Waking up, a great divide splits your body. One half lays spread out over the phone, triangular, stringy, and scrunched up in a pleasant way; you sense this half like it's the lower part of your body, from the hips to the feet, even though it's no bigger than seven inches across, four inches in width, unstretched. The other half remains on one of the chairs connected to the machine, padded, stringy, and stretched its full length until parts of you--the string-parts, your "arms"--hang off the chair; this half is your torso, head, and arms all in one. You can't move either half; you see through the torso-section but you don't have any eyes; you hear but can't feel ears; you try to grumble, gurgle, articulate, but no vocal chords accomodate you, so you only think, What the fuck? over and over until a shadow falls over you.
You only have a moment to think, That's mom, before she picks up both halves and piles them in her arms, "legs" on top of "torso." Her breasts stare back at you while she walks the length of the living room, her footsteps booming like cannon-fire. You're no bigger than a kitten, if it was anorexic and chopped in half. You hear something ring in the distance: the doorbell.
"Right on schedule..." Mom mutters.
What did you do to me, Mom? you think, more irritated than scared now that you know who to blame. She opens the door and another shadow falls across you; you're caught between your mom and the unseen woman's bodies, staring at your mother's breasts, aware you're the same size as them. Does this have to do with your stupid Nobel Peace Prize? I thought you quit!
A voice from the doorway interrupts your thought. It speaks with the density of distant stars: "Hey Mrs. Williams," it says, addressing my mom. "You wanted me to come over?"
You recognize that voice anywhere: it's your girlfriend Sydney, the sweetest soul anyone could ever meet but naive like all hell. You want to scream out her name, but your new form denies you this satisfaction while Mom answers, "Yes, Sydney. You left your bikini in Austin's room last week, when you came over."
"Oooohhh. I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams. I don't... I don't remember bringing it here, or swimming any time recently."
Yeah, you think. Neither do I... And then, with startling abruptness, Wait! Am I the bikini?
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