Date: Fri, 23 May 2003 01:44:05 +0000
From: Kristy Leigh <kristyleigh2001@hotmail.com>
Subject: Make a wish ...

MAKE A WISH

Copyright Kristy Leigh 2003. All rights reserved.

PROLOGUE

1.

Danny opened his eyes with a start.

It was early morning, just after dawn. The room seemed strange and
indistinct in the dim, grey light. He glanced around hesitantly, trying to
orient himself in the darkness. He felt a little dazed. He'd never been an
early riser, and his nights had been rather restless lately. Strange
dreams: sometimes baffling, often bizarre. Not quite nightmares. He'd been
having them for months now.

He pushed back the covers and sat up in bed, placing his feet on the
floor. His throat was dry; always was after a night on the town. He needed
a drink or he'd never get back to sleep. There was as bottle of soda in the
fridge, tall and sweet and ice cold. He usually kept a few bottles in the
icebox for precisely this purpose. Hardly a man's drink he supposed, but as
his late father had been fond of saying, Danny was hardly a man.

Yeah, right. Gotta hand it to the old man, always had a kind word for his
gilded offspring, particularly when things weren't going so well. Like the
time Dad had given him the choice between getting a job or Getting the Hell
Out of My House. Get your scrawny butt of my sofa and start looking for a
job you whining little fag. Yep, that was Pa all over. Kind, understanding,
and patient to a fault.

Well, no sense brooding over the cruelties of the past; Dad had bought the
farm more than four years ago, leaving Danny a small mountain of debts and
a closet full of Hawaiian beach shirts. Life went on, world without end,
glory hallelujah.  Couldn't lie around in bed all day, no matter how
appealing the prospect seemed. Danny stood up, stretched, stepped towards
the bedroom door -

and stopped.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't his room.

There was a rug on the floor, something thick and warm and fuzzy. A pelt of
some kind, maybe a sheep skin. He could feel it beneath his feet. It
shouldn't be there, he didn't own anything like that. His apartment was
built on a simple concrete slab, this place had both carpetingand rugs. And
probably wodden floor boards, too.He'd felt it as he'd slid out of bed. Why
hadn't he noticed it then?

He stared around in astonishment.

Everything was wrong. The walls, the furniture, the drapes framing the
windows - none of it looked familiar.  He didn't have a dressing table, he
had a second hand writingdesk. And that chair - it was the wrong shape
completely; and should have been over by the bookshelf. Except he didn't
have as bookshelf, not any more. Now, he had a pot plant, sitting on a
large, blocky chest of drawers.

Even the door was in the wrong location. He'd been walking towards a
built-in wardrobe. He turned and looked back at the bed. It was a single,
not a double. A single with plump, lacy pillows and a European
quilt-cover. His head began to spun in utter confusion. This wasn't his
room. He'd never seen it before.

What was going on?

Where was he?

"Where-" he began, then paused in mid-sentence, raising a hand to his
mouth. His eyes widened with shock.  The tone, the pitch, the resonance:
all of it was alien, exotic, as unfamiliar as the room itself. It was
impossible, it was crazy, but -

(thats not my voice)

it wasn't his voice. It was high and sweet, like the ringing of a crystal
champagne glass. Breathless and rather child-like. It was ...

(no)

Danny's heart seemed to halt momentarily.

He bit his lip very hard, trying to control the panic he felt rising from
the pit of his belly. This couldn't be happening. The dreams, the weird,
haunting visions he'd had every night for the past three months - it simply
wasn't possible. This was twilight-zone material, the stuff of nightmares
and Stephen King novels.  Such things didn't happen. Couldn't happen.

(i'm still dreaming)

Yes, that was it. He was still dreaming.

Except he wasn't. He knew that somehow. He was awake, completely awake, the
fog had lifted from his mind - and he was standing in an strange bedroom,
speaking with a voice that wasn't his. This was no dream. He put a hand to
his temple and drew his fingers slowly down the side of his face. His cheek
was smooth. Sleek and curved and as soft as the palm of a child.

"No", Danny gasped under his breath.

What had happened last night? What had he done, where had he gone after the
Blue Rose had closed and he'd stumbled alone through the black, deserted
streets of the Westside? He couldn't recall the exact details, his mind had
been blurred with a mixture of Johnny Walker and cold winter night-air. He
sifted through the fragments of memory, trying to make sense of the
irrational.  Something had happened, long after midnight. He'd found a shop
in a back alley. A shop with an odd name. A shop that sold -

"Wishes", Danny said in his high, sweet, breathless voice.

His mind was suddenly very clear.  Memory came flooding back in
irresistible waves. The bar, the drinks, the woman in the shop that sold
wishes. It was true; all of it.  She'd had long black hair, reaching down
past her waist, eyes like midnight diamonds, and a smile that could melt
ice. They'd talked for a long time, it seemed like hours, and finally come
to some kind of agreement. But whathad he wished for?

(no no no no!!)

Danny cast frantically about the room, searching for a lamp, a lighter, a
box of matches; anything that would illuminate his face and body. He needed
to see himself, see what had taken place while he'd been asleep. His voice
had been altered, and it felt as if his features had changed too, although
he wouldn't be certain of that until he'd actually seen them. Dear God,
this couldn't be happening. What had he brought on himself?

(what did i wish for?)

There was a lamp on the bedside table, a cheap art-deco reproduction
glittering with silver and carnival glass. Sells for about ten dollars in
K-Mart. A few feet from that was a mirror. The kind with hinges in the
middle; what do you call it - a cheval mirror? Yes that was it. He'd seen
one last night, there'd been one in the Gypsy's shop, it could have been
the same one. The Gypsy had shown it to him. He'd looked into its silvery
depths and seen ...

(- dreama littledream of me -)

He leaned over and switched on the lamp, blinking against the dazzling
light. It seemed much brighter than it should have been. Narrowing his
eyes, he looked down at his hands, turning the palms up and splaying the
fingers. He shook his head in disbelief. They were small. Pale and
delicate; smooth as a porcelain vase.  They weren't his hands. They were
the hands of some fragile, alabaster doll.

Danny turned slowly towards the mirror.

His heart was literally pounding against his chest now. His body felt
different, the weights and balances seemed completely off centre. He wanted
to run his hands over his body, discover the extent of the transformation,
but he didn't dare.  What would he find? What would be missing?

Despite his mounting dread, he found himself drawn irresistibly to the
mirror. Something had happened to him last night, some metamorphosis that
defied all logic. He'd made a bargain with a woman who sold wishes. What
had he surrendered as the price of a dream? What had he paid for? He had to
see, had to know. He had no other choice.

Danny looked.

'Dear God', he whispered, feeling the strength drain out of his legs. The
room began to lurch as the truth struck him with paralysing force. A
gentle, mellow heat spread through his torso by perceptible degrees. The
moment spiralled out to eternity as his knees gave way.

There was a woman staring out of the mirror.

2.

She lay on the bed drifting between the tides of consciousness, staring
listlessly around the room. Her pulse was a dull throb in her ears. The
seconds tapped away as she tried to understand what she'd seen. An
illusion, some trick of shadow and light? An hallucination? Maybe she was
mad. Yes, that was it: there was no other explanation. Last night she'd
been someone else. A man. She'd gone out drinking at the Blue Rose, lost
her way home, found her way into an antique shop on the west side of
Chamberlain. Then she'd gone crazy.

Yes, that was it. She was insane.

And a woman.

(i'm a woman)

Some minutes later, she found the courage to risk another glance. The room
had gradually brightened as the sun began to rise. She sat up and ran her
hands through her long, thick hair. Sumptuous blond locks flowed through
her fingers. Last night it had been short, brown and rather greasy. What
else had changed? The mirror had revealed only a glimpse before she'd
collapsed over the bed.

She got up and walked hesitantly over to the cheval.

Bending in closer, she studied her face in detail.

There'd been no mistake. She was female.

A woman.

No. Not a woman. A girl. A teenager, no more than sixteen years old. A
young sixteen, not a mature one. Her eyes were huge and innocent; the eyes
of a child who still kept a Barbie under her bed. She was surprisingly
pretty. Her small, serious mouth was offset by full, sensuous lips. They
were folded into a permanent crimson pout, the kind that had grown men
weeping with desire.

She was wearing a frilly, pink baby-doll; a sheer, translucent nightie
which barely reached down to her waist. A pair of gossamer nylon panties
were clearly visible below her belly button; shiny full-briefs with floral
insets and lacy trimmings. She felt embarrassed, like a little girl who
suddenly discovers that her party dress is way too short. She fought an
impulse to pull down the hemline and hide those flimsy, gossamer wisps from
the world.

It was a rather odd thought given the circumstances. Her world had gone
haywire in the space of a few hours, she'd lost her body, her world, her
life. So what if her underwear was on display? She had far more important
things to consider for the time being.

Still, the image in the mirror was utterly captivating. Danni found she
couldn't look away, even for an instant. Her figure was petite but
curvaceous; her legs lean and tapering. She could have been a ballerina or
a gymnast, maybe even a catwalk model. Her breasts seemed large and supple,
from what she could see of them. The nightie was extremely low cut,
revealing a breathtaking amount of cleavage.

(i'm ... beautiful)

Danni looked away, her cheeks flaring with shame. What had she been
thinking?! She wasn't a woman, this wasn't her body. She ... HE was a MAN
for Christ's sake, not some mincing sissy-boy playing dress-up in his
sister's bedroom. No man wants to be beautiful. A man should be strong,
powerful, respected; but never beautiful. Yet here she was, posing before
the mirror in her lacy, pink lingerie, admiring her figure like a giggling
prom queen.

She was trembling.

A rash of cold gooseflesh buzzed across her naked shoulders. She had never
felt so alone, so isolated in her life. The full horror of her situation
came crashing down like the sword of Damocles. She was a sixteen year-old
girl with no past, no family, and not a cent to her name.  She owned
nothing but the clothes she was wearing:alittle pink babydoll and a pair of
lace panties. What more could a girl possiblyneed?.

(what am i going to do?)

She sat down on the bed, hiding her face in her hands like a child afraid
of the dark. The room seemed toturn and bend in undulating grey waves, like
a set in some incomprehensible German expressionist film. Stars flickered
momentarily across her vision as she wavered on the verge of
consciousness. It wasn't the alcohol, she had no trace of a hangover. Not
even the slightest hint. Why should she? She hadn't been drinking last
night. Danny had.

Danny Milner, undiscovered artist, part-time philosopher and full-time
social failure. Danny Milner, who couldn't hold a job (or a girlfriend)
more than two weeks at a stretch.  Danny Milner, who made up for his
innumerable shortcomings by touring the dives andflesh-potsof the
Westside. Danny Milner, that pathetic, self-pitying waste of a human being,
who'd drunk himself into oblivion and left then her, half-naked and
penniless, trapped in the body of a sixteen year-old girl.

(what am i going to do?)

She looked hesitantly around the room once more, hoping to make sense of
this nightmare. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Where was her
money, her clothing, her former life?  There was absolutely no sign of
Danny Milner to be seen anywhere; no jeans dropped carelessly to the floor,
no shirt slung over the back of the chair, no cheap vinyl wallet lying
empty on the writing desk. Elvis has left the building folks. Permanently.

What am I going to do? she asked herself for the third time, her eyes
stinging with approaching tears.Her otherselfhad been a worthless,
pointless excuse for a man, but at least he'd managed to survive after a
fashion. Now, she had nothing: no friends, no money, no life. She covered
her face again, long golden hair spilling down either side of her
shoulders. She wept, quietly as a child weeps, her body shivering with cold
and fear. The room was silent, apart from the lonely sobbing of a
frightened teenaged girl.

(what am i going to do?)

The answer would be a long time coming.


To be continued. Email me at kristyleigh2001@hotmail.com for more.