Element of surprise
In the somber morning light, Simon got dressed for work.
Slightly hung over from the party the night before, he almost forgot to put on a belt. He’ll never forget to wear a belt again; the last incident caused quite enough physical and emotional drag.
“Slightly” may be an underestimate, Simon did manage to get intoxicated enough to muster the courage to speak to a girl. He absolutely succeeded, was it not for pants falling down in mid conversation, he may have possibly have gotten to first base. Well, maybe not.
As it goes, Simon is one of countless people working at a call center, destroying his soul in a tiny cubicle, one phone call at a time. A Fifteen minute ride on the subway brought all the sheep to their designated places, as cogs in a machine, one running on the time of morons, sucking every piece of life out of them from nine to five, Monday to Friday.
When he arrived at that dreary place he called work, a cold sweat burst over his brow. “Did I miss a memo or something? Why is the building locked?” Shit Simon, it’s Saturday, you tool.
You see, Simon is rather simple minded and his concentration sits up there with a goldfish. Since he escaped a day which he was prepared to waste on phone calls and yelling, he decided that it’s a lovely sunny day and he’ll walk home.
Very soon, he regret his decision, as a drunken crazy person started stalking him. Simon felt like a rabbit being circled by a hungry eagle. He turned to shout at the bearded buffoon, but alas, our dirty Gandalf had disappeared. Not questioning the strange situation, he made haste home.
Strolling through his front door, he let out a big old sigh of relief, believing that he’d be safe now in his little apartment, closed up from the world.
No.
Think again Simon...
There he was, hobo Santa, sipping on a cold one, lounging on his Ikea sofa, melted into it like a snail on hot tar.
“WTF!” Simon exclaimed in a girlish voice, the homeless man jumped as if possessed and spilled the last of Simon’s brewski all over his Tibetan rug. He got that thing about 12 years ago at a yard sale - back then it was still recognizable as a rug. Now it resembles something that you might use to cover a dead body in the woods.
“Sssh!! They might be watching us!” said the loony brute and jabbed Simon with a syringe in his right arm.
“Oh God, is this drugs? What in the name of Dirty Harry could be in that syringe? I’m definitely getting an STD” he thought as his consciousness flew out the window and he crashed to the floor like a 747 flying over the Bermuda Triangle.
Days passed.
Simon groaned as he woke up, his hair covering one eye and the rest pointing South-East. He tumbled to the bathroom mirror, kicking everything over from his bed to his bathroom, thinking: “I should probably clean this mess up, three pizza boxes and trail of clothes. This is getting a bit much.” When he finally regained focus in his eye which wasn’t covered with hair, he had a good look in the mirror and felt like something strange was going on.
Simon, why are you glowing?
Simon had a halo of blue light all around his awkwardly pale naked body. He thought to himself: “whatever was in that syringe is making me trip balls, I’m hallucinating.” But he was wrong. It wasn’t drugs. That dirty old man stuck him with a needle full of Element KT, a result of a billion dollar research program to create advanced soldiers.
Still shaken, gazing into the mirror, his appearance began to change,
Simon shed off his old skin and marveled at what he’d become - a girl.
A very attractive brunette; Simon was instantly in love with his new form and couldn’t stop looking down. Stop it Simon. Those are breasts, you have them now. Simon isn’t a very appropriate name for a girl, now is it? Shall we call her Simone?
It’s unanimous.
Simone it is.
