface. I didn’t know anything except that it would soon be over. A release from life which would carry me away to endless slumber. I think I even smiled as my last breath of air was drawn into the churning currents. The seas roared and thunder boomed out across the sky as I floated lifelessly under the waves. All my pain and sorrow seemed to fade away as I saw a faint light begin to move before my eyes. It danced and twirled with a magnificent splendour. It was like a butterfly made of a pure, radiant energy. The world’s most beautiful butterfly.

It was in that moment, as my body sank toward the ocean floor, in that last instant before I was beyond any redemption, I remembered Nick, my friends and family.

And I realized I had no reason to die.

My lungs screamed and muscles roared in pain as my head broke the surface of the waves, sweet air pouring into my mouth. The surf was tossing me about like a like a leaf on the wind as I pulled myself against a wooden pylon. Through the howl of rain I could hear Nick above me, calling out my name.

I watched as he leant over the edge of the pier; face a mixture of surprise and relief as he saw me clinging on to dear life below. Extending his arm as much as he dared without falling into the ocean, I felt him grab a hold of my outstretched hand.

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I never did tell Nick the truth about how I fell into the ocean that night. I just fed him some line about tripping on an ill-tempered mutant sea bass. I’m not sure wether he really believed me, but he never did mention it again. For the next couple of days we just stayed about the house, Nick blew off his classes and we spent some time getting used to how freaky this situation really was. Less than a week later, the transformation had run its course. Where once stood Kane: Proud example of masculinity and loveable jerk, there now stood Kane: Fifteen year old half-Japanese girl. We figured it was Japanese, though it could have easily been something else, we didn’t know. It was just a guess and we ran with it.

I stood about 5’5” at the most, which killed me because I’d lost over a foot in height. Everything suddenly felt like it was twice as big, which was a complete lie on my part. You could see the Asian influence around the face, but it wasn’t really prominent. Just something that added a dash of exotic flavour to the spice mix. I was slender without being waifish, curvy without being egregious.

I had worked one thing out though; I hated having breasts. I don’t know if you’ve ever realized this, but breasts aren’t some kind of magic jelly attached to women’s chests which allow them to walk around in pure bliss while trying to attract the opposite sex. They move around all the time. And I’m not taking about when I’m on a trampoline or stage diving, Just walking around is enough to get them going under your shirt. And it’s really annoying. Trust me. When I go up they go down. When I go down they threaten to hit me in the face. I didn't even know how big they were, since I've never been the type to pay attention to all the sizing charts in the Victoria's Secret catalogue. Just trust me: big enough to bug the hell out of me.

Nick and I sat around the house the next day, me all huddled up on the couch wearing a bathrobe that fit me like a marquee. We were playing the video games, since I just felt like blowing something up. Just when I was settling into a nice killing spree, Nick had to ruin everything by getting all serious. This is just one of those things you don’t do in the middle of a killing spree. It totally screws with my rhythm.

“Kane, I’ve been thinking.” He paused the game and set the controller down.

“That sounds ominous...”

“Shut up. Because here’s the thing: We can get a new identity for you. Hell, I’ve got enough programs on my computer to make birth certificates and nobody would be able to tell the difference from.”

“So, what's your point?” I felt an uneasy sensation creep up on me. Sure, I was coping with being a girl, but just barely. See this weenie? This weenie is your ego. Now balance the weenie on a razor wire suspended above a pit of rabid babies. This is your ego as a girl.

He tried to look relaxed, but you could tell if he put any more pressure on himself, his head would just pop off. “I think you’re gonna have to go back to school. High school.”

This is your weenie being devoured by rabid babies. “You’ve got to be kidding”

He smiled a little, trying to be friendly in an I’m-a-jerk-and-telling-you-to-go-back-to-school kinda way. “I’m serious. Think of it this way: You can go back, ace your grades, and probably go to a better college than the one in this deadbeat town.”

I stared at him blankly. “You’re such a ham and cheese fuckwich.”

“Come on, I’m serious. If you don’t go back and rebuild your life, the only job you’re gonna get is working the fries at McDonalds.”

I hate it when people have a point, because it usually means they’re right. I sat and thought about what he said for a long time, but I faced facts eventually. I had to abandon everything and make a start fresh. It’s a rare chance I guess. Wether or not I appreciated it for what it was, I'm not sure.

I didn’t want to give in straight away. What was left of my masculinity pulled me over and demanded that I be as reluctant as possible, no matter now helpful Nick was trying to be. I rolled my eyes and let out a long, painful sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

Nick threw me a lop-sided grin. “You get to see girls naked in the locker room.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

------------------------------------

Chapter Two.

When I used to be a guy, I always wondered what going back to school would be like. Knowing what I do now and all that crap. I guess guys have this whole thing about being driven to succeed at everything, which eventually leads to wondering what you could have done better. Point is, after my getting over Nick’s suggestion that I go back to high school, I was actually kinda liking the idea

Think about it. You don’t have to worry about getting fired from school for screwing up, you can wear whatever you want. You don’t have a boss to suck up to, and its seven hours a day, tops. So yeah, I guess I was looking at this as an opportunity to live out that fantasy of getting good grades, being cool, and generally being way awesome in all the ways I wasn’t the first time around.

Other than that, I'm not really sure why I went along with it. Who knows? You'd stop questioning a lot of things too if you had a switch flicked from XY to XX chromosomes for no logical reason. So excuse me if I sound a little cranky. I have to try and deal with this crap along with about ten kajillion different things right now, because suddenly half the things I’ve always thought were absolute and true are completely different in my head. It’s like up is down, left is right, and forward is twirling directly into the sun.

Anyways, I had some time to think about high school and prepare myself for the inevitable. First thing was I had to pick a new name for myself. Nick and I must have spent the better part of a week trying to think of something. I mean, it wasn’t really high on the list of priorities, because we had so much other stuff to take care of (And it’s not like I was easy to get along with). We went on shopping trips for all the usual stuff I’d be needing for school, along with whatever junk a teenage girl would probably accrue over fifteen years of her life. We did actually settle on a name, but I’ll get to that in a bit.

The funny thing is, when I used to get bored and had nothing better to do (which was almost every night) I would trawl around the web looking for really twisted stuff. Not because I got off on it or anything, just stuff I found mildly amusing because it showed just how completely messed up some segments of humanity were compared to the whole. Neo-Nazi’s, harajuku girls, and ultra-conservative Christians denouncing the filth on television. You name it; I’ve probably checked it out at one time or another.

Every now and then I’d stumble on a story someone had written about what would happen if a guy turned into a chick, and the sexy adventures that would quickly ensue. The funny thing is that unless you’ve actually had this happen to you (and let’s face it, who has?) there is no comparison. Seriously, I checked one out yesterday and I nearly broke down laughing. They’re all the same, really. Guy turns into chick, immediately has a shower and masturbates, then goes shopping for a new wardrobe. Has it even dawned on anyone how absurd that sounds?

So let me clear this up for all the aspiring literates and would-be writers: Shopping sucks out loud. Sure, most chicks probably love it, and I guess I can understand. You want know why?

Because they know what they’re doing.

They know what garments they want. They know what size of clothing fits properly. And they don’t make a complete idiot of themselves in front of the sales girl because they’re more clueless the guy who was dragged along to help, who for the record couldn’t look more disinterested if he tried.

We walked around the mall for hours. Painful hours. The kind of pain you can only get when you take to your own ego with a cheese grater. I’m not even going into details, because those are the kind of stories I’d be saving for a therapist if I actually believed they wouldn’t lock me up without a key. So you don’t get to hear them. Sorry. If you really want to find out, go find your own room possessed with evil magic and see how you like it.

So we picked a name during those arduous hours of traversing the mall, because it just seemed like the thing to do when you’re trying to take your mind off how you ran screaming from the last store because some townie asked if you were going to the big party at Bogey Lowenstien’s house. Nick wanted to go with something inconspicuous, like Christie or Tina. However nothing really clicked for me, so in the end, I just told him what it was going to be.

Faye Valentine.

For those of you who aren't familiar, Faye Valentine is a character from a popular Japanese anime who was cryogenically frozen, then thawed out in the future with no memory of her life. Total amnesiac. She was twenty years old and didn't have any idea of who she was, not even her name. So I figured we had something in common. We were two girls who woke up one day and realized we didn't have a past. I’d even cut my hair and dyed a few streaks of bluish-purple into my ebony tresses, just to get a little closer to the girl I idolized.

And that was it. A week after finding myself a girl, barely having enough time to even get my head around the whole concept, I stood at the edge of the long path leading into the grounds of Delacroix High: A school famous for being named after some third rate politician. Empowering, isn't it?

I’d managed to toss an outfit together from all the stuff we’d bought which I felt pretty comfortable with, given that anything majorly feminine was off the list. I settled for a plain black t-shirt, with jeans and some chunky sneakers to top off the ensemble. Not really what you’d call fitting in with the girls, but that wasn’t really at-

“Hey, watch where I’m going!” Was the rallying cry of a figure over my shoulder, right before slamming into me full tilt. The momentum of the impact sent me sailing into a trashcan, garbage scattering in all directions as I skidded to a halt against the pavement. A chorus of laughter went up from a crowd of kids who had quickly gathered to watch my display of acrobatic ineptitude. Shaking my head, I tried to get a grasp on the situation. However, I quickly realized the culprit was already long gone, disappearing on a BMX toward a cage where bikes were stored.

An eerie moment of clarity descended on me, and I knew this was a defining moment. My first day here and people we already trying to put me in my place. I curled my small hand into a fist, seething at the thought and what it meant if I let the incident slide.

"Get your ass back here!" I leapt to my feet, sprinting down the path as quickly as I could. I'd discovered not long ago that being smaller and lighter had its advantages, and one of them was being pretty quick on my feet. I managed to catch up with my adversary; a teenage girl with sandy blonde hair, locking her bike against a steel pole. Launching myself forward, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her to the ground.

I'm not really sure what happened next. Maybe it was male instincts mixing with the adrenaline rush, but I swung wildly with my fists, trying to strike her over and over.

The problem with that idea, while sound in theory, was that I hadn’t yet tried fighting as a girl. It turned out my punches had about as much effect as being caught in a pillow fight. Before I knew it she’d rolled on top of me, her long hair falling into my eyes as she rained down blows that felt a good deal more effective than anything I’d dished out. Before I'd even had a chance to cry uncle, I was being wrenched apart from her by unseen hands. Teachers swarmed around us, trying frantically to separate us before the gathering crowd grew a taste for blood. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes as I struggled to keep whatever cool I had left, my body left trembling as I was hauled to my feet and led away to the Principals office.

And that's where I found myself, sitting in the middle of a musty office, walls lined with old pictures of Delacroix alumni. You’ll never see a more impressive collection of freaks outside of a cosplay photo party. Apparently, the principal had decided to assert his authority by making us wait a half hour by for no discernable reason. This left me with nothing better to do than consider how I could kill Nick and hide his body for ever suggesting this in the first place.

Across from me sat the girl who’d single-handedly destroyed any chance I’d ever have of building a shred of credibility around here. Teens can smell fear. They know when you’re vulnerable, and they’ll lean on you every second of every day until you break. Why? Its fun, it’s easy and because they can. Above all else, I’d wanted to avoid giving anyone a reason to make an example of me. But here I was, sucking on a double-scoop of crap-flavored ice cream instead of making a name for myself.

The sound of every second passing from the clock mounted above me was deafening. All I could do while I waited for my inevitable punishment was sit and stare at my fellow prisoner. Speaking of which, I didn’t even know her name. Not that it mattered, but there had to be some other way to pass the time instead of chewing my nails or counting tiles on the floor.

“So what’s your name?”

She stared at me as though I’d asked how she looked naked "Why the hell do you want to know?"

I rolled my eyes. “You have something else to do?”

She turned her gaze away, not happy to admit she was just as trapped. “It’s Rachael.”

"Okay Rachael, could you tell me why you bowled me over back there?" I said, pulling a tangled lock of hair behind my ear.

"I wasn’t really watching. Most people know not to stand in the middle of the fucking path when some of us are trying to get to school on time.”

Can't really fault that logic. "I'm not in the mood to be making enemies on my first day. I have enough to deal with as it is without adding you to my list. So how about we just drop this, and pretend nothing happened, okay?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Fine by me."

With the situation resolved, we were left with an awkward silence that quickly grew from unpleasant to intolerable. I always hated silence, which is why I feel compelled to break it.

“Geez...” I muttered. “The Breakfast Club made me believe this would be a lot more interesting.”

Rachael looked at me quizzically. "Huh?"

"You know, 80’s movie….Molly Ringwald?”

Her confusion grew exponentially. "Huh?"

I sighed, abandoning that line of conversation. "Never mind."

Rachael didn't take her eyes off me, but I could see she was suppressing a smile. After that we returned to sitting in silence, which gave me all the time I didn't want to mull over my situation. I hated this new life. I hated it with the fire of a thousand suns.

I don't claim to know how other people think, or what their internal processes are. I'm the kind of guy who has his own way of dealing with problems in life. And I've dealt with everything lately by pushing my problems deep down inside myself, sealing them away where I don't have to consider their existence. As long as I can focus my thoughts on better things, I don’t have to worry about what is staring back at me every time I look into a mirror.

But we all know what happens when you do this: All those little problems coalesce into a ball of pure, untainted evil. And the more problems you pour into its lipid surface, the smarter it gets until the cage can no longer hold it. I didn't know it at the time, but the ball was already picking the lock.

Eventually we were released back into the wild, once the principal ordained to see us. He gave us the tired old speech about setting an example for younger students and how we should straighten up and fly right. Rachael wandered the empty hallways with me, classes already having started not long ago. I stopped in front of the locker I’d been assigned, rummaging through my bag to find the combination slip.

“Wow, you’re on sacred ground.” She said, noting the locker I’d been given.

“Huh?”

“Your locker. I hear it used to be owned by this chick called Heidi Fleegleman. She was here a few years back. I've never seen her, but the girl's coach keeps ranting about how she used to be the greatest cheerleader ever and all that shit.”

Just what I need. Knowing my luck, this thing has a spell on it that will turn me into a cheerleader on top of everything else. I threw my books inside and slammed the door shut. I caught a glimpse of stickers and graffiti that were still lining the inner walls, but I didn't really care to clean it out. After all, I was already running late for class. Wouldn't want to miss out on that.

------------------------------------

It's a cliché when someone says “How hard could it be?” and right away finds out just how damn hard it can be. It's the sort of joke that leaves you asking that if all the world's a stage, then why do the people in the front row make you want to burn the theater down after blocking the exits? Well it's even less funny when it happens to you.

Each class dragged from one into the next, with no end in sight whichever way I turned. Why? They were boring me to death. I knew the content forwards and backwards. But on top of that, I was starting to get the feeling that every time I answered a question correctly, I raised the schools collective ire for me just a little higher.

Great. I can’t fit in, and trying to do any work around here isn’t helping my cause either.

Lunchtime wasn’t much better. I found myself ignored by everyone, save the complete social outcasts and charity cases. You know what I’m talking about. Remember how you’d start your first day of school and there’d be this bunch of kids who were super-nice? Yeah, they’re at the bottom of the food chain. And if you even spoke to them, or showed any kind of kind of emotion toward them that didn’t include pure, untainted venom, then your social life was over before it had even begun.

I sat in the cafeteria by myself, staring at my lunch while poking at an oddly processed meat with the tip of my fork. I could hear kids laughing behind my back, making snide remarks about the geeky new girl. They were daring me to react, cause a scene, hoping I'd give them all the reason they'd ever need to ostracize me for the rest of my life.

Instead it felt like every word was a nail down a chalkboard, making my skin crawl with contempt and revulsion. I’d come here with plans of pulling off all kinds of cool stuff I’d never been able to do as a guy, or at least try to make the most of a bad situation. Instead all I’d managed to do was walk down exactly the same geeky, loser road I’d managed the first time around. Nobody was impressed. Nobody even cared that I was here.

“Nice pity party you’ve got going, mind if I join?”

I turned my gaze up to see Rachael dropping her lunch in front of me, before taking a seat. “Having fun yet?”

“Are you kidding?” I said, feeling a surge of relief that someone was acknowledging my existence. “I’m getting mobbed by geeks, and all the little cliques won’t even look at me.”

“What’s your point?” She said, digging through her lunch bag.

“My point?” I said, feeling exasperated. “It’s just….never mind. This day is worse than I’d ever thought possible.”

“Fuck them.” Rachael produced a piece of moldy fruit, examining it briefly before throwing it over her shoulder. “Look, you’re new here, so I at least owe you this much: I don’t know who you were at your last school, or why you’re trying to get everyone’s approval here, but just stop right now, kay?”

“Thanks. That’s great advice. I’ll just go off and die in a fire now.”

Rachael put her lunch bag aside and gave me a serious look. “I mean it. You think anyone here honestly cares about how you look or the way you act? Who cares about all the little popular girls anyway? Put a bag over their heads and they're just dull storytellers. It's a waste of attention.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at her appraisal “You think so?”

“Yeah, totally. So stop trying to be someone you’re not. I’d rather stab myself in the face then suck up to the preps, emo’s, beautiful people, or whoever the hell thinks they’re better than me just because of the clothes they wear or the car they drive. Look at those people who have been denied a personality because the world rewards them for their looks. Hammer to face changes everything.”

“You’ve got allot of hostility built up there.”

“It’s more of a backed up toilet.” She smiled, taking more pleasure in my revulsion than she should. “You get the idea.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, I’m kinda new to all this.”

“It’s casual. Joining a new school always sucks.” Rachael said, taking the ball and running in the wrong direction with it.

Before I had a chance to respond I was cut of by the bell, signaling that lunch was over. Rachael and I wrapped things up, agreeing to meet once classes were over. I felt a little better for knowing that at least something was starting to go right. As I watched her disappear into the crowds flowing out of the lunch room, I actually took a moment to relax and collect myself. After everything that I’d put up with recently, maybe things were starting to look up for me.

------------------------------------

I checked my watch as the last dregs of students wandered by, all the while trying to suppress my growing anger. She ditched me. I couldn’t believe she ditched me. I stick my neck out of the gutter for ten seconds, and this is what gets shoveled in my face? The final bell had rung nearly twenty minutes ago, and there I was, standing around like a total idiot waiting for someone who was not going to magically appear in front of me. Or jump out of a cake. Not that I couldn't always use some cake.

Still, I wasn’t getting any younger (Yes, I do appreciate the irony) standing around, so I decided to leave by myself. At first, I wasn’t really sure where I was even going. It’s not like I was avoiding going back to my place, I guess it was more to do with the fact I’d had a lousy day. You know where it gets to a stage where you just want to kick someone’s ass? It doesn't matter who they are, or how nice they’re trying to be. You’d punch a nun if she got in your face. Somewhere in the corner of my mind I was glad to know that even though I wasn’t a guy, I was still capable of projecting blind hostility for no valid reason.

Of course, none of that was really helping me get out of my foul mood. Walking by yourself lets your mind wander, and that’s when you find yourself asking all the questions you've been deliberately avoiding.

Am I enjoying this too much?

Admit it, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like being the dark horse. The girl who doesn't fit in. The girl. A girl. Isn’t this so much better?

“Fuck off”. I muttered.

The little ball of pure, untainted evil likes to play tricks on you. It speaks with your voice, mews seductively in your ear. In your mind’s eye it’ll look the same as you, like talking to the person on the other side of the mirror. If the girl I saw had a name, I’d call her Sickness.

I watched the afternoon sun slowly hide itself behind the horizon, blindly wandering though the streets, trying to take my mind off the questions plaguing me. Sickness danced alongside me with every step, prodding and needling me with endless queries.

“A little far from home, aren’t we?” she quipped as I strode alongside a row of warehouses.

“Can we have this conversation when I’m feeling slightly less insane?”

“Oh come on.” Her smile broadening. “You’ve seen Fight Club enough times to know how this works.”

“Didn’t you used to be a guy?” I said, recalling all the times I’ve had conversations with myself.

“I move with the times.”

I quickened my pace. “Just hurry up and tell me what you want.”

“For you to admit the truth.” She chided. “That everything up until now has been a complete and utter lie. You’ve betrayed your beliefs and everything you ever stood for. If you can admit that, then we’re done.”

“Not going to happen.”

She leant in, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Really? You should know that if you take even the slightest bit of pleasure in anything that’s happening, you only prove my point. After all, what kind of man would enjoy being a woman even the smallest bit?”

I stopped to brace myself against a wall, anger surging through my veins like molten rock. “Shut up. I’m not in the mood to discuss this.”

“You’re not a man. You’re nothing. Just a closet tranny who can’t even admit that being a little girl is everything he ever wanted.”

Sure, she was just my head playing tricks on me. And I knew that at any moment I could make her disappear with a thought. But none of that made her any less right.

“Shut up!” I yelled, reflexively slamming my head against the concrete to shut out the noise. The world vanished in an explosion of light behind my eyes, causing me to wonder if it was such a good idea to inflict massive head trauma upon myself. Sickness dissipated and melted into the darkness as my body fell unconscious against the sidewalk.

Being knocked out isn't like in the movies where you can just tap someone and take them out for several hours. There are varying degrees of sleepy-weepy time. In my case, I woke up a few minutes later with nothing but a small cut and a deafening headache for my efforts. I pulled myself to my feet, gazing at the building that’d soundly kicked my ass in mortal combat. The warehouse had clearly seen better days; Its windows were broken, shattered in every frame while the paint peeling from its walls seemed to be all that was holding its decrepit skeleton together. Even the “For Lease” banner had abandoned the building and made a break for freedom on the sidewalk.

If you asked me now, I couldn't tell you why I felt drawn to the place. Rotten wooden pallets and old shipping containers were scattered about the yard, covered with jagged nails and sharp edges to snag my clothing on. Still, I pressed ahead and scouted around the structure, spying a side door torn from its hinges.

Blue tinted light from the rising moon filtered through panes of broken glass, casting shadows across a floor thick with dust and debris. The whole structure shifted whenever the wind picked up, threatening to come down around my ears. Across the empty space, I saw something I’d never begin to expect in a place like this. It was a construction of wood and steel that stood as a testament of engineering, withstanding years of abuse and exposure to the elements where the building containing it had yielded: A half-pipe covered in filth and decay. Just looking at it, I knew I’d found the siren who’s song had bought me here.

I craned my neck, examining its form while I approached. "What in the hell is this doing here?"

As if in response, guard rail creaked slowly before clattering against the floor.

------------------------------------

Chapter Three

“I'm not here. I'm not listening. This is all going on in my head.” I said, shutting my eyes while I clutched my ears.

“Of course it is.”

I let one eye creak open, casting its spiteful gaze over Rachael. “So just what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh come on Faye. Drama much?” She said, poking distastefully at a bowl that contained dubious looking foodstuffs. “What the hell is this?”

“My dinner.” I said, crossing my legs while I looked at her innocently.

“Dinner?” She turned the bowl over, its contents unwilling to leave the ceramic housing.

I coughed. “From Saturday.”

Rachael raised a suspicious eyebrow as she shook it vigorously, to no effect.

“Saturday....last week.” I shifted uncomfortably against the bed sheets.

She shook her head as the bowl clattered against my dresser, looking around the bedroom with an air of disgust. “Jesus Faye, just what the hell do you do here?”

Step into my nightmare, the water is warm. “I dunno, it's not like I was expecting a visitor.”

“From the look of things, you haven't been expecting anyone since, geez I dunno....forever.” She said, flopping unceremoniously onto the bed beside me.

“Come on, you didn't drop in just to give me the Queer-Eye treatment, right?” I watched her chest rise and fall, her black baby doll shirt showing off a little more smooth midriff with every breath.

She gazed at the ceiling as she spoke. “Nope. Just figured I'd drop by, being Friday and all.”

I narrowed my eyes “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

“Aren't you?”

I mulled over the fact that I shouldn't even be in school at all for a moment, before letting it slide. “That's beside the point...”

She sat up, her face suddenly lit with excitement. “Now that you mention it, if we wanted to re-evaluate your look-”

“Uh-uh. Stop, reverse.” I said. “Not gonna happen.”

“Oh come on Faye.” Rachel cast a condescending look at me. “You dress like a guy, you act like a guy, you live like a guy. Obviously you need some kind of intervention here before you turn into one.”

You know that feeling you get when you have to vomit spontaniously? “Ugh...god, don't even go there.”

“See? All the more reason to set you on the path to girlhood proper.” She smiled pleasantly. “Look, do this and I promise I'll check out that warehouse you won't shut up about. Deal?”

I give up, this isn't worth fighting. I slumped against the bed, letting out a sigh. “Sure. Why not?”

I'm not really sure if it's possible, but I think I heard Sickness laughing.

------------------------------------

Being a teenager again, you're stuck without a car. I couldn't drive the Camero, and it wasn't like Rach had a set of wheels other than her bike. With no other option, we set out walking to Rachael's place. The heat was oppressive, air thick with moisture, the sun a faint outline in the sky. Everything felt swollen, as though waiting for release. My shirt clung to my breasts, soaked with perspiration as the savage heat bore down on us.

“God, I hate you so much right now.” was all I could manage as beads of sweat stung my eyes.

Rachael smirked, pushing her bike alongside me “Two words: Puh-lease. I haven't started giving you reasons to hate me yet.”

An odd thought struck me. “So just why are you hanging with me anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just seems kinda weird. Usually when I go to a new school I get accosted by some geek from the AV club.”

Rachael shrugged “I guess I felt kinda bad for the crap I put you through that morning. Besides, I was bored and it was fun.”

“You don't take anything seriously, do you?”

“Hang on; let’s consult the 8-Ball.” She pulled an imaginary ball from her pocket and shook it vigorously. “It says you’re a moron.

”Now I'm being serious here.”

“I know!” Her words caught up in frustrated laughter. “Jesus Faye, we're fucking teenagers. Lighten up, would ya? Have some fun for once in your life. Otherwise you're just gonna get old and wind up like all the other nobody's who are thirty-something and wake up one day to realize they fucked their life.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Thirty is not that old.”

“Are you kidding me? That's an antique.”

Ugh, I'd forgotten how far away that seemed when I was fifteen the first time around. “Yeah, what was I thinking?”

“Look, you wanna know the reason I decided to get all supa-friendly? It's simple.”

I nodded. “So cough it up.”

“Alright.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I was sick of watching you begging to get your ass kicked. I'm not trying to be bitchy here. I mean, I don't know where you've been or what school you got dropped out of, so I'm not gonna judge. But in Delacroix? This place is like...I dunno, not the kind of place where you show up looking like a lesbian who wants to be ahead of the academic curve.”

Great. Just perfect. “So I guess that makes you the bad-ass or something?”

“Oh yeah. I'm fuckin' hardcore, dig? I eat my waffles with blood instead of syrup. That's right - blood. Fuckin' blood. Okay...just syrup.”

“Did you put that on your MySpace? People should know that kinda stuff.” I quipped.

She gave me a dubious look. “MySpace? Give me some credit.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing but geeks and paedophiles.” She proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Twittered it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Rachael's house was one of those upper-middle class deals built for families who embraced the concept of modern, conservative living. There's two levels, separate garage and an attractive fence to keep Sparky the Welsh Corgie from destroying anyone’s yard but his own. Rachael set her bike down against the front porch before stepping inside, beckoning me to follow. A pleasant looking woman in her forties sat at coffee table, flipping through a magazine. She looked up as Rachael bounded up a spiral staircase with me in tow. “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

Rachael didn't stop as she disappeared into the floor above “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

She muttered, and went back to skimming through an article on glazed ceramic paints.

I did a quick double-take as Rachael led me down the corridor. “Tell me that wasn't your mother.”

“Dad's one of those corporate lawyers who's spending every waking moment of the day gouging someone else for money. He earns more than enough cash to pay for everything, so mom had a midlife crisis and decided to become a pottery artist selling vases at the Sunday markets.”

I paused to consider the situation “Makes sense.”

Rachael grabbed my arm, yanking me into her bedroom. Girls bedrooms are always easy to pick: They're scented, lingering with the hint of perfume or incense. But that was where all my stereotypes checked themselves at the door. I'd been expecting the usual gig, you know, stuffed animals, band posters on the wall, that kinda thing. But this just seemed a lot more....realistic, I guess.

The room was cluttered with all kinds of useless junk. A giant foam spider clung to the side of the lavender stained walls, cushions and DVD’s scattered about a double bed at the centre of the room. I leant against a large oak desk, hearing the Macbook behind me chime occasionally with incoming messages. “You know, all things considered, your room really isn't any better than mine.”

“Mine doesn’t look like it belongs to...a...umm...oh, I don’t know.....help me out here?”

I let out a painful sigh. She already knew the answer; this was just salt in the wound. “To a guy, right?”

She grinned brightly “Exactly. How'd you know?”

“Just a stab in the dark.” Like a knife in my gut.

“So, let's get to work, shall we?” She said cheerfully, sticking her head into the wardrobe.

I felt my pulse quicken a touch. “Uh...right. Remind me what I'm doing here again? There was something about old foodstuffs, and then my recollection gets kinda hazy...”

“We had a deal, remember? You try looking like a girl for once, and I check out that warehouse you won't shut up about.” She said, piles of loose clothing tumbling to the floor.

I smacked my palm against my forehead. Watching teenage girls trying on each others clothes: This is like every guys secret fantasy, except now it's like winning a spot on a TV game show where the prize for every correct answer is death.

“This isn't going to get weird, right?” I said, trying to act like I wasn't the least bit perturbed.

“You wish.” She said, thrusting a pile of clothes into my arms. “Try these on. I'll be downstairs, cleaning out the kiln.”

------------------------------------

I always hated getting changed. It's not because I was ashamed of my body, either. I hated changing clothes when I was a guy for completely different reasons. You're always your own worst critic, right? It's just that....I dunno. You feel like the idea of seeing yourself naked is about as attractive as a sack of potatoes. Guys don't find other men attractive, so it's not like you're going to be turning yourself on, strutting around all white and pasty in a pair of Superman boxers.

Of course, that's not quite the case any more. I'm not saying I'm thrilled with this new perspective on life. I look forward to the prospect of taking off my clothes with the same enthusiasm I do for flossing my teeth with barbed wire. But at the same time, you can't help but appreciate the beauty of the feminine form.

Let me explain. Whenever Nick came back from a life-drawing class, he'd complain endlessly if the group was given a male model. Now sure, there's obviously the part of him that's hoping to get a free show instead of staring at some guys “gentleman's luggage”. But there's more to it. Artists tend to look at beauty in terms of perfection. They can't help it. They're always looking for the best lines or most streamlined form. I've even heard some artists consider insects to be beautiful, describing the simplicity and elegance to their design.

Nick? He considers women to be superior to men. Not just in terms of beauty or the fact he wants to nail some lucky girl in the back of the Camero. I'm talking about in terms of evolution. He laid it all out for me as we rode a bus back from college. Men are angular, bulky, heavy and rough. Sure, they can be a lot stronger than women. But the more bulk you carry, the slower you become from its mass. Women are graceful, sleek, compact, light and fast. It's the total package, he'd say. Poetry in motion. Yin and Yang. Perfection.

So keeping that in mind, it's hard not to agree with him while I undress. The cotton of my shirt tickled me in the strangest way as I pulled it off, feeling it glide against the slope of my breasts. Oversized shorts slid off my waistm, mimicking the curve of soft, slender legs. I stood silent for a moment, watching my chest rise and fall as I took it all in. Even the hollow feeling of loss that lingered where my legs brushed against one other was eclipsed by the revelation that descended upon me.

Is this what it meant to be feminine? To revel in the simple delight of being such a sublime and beautiful creature? I couldn't help but wonder if I was beginning to see the tip of an iceberg. As if some deeper mystery lay below the surface of this discovery, just waiting to show itself....

I shook my head, realizing that I couldn't do this. Not now, not ever. Already I could feel Sickness clawing at the edge of my thoughts, the same thoughts that served to feed and nourish her. She can't win, not if I ever want to make it out of this with my mind and identity intact.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself with newfound determination. Reaching over, I began to dig through the pile of clothing Rachael had given to me, picking out random garments without a second thought. Hastily pulling on a printed tank top, I tried to rationalize the situation: I'm doing this out of survival. Not for enjoyment. I need to learn how to play the part, that's all. I can still be me on the inside.

The same sensations that kept me enthralled a moment ago now polarized my emotions, forcing me to paint anything I felt in shades of black, pushing them into a corner of my mind where I neither felt nor saw them. I stumbled, pulling up a pair of jeans that clung to me in ways that I suddenly found repulsive. I hated the way they moved effortlessly against my slender calves, loathing how they caressed my empty womanhood.

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes as I tried to shut it all out. I could feel the heat of blood rushing through my ears as I clasp them. I didn't want to hear anything. I wanted sight to vanish from my eyes. Give me silence, give me peace, just give me-

“You okay Faye?”

I spun about, sending dark thoughts scattering like leaves. Rachael stood at the door, looking at me with an unsettled expression. “You've been a while. I thought I'd see how you were doing.”

I stammered, trying to think of something to say “Rach...uh, what? I could have still been getting changed, you know.”

She smiled, looking a little too relaxed all of a sudden. “Like they say, it aint nothing I haven't seen before.”

“That's reassuring.” I could feel myself beginning to relax, distracted by her presence.

Rachael looked over me, her eyes appraising my choice of wardrobe. “Not bad, still kinda masculine though. You could have at least picked out a skirt.”

“As skirt?” I said, looking aghast “Ugh..no...just....no.”

“Suit yourself.” She began picking up the surplus clothing and stuffing it back into the wardrobe. “Didn't your mother ever teach you to wear a bra though?”

I glanced down, noting how my breasts were even more pronounced through the fabric of the top. Rachael gave the wardrobe door one more push, feeling the latch click against the mountain of clothing clamouring for escape. “You’re lucky my clothes fit you enough to wear them. But that top's not going to do anything to hide your boobs.”

“Yeah, it's uh...laundry day.” Not believing myself for a moment either.

Rachael gave me a knowing look, but didn't comment. “You're outta luck there. Even if I was going to lend you one of mine, which I'm not, they wouldn't fit you anyway.”

“Why not? I mean, your clothes fit...kinda.”

She rolled her eyes, poking my chest through the fabric of my top. “You're too busty, that's why. God, don't you know anything Faye?”

I looked away, letting out a sigh of resignation. “Yeah...not that much bigger though, right?”

“Enough not to fit.” She picked up a bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Come on, Chesty La Rue. Show me this ramp of yours and if there's time, we can hit the mall afterwards.”

Oh good, sarcasm. “Why the mall?”

She walked out the door, not waiting to see if I'd follow her. “If you have to ask, that's all the more reason to get there early.”

------------------------------------

I felt it long before I saw her. That familiar pressure building at the back of my thoughts, like the feedback from a speaker ringing in my ears. It grew stronger as we approached the warehouse, Rachael oblivious to my distress as she texted feverously on her cell phone with all accuracy of playing the piano with a pipe wrench.

I spotted the source of my anxiety lounging against the warehouse, smoking a cigarette while glancing at her watch. Without the rainstorm, I was able to see her much more clearly: More or less in her early twenties, she was an attractive Japanese girl dressed in an ordinary looking black shirt and matching slacks. Her ebony hair waved gently in the breeze, glinting gun-metal blue when it was struck by the light As we approached she stood up, flicking the remains of the cigarette away before looking towards me.

“You the one who broke the lock?” She asked, not wasting time with pleasantries.

I frowned, taken aback by her direct approach. “I didn't break any lock. The door was like that when I found it.”

“Really?” She craned her neck backward, glancing at the empty doorway. “Fuck.....I'm gonna need to get that fixed.”

“Who died and made you landlord?” Rachael glowered.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Landlord? Give me a break. This place has been waiting to get torn down for years. It's what's inside that's mine.”

“Inside? You mean the ramp?”

“You catch on quick. C'mon.” She said, turning about and walking inside.

Rachael gawked at her, not sure to be more amazed with her audacity or the expectation we'd follow a complete stranger into an abandoned warehouse. I took a step forward when I felt her hand grasp my arm, fingers tight like steel wires. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?” I said nonchalantly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hang out alone with strangers?”

I raised a delicate eyebrow. “Who told you?”

“The girl scouts.”

“You were a girl scout?” I said dubiously.

“Not after the deprogramming.”

Rachael couldn't understand why I needed to do this. To her, I was just being an asshole, I guess. But this woman, whoever she was....there was some kind of connection. I didn't know why, but it might be the only chance I ever get to find out what happened to me. I looked at Rachael, shaking my head. “Look, I can't explain this. It's just something I have to do.”

Rachael reluctantly let go of my arm, looking slightly petulant that I didn't take her side. “Fine, do what you want. I'll just be waiting here. Y'know....away from you.”

I followed the stranger into the warehouse, watching as she sauntered casually over to the ramp. “There used to be a skate park not far from here where I could hang out and practice. Fuckers in the council decided that the space would make more money as a car park. So when they were tearing the place down, a few friends and I snuck in one night, took this thing apart and loaded it onto a truck.”

I watched apprehensively, not sure how much I could trust her “So how'd you know we'd be here?”

She shrugged. “I walk home from the sushi bar where I work. It's a shortcut I take sometimes. I saw the door on the ground, figured I might wait to make sure hoboes hadn't moved in.”

The buzzing still filled my ears, though it seemed more subdued than before, like I was building up a resistance. “That's not it. Is it?”

She turned around, her eyes narrowing the smallest bit. “Why don't you tell me?”

“You feel it too, don't you?”

“Feel what?” Her eyes feigned confusion, but I knew I'd touched a nerve.

“Cut the crap! Back in the rainstorm....you know what I'm talking about!” My anger flared as I took a step toward her.

She leant back, raising an arm defensively. I don't know if she'd been lying to me or to herself about her reasons for being here, but her reaction showed the truth of the matter. “No...you're wrong.”

“Bullshit!” I curled my fists reflexively. “Tell me everything! Why did this happen? What was in our house? Just who are you?”

She shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about...”

She was faltering. I knew if I just leant a little harder she'd break and tell me everything. “I swear to god if you don't...”

Yeah, she broke all right. But in completely the wrong way. Instead of collapsing and giving me the whole story, she levelled a finger toward me, her expression smouldering with rage.

“Fuck you!” She spat. “I don't owe you a damn thing. I don't know you, you're not my fucking friend, and I sure as shit don't have to put up with this. Fuck off.”

My mouth hung agape, all I could see was my chances of learning anything about what happened evaporating before my eyes.

She stormed past me, disappearing toward the exit. “Stay the fuck away from me and my ramp. If I ever see you again, I'll kick your sorry ass.”

And just like that, I was alone again. No answers. Just more questions. I didn't even know her name, much less anything else. I heard Rachael's footfalls behind me, approaching rapidly. “What happened? That chick just walked off and....huh....are you okay?”

I thought about her words for a moment, considering my response carefully: I'd just watched my best chance of ever finding out how I'd become a girl slip through my fingers. She was long gone, not to mention completely pissed off. Even if I saw her again, she'd already promised to beat the crap out of me.

So what that means is...If I ever wanted to find out the truth, I'd just have to get my ass kicked.

Was I okay?

“Yeah.” I craned my neck toward her and grinned. “Never been better.”