Daily Exercise

[elfcraft]

Taken from the same place as the last one. You wake up, go to the bathroom, and look in the mirror. A different face stares back at you. Begin your story here.


"So that's how it's going to be, then." The face in the mirror isn't my own. I know that, and I expected it. It's not an altogether unattractive face, but I don't like it. But then, there are very few faces that I do like. It's young enough. Early thirties, I would assume. Good teeth, at least, which is unusual. Normally, they don't take care of their teeth. The hair is horrible, of course, and in need of washing. That isn't unusual.

Contrary to popular belief, we don't do this that often. We all hate going on these jobs. You wouldn't believe how uncomfortable it is, getting used to a new skin, fumbling with hands that aren't your own. Just simple things like showering are a challenge for a day or two. God, do I need a shower. Why must they always stink so?

Taking a shower first thing is always a good idea, anyway. It lets you know if there's anything peculiar about the body. Any injuries or atrophied muscles or disabilities. This one seems pretty sturdy. My shower is short. I hate that it's always a rush the first time, but it has to be. Results are expected. I have to get downstairs quickly. The water is hot. I wish it was hotter, but I can't risk scalding the skin. In the fog that's condensed on the mirror where I just saw my new form, I scrawl, "I'm in. Moving to the sect now." Mirrors are good for that. Communicating. They're doorways, a way in and out, you see. Well, no. I suppose you don't.

I take the stairs, slowly, gripping the banister. It's easy to get vertigo like this, when you don't have complete control over the legs yet. There are three men waiting for me at the base of the stairs. Dirty. Spattered in blood. Tattooed in arcane symbols. I want to laugh at them and how pathetic they are. The fact that they think this actually gets our attention, let alone wins our favour. The fat one speaks to me. He has red hair, and his face is bloated and pockmarked. "Did it work? We did everything like you said. Did it work? Did you summon him?"

I glare slightly. I want to tell him, "It's her, you sniveling moron." Instead, I take the cigarettes out of his pocket and help myself to one. The smoke orients me, and my eyes finally fully focus on my surroundings. I smile. "Better luck next time, boys. Nothing happened. But I know why. And I have a plan on how to turn it around." They'll listen, I know. Even if they wouldn't have listened to their little leader, they'll listen to me. Part of the power is in my voice. And I want to get this over with, and get back home. How I hate being human...

Comments

[je-smith.livejournal.com]

I like this one. An old idea, but very evocative. I particularly liked "The smoke orients me." Nice and subtle. My only suggestion would be that the last line is perhaps extraneous, or at least less subtle than the rest. But that's a very minor quibble. Nicely done.