Clarence sat on a wobbly barstool, trying to ignore the static on the television above the bar and endure the smell of fresh vomit wafting from a drunk man three stools away. He just wanted to sip his watered-down daiquiri in peace, with no sissy drink jokes, and no insults about his slender physique or hated first name.

He couldn't help his lack of muscles. He tried to bulk up at the start of every year, after he made the same New Year's resolution to hit the gym and build some muscle. He stuck with his workouts at the gym for months too, but his lack of results eventually killed his motivation.

His current record was lasting until late summer and gaining a whopping three pounds, presumably muscle. The workouts didn't help, and even adding protein shakes didn't help. Nothing did.

His wet sleeve momentarily distracted him. He'd slid his hand through what must have been a spilled drink. He sniffed the cuff of his dress shirt to confirm it.

Smells like a whiskey sour. Gross.

The bar he currently sat in was his new favorite hangout, but only because his seven previous favorite hangouts all went out of business over the last couple of years. The current bar didn't look long for the world either, but like all the rest, he'd stubbornly patronize the seedy place until it either rotted away or went out of business.

Here's to lucky number eight, he thought as he downed the remainder of his drink. Now on to the New Year's countdown.

The television didn't work so he settled for his watch. He preferred an old-fashioned analog watch with a secondhand that came in handy for the countdown. He manually synchronized his watch to his phone just as the minute changed, then he slumped down and tried the impossible feat of dredging up some good cheer while he waited for midnight.

The nearly empty bar depressed him, as did seeing a few black condoms on the floor of the men's room earlier.

I'm sure someone's getting lucky tonight. But it won't be me.

He found one nice thing about his new hangout at least. All of the bartenders were attractive young women, and they might not care to keep everything spotless, but they were all quick to clean up after sick drunks.

They probably can't stand the smell either.

Following the hot job market like so many others, he'd moved to the West Coast in search of greener pastures. He thought he wouldn't miss his family and friends. He'd never been all that close to any of them. He could make new friends, when he had more free time and motivation, and he video chatted with his mother every second month or so.

He still had to admit that his life felt a little hollow, and his job didn't help. He'd moved to be in the same time zone as the company he worked for, but he rarely went to the office. Software development was easy to do remotely, so he and everyone on his team worked from home most of the time. His social life needed help.

He kept his eye on the time using his phone as he scrolled through news headlines, but that didn't last long with all of the horrible things going on the world. He turned his phone off and slid it back into his front shirt pocket. Then he took his watch off so he could easily see it without resting his arm on the wet bar. He held it in both hands and rested the back of his hands against the edge of the bar. With that minor accomplishment, he chanced a smile and looked around, but no one noticed. There was no one to smile back.

I might skip making a New Year's resolution this year. Why bother? He paused. Unless.

Inspiration struck, when for some reason, he began thinking about his college Psychology class. He remembered what he'd learned about reverse psychology and it made him think.

Why don't I try reverse psychology on the universe? Wouldn't that be a kick if it worked? Maybe I could even go back to college for a degree in Psychology. I could write a masters thesis on it.

By that time, his alcohol consumption had caught up to him, and he'd had just enough to give him something more than a normal drunken buzz. He didn't realize it but he'd induced a strange, altered state of consciousness, one with the potential to manifest thought into reality. He didn't think about it. He just went with his gut feeling.

He sat up as straight as he could on the barstool and closed his eyes. Then he added some guided imagery, but instead of a muscular body, he imagined himself becoming feminine. He kept to his idea of using reverse psychology, and he giggled at the absurdity of it.

The clock ticked down and Clarence began his resolution at five seconds to midnight. He even spoke it aloud to make sure the universe heard him. He wanted to believe that the universe was listening and he spoke to it. He really, really had a nice buzz going.

"I resolve to make myself the epitome of femininity." He paused a moment, giggled again, and added one more thing for good measure. "And I dare the universe to help me make it happen."

Immediately after he finished, he heard distant cheers from neighboring bars. He looked around, but the bartender was putting chairs on tables. Everyone else had left, even the sick drunk.

He got up to leave and gave himself his own silent cheer, laced with sarcasm and self-loathing. Happy New Year, Clarence.

At this point, things turned metaphysical. While the universe wasn't exactly alive, it had a kind of built-in programming, with goals, perhaps better thought of as endpoints. In other words, the universe had a plan, and that plan included human beings. All of them.

Unfortunately, humankind was an endless source of frustration and disappointment, or it would be if the universe had feelings. It's hard to explain, hard to relate to the vast region of space around us, and it's likely that the difficulty in understanding the universe was part of the problem. How could anyone be expected to follow a plan if they didn't understand it?

And so, left to their own devices, humans kept sabotaging their grand destiny by constantly succumbing to their base instincts. They should've evolved into energy beings ages ago. But no. Instead, they take their drugs of choice, indulge their senses, and waste their potential.

The very rare exceptions didn't help. Those few spiritual gurus who achieved their full potential were isolated and mostly ignored. They couldn't change the world.

That's why, when Clarence made his ill-conceived New Year's resolution, the universe took notice. The man had unwittingly tapped into the collective unconscious mind of every intelligent being in the universe and he triggered a profound change, one that the world might not ignore if things went a certain way. His altered state of consciousness and word choice made all the difference, and it might make a difference in everyone's lives, not just his own. Everyone might see their horizons expanded, see their great potential and begin reaching for it.

If the universe had emotions, it would be giddy with excitement, because it just found a cosmic loophole that it would exploit to the fullest of its impressive abilities. Starting immediately.

The gym was closed on New Year's Day, but the day after, Clarence couldn't wait to start his usual regimen of weight lifting. He never consulted with a personal trainer, never tried looking up how to lift weights to build muscle. He'd never heard about the importance of time under tension.

He'd have to lift much heavier weights and take thirty seconds or more for each repetition to get the masculine body he thought he needed to attract women. Instead, he did dozens of quick repetitions with a light weight, all but guaranteeing a slender, well-toned body.

Still, in spite of his usual old routine, something felt different during that first workout of the new year. He couldn't tell what it was, but it made him smile.

January ended and he didn't have any noticeable results from his workouts. The scale tempted him to weigh himself, but it was too soon. He wanted to give himself a little more time.

He did notice one thing though, not about how his body looked but about his strength. It seemed to be waning a little. He couldn't lift as much and do as many repetitions as he normally did. It disturbed him a little.

Maybe I'm doing too much. Or coming down with something. I'll adjust and keep going as long as I feel okay though. Nothing is going to stop me.

He fished for his lucky penny that he kept in the coin pocket of his jeans and rubbed it for luck for several minutes. As usual, his little ritual helped him forget all about his troubles.

February ended and so did his resolve to lift weights. His strength continued to wane and it upset him too much to continue. He canceled his gym membership and started walking for exercise.

He didn't feel sick. In fact, he felt better than ever, yet he still kept getting weaker. During his walks, he kept going over his workouts in his mind but he couldn't figure out what he'd been doing wrong.

He'd get home from his walks and often felt like crying, but his male ego wouldn't let him. Instead, he slunk off to play some first-person shooter video games to give his masculinity a boost. That helped for a little while, until he noticed yet another disturbing trend.

As spring approached, he found his love of video games waning. They didn't hold his attention like they used to and he didn't do nearly as well. Oddly enough, he also didn't seem to care much that he was losing his mad gaming skills.

Now isn't this a fine kettle of fish.

He'd taken to using old-fashioned slang that he recently picked up from watching old movies. He'd started replacing his video games with black-and-white movies. He'd get a bowl of ice cream and often found himself dabbing at tears while he watched.

Once again, his response was to pull out his lucky penny and rub it for luck. At least it continued to help, in a way. He soon forgot all about his troubles.

Sometime in April, after several rainy days in a row had depressed him. He was hitting the ice cream hard when it suddenly occurred to him that lately, he'd been having trouble reaching for the small ceramic bowls on the top shelf of the cupboard.

What the heck? What now? Am I getting shorter? That's crazy.

He tried to laugh it off, but when he thought about all of his other fairly recent issues, he suddenly took his reaching trouble more seriously. After digging through his desk for a ruler and pencil, he stood against the inside of his closed bathroom door, used the pencil to mark his height, and then measured it.

Five feet, nine inches? What in the world? How could I shrink three inches?

On the verge of panic, he measured twice more and got the same result both times.

This is impossible. Impossible!

He hated to admit it, but he needed help. His lucky penny wasn't getting the job done.

He plopped down hard on his couch and started putting everything together, his waning strength at the gym, his difficulty in reaching things high on shelves, and most recently, his appearance in the bathroom mirror. Since he worked from home and had no close friends or family, he had no one else to notice. He had to cut through some serious denial to see the changes.

Every time he took a shower, he'd look at himself in the mirror, and he finally realized something. He was seeing himself look more and more like an underdeveloped teenage boy, maybe even a feminine man. He thought back to his New Year's resolution then and gasped.

No. It can't be. This is ridiculous.

But it wasn't ridiculous. He couldn't help himself then. He started regular measurements of his height and his manhood at full mast, when he could arouse himself well enough. Arousal was getting more difficult, and that along with his shrinking penis was bringing him to a tipping point. He couldn't deny that something was seriously wrong with him.

He thought about seeing a doctor, but he couldn't bring himself to make an appointment. Other than his libido, he felt fine, great even.

After his denial died a horrible death, videos and polaroid camera selfies became an obsession. Videos could be faked, but not polaroid photos. Clarence posted videos of himself taking selfies to show his gradual outward changes and the videos went viral. For obvious reasons, he kept the polaroid photos of his shrinking manhood private.

In spite of the polaroid photos, people continued to debate the authenticity of the changes, but there were many more believers than non-believers. That was a relief.

Clarence wouldn't go quietly into the night, ending up without a legal identity and living alone on the streets. He decided to broadcast his condition to the world. He needed help, and maybe, if he tried hard enough or got lucky, he might even find a cure. In the meantime, the changes continued.

His lucky penny got a good workout. He rubbed it incessantly while he started distracting himself with cartoons. He needed the laughs. Humor distracted him better than anything else he tried, so when he wasn't working or going for walks, he gave up on old movies and switched to watching cartoons.

One cartoon stuck with him. He watched it over and over again to stave off the depression that always hit him after a shower, when he saw his body in all of its feminine glory. The cartoon showed a grouchy male character riding a small dragon and having all sorts of problems with it. The character blamed his mount for nearly everything, and he called all dragons stupid at one point. The insult seemed unnecessarily cruel, but Clarence couldn't keep himself from laughing.

The only problem with using cartoons as therapy was that he couldn't keep watching them. When real life intruded and the fun stopped, his body reminded him of its femininity in so many subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

Clothes became his second biggest problem, after showers. His clothing didn't fit very well. He eventually bit the bullet and began ordering women's jeans, and they were always black to better hide his slowly developing curves. He started doing online research and learned much about fashion as well as other things related to his transformation, though none of what he learned helped his state of mind.

Gender dysphoria sucks.

It was late June when he reached his limit. He didn't want to be a woman, but he felt certain that he'd eventually turn into one. He had to do something, and out of desperation and more online research, he ended up contacting a well-known government laboratory. The lab didn't seem like a good fit at first, but he found that one of their mission focus areas covered advanced biotechnology and bioengineering research. He had to try.

The laboratory had scoffed and ignored him at first, until a lab technician named Ken had intervened. Ken had stumbled across his videos and believed him. One thing had led to another and before he'd known it, he was the subject of an intense series of tests.

After a month, he was informally known as the star research subject of the biotechnology lab. The guys in the lab couldn't get enough of him, especially Ken, much to Clarence's chagrin.

Ken, in his white lab coat, greeted him in a different language every day, along with a wave and a big smile. The technician's attraction to him was painfully obvious. It finally got too awkward for Clarence when Ken gave him a bouquet of a dozen red roses one morning.

"Ken. Please. No."

"What? What's wrong, Claire?"

"My name is Clarence."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just please. No more flowers."

"Right. Chocolate it is then."

"No. No flowers or chocolate."

"Ah. Then you must be a plushy lover."

Clarence barely managed to suppress a scream. "No. No flowers. No chocolate. No plushies. Stuffed animal toys. Whatever. You're a nice guy, Ken, but I'm not attracted to you. I'm not into men."

The poor man looked down at his black work clogs and sighed. "Maybe not now. But your tests are showing some unusual brain activity that might change your mind."

Clarence froze. "What?"

Ken looked up. "Yeah. Your mutant prions had us all scared at first. We thought they might be like the ones that cause various brain-wasting diseases, but it looks like they're only keyed to your DNA. Are you sure you have no idea where you got them?"

Hearing about unusual brain activity and brain-wasting diseases put a scare into the so-called star research subject. He barely heard the question. All he could manage was a shrug and a quick shake of his head, so the technician continued.

"We've started experimenting with your prions and we were able to create one to correct certain genetic defects in mouse DNA. I have no doubt that most if not all human genetic disorders will soon be a thing of the past."

"That all sounds great, but wait. Back up. What about my brain activity?"

"Oh, yeah. You're like a prion factory. In addition to the systemic flood of mutated prions that are changing your sex chromosomes, we found several other types of mutant prions in your body. Each type focuses on a different area or system of your body, and as you can see in the mirror, they all have feminizing effects. Just last week, we found a new type that's changing the structure of your brain."

Clarence sighed. "Great. Just great. So I won't be myself mentally or physically in a few months."

The technician smiled. "Hey. You'll still be you where it counts. It doesn't look like your memories will be affected." He paused a moment, frowning. "Haven't the research scientists told you any of this?"

"No. I've asked and they mostly put me off, saying they're too busy. One of them told me that I helped save Gertrude. From what you told me, I assume she's a mouse. Is that right?"

Ken nodded.

"Well, that's all I knew, so thanks for the update. But please, no more gifts."

"Sure, Claire. Anything you say."

"Come on, Ken. Don't call me that. I don't even have breasts."

He leered and whispered, "Yet." Then he got louder after getting a deer in the headlights reaction. "I have high hopes for you, Claire. High, perky, full and round hopes." His hands moved up into the classic breast groping position, with lively finger action.

Clarence had a sudden urge to slap him, but he cringed instead. Men! Then he paused, half in shock. Wait. Why did I go there? I'm a man. Barely, and not for much longer at this rate, but still. This is so crazy.

He ended up quitting his software job and was supported full time by all of the advances in bioengineering that were made from his tests. The scientists at the lab and all around the world are beyond excited from the knowledge they'd been gaining by studying him. The online research library for the government laboratory had to increase the number of servers to handle the increase in hits to their website.

Though he considered himself nothing more than a glorified lab rat, he appreciated the lab's support, even if they still occasionally embarrassed him.

It was near the end of August when he suffered his greatest embarrassment. Almost immediately after being declared completely female, two women researchers marched him, now her, into the ladies' room and gave her a simple, fast makeover. They then dragged her to a large conference room for a surprise birthday party. They even had a birthday cake with a single candle in the form of a digit. It was her zeroth birthday party as a newborn woman.

She looked down at her chest and frowned. "I still don't have breasts. Shouldn't I have breasts? I feel incomplete." And how odd is that? I feel comfortable as a woman now? Wow.

One of the women patted her shoulder. "Oh, honey. Don't worry. They'll develop soon enough. According to our latest tests, we think you're going to start menstruating next month. Then you'll experience late-onset puberty." The researcher paused with a sour look on her face. "That won't be pleasant, but Sheryl and I will help you through it all. Don't worry."

She tried to smile but failed. Still, she thought to be polite. "Thanks. I can't say I'm looking forward to menstruating, but thanks."

After becoming a woman, she hired a team of lawyers to represent her interests, and things ran smoothly from that point. Her new self fully sunk in after she got all of her identification cards changed with her new name and gender.

With her new name, she felt like she was coming out to the world for the first time, and everyone was watching. They couldn't take their eyes off her. They'd seen her change and with those changes, they were beginning to see their own potential, the potential of the human race, starting with rapid advancements in bioengineering.

The only thing that bothered her was being so famous. She mitigated that by only allowing images of her to be shown without makeup and with no distinctive hair styles. By doing so, she hoped that she could use makeup and change her hair enough to not be recognized in public in most cases. It worked well enough to satisfy her, and she actually started liking herself and her life. Most of her family and friends back East supported her too. She'd never been happier.

If the universe had hands as well as emotions, it would be rubbing them together with glee by that point. Everything was going according to plan. Everything.

Exactly a year after making her strange New Year's resolution, she stood in a crowded bar wearing a slinky black party dress. With makeup, nicely styled hair, and low heels, she was just a little above average height for a woman, but she was well above average in the looks department. She noticed lots of appreciative looks from both men and women and she couldn't help smiling back at them.

Everyone politely looked away when she caught them looking, but she didn't let the attention stop her from looking around while she waited to catch the attention of one of the two bartenders. The place looked clean, popular, and perfectly cozy, with dozens of ferns hanging in baskets and lots of soft, indirect lighting. She liked it.

When it was finally her turn, she asked for a wine cooler and wiped off her lipstick with a tissue after a bottle was handed to her.

The bartender, a woman in her late twenties with long straight, blond hair paused in front of her, blocking her reflection in the big mirror that stretched the entire length of the wall behind the bar. "Sorry. I should've asked first. Would you like a glass?"

"Yes, please." She eyed the bartender when the woman turned to grab a glass, and she smiled when it was handed to her. She liked what she saw, and she didn't try to hide it. Her sexual preference hadn't changed, only her body and gender identity had. She was pretty much the same person, only much happier, and getting ever closer to reaching her full potential.

The bartender suddenly cocked her head then.

Oh, oh. I think she recognizes me. I hope she doesn't give me away and start something. I really like this bar. I want to keep coming here. Maybe a quiet, preemptive strike is in order.

She crooked her finger at the bartender and they both leaned over the bar to have a fairly private conversation. "Hi there. Yes, in case you're wondering, I'm her. I completely, utterly, totally changed gender. Even my gender identity changed. Doesn't that just sound crazy?"

The other woman smiled. "I wouldn't say crazy. Unusual, maybe. Or even exceptional."

"Oh. Well, thanks. I seem to look a bit younger than my actual twenty-five. I think I actually regressed a few years. That was a nice plus." She had a quick look around to make sure no one overheard. "Please don't spread it around. I'm trying to be incognito. Okay?"

The bartender nodded with a gleam of sexual hunger in her eyes. "Say. I get off at midnight. You wanna go somewhere after the countdown?"

"Yes. I think I'd like that." And I didn't miss the double entendre. I hope it was intentional.

They quickly exchanged names and discussed a few options, and all the while, she thought about her changes, her wonderful changes, including her name. She never did like her old name. But she loved her new one. She loved her strange new job at the lab, loved her new life.

After slowly finishing her wine cooler, she'd ordered a second one and finished it more quickly, hoping it might help settle her nerves. Though she did truly love her life as a woman, everything was new to her. She had yet to sleep with someone, and her nerves battled her libido. It was an epic battle, but her nerves were doomed to fail.

She walked into the ladies' room and gave herself a critical look as she reapplied her lipstick. Liking what she saw, she smiled and winked before sauntering back out to the bar.

A bit later, when the New Year's Eve countdown reached zero, she didn't even think to make a New Year's resolution. She just gave herself a sincere well-wishing.

Happy New Year, Clarisse.

The second half of the past year had been mostly wonderful, and it was ending on a bang. She wouldn't be going home alone like last year. Back then, she thought she'd needed muscles so she could attract women. Well, she'd just disproved that in a big way.

I wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something.

She'd hoped for a kiss at midnight but thought it might be a little too soon for that. She'd had to settle for daydreaming about the future while she waited for her new love interest so they could leave together.

On impulse, she pulled her lucky penny out of her clutch and held it her hand to possibly give it a last look. She seriously thought about giving it to someone as a good luck charm. She no longer felt the need for it.

It never really worked anyway.

Just after noting how the light reflected off the penny, she suddenly felt her mind go quiet. Strangely enough, like her last New Year's Eve, she'd had just the right amount of alcohol and perfect conditions to enter an altered state of consciousness, and she wasn't the least bit surprised when the penny suddenly levitated two inches above the palm of her hand.

Now isn't that a fine kettle of stupid dragons. A new development to share with the world. I wonder how everyone will take it.

She purposefully mixed her favorite old-fashioned saying with a cartoon quote, starting the new year with a new body, a new paranormal ability, and a new outlook on life.

And she'd be dragging the whole world along with her.