Your dad is a construction worker, a down-to-earth guy, and he has little patience for your interest in the paranormal, calling it wooly-headed nonsense. You decide not to tell him about the alleged properties of the bowl... But that doesn't mean you don't want to still try it out.
"Don't you want a drink before we get going?" you ask, holding out the bowl.
He turns his nose up at the offering. It's hard to blame him - who knows how long the bottle of water had been standing there, and a scum of dust from the bowl floats on the surface. "Not thirsty. C'mon, let's get going. Get dressed."
Rats! And you're so sure this time it's legit. "I suppose I'll just tip it down the drain then."
Suddenly he bristles. "Whoa whoa whoa. So you're the one paying the water bill now, are you? We don't waste water in this house, boy! Give it here." With that, he takes the bowl, tips it back, and drinks. And drinks. And drinks.
A single, solitary drop of moisture remains, glistening on the glossy gold bottom of the bowl, when he shoves it back into your arms. Would that be enough? Will the magic work? Only one way to find out; as your father turns to leave, you raise the bowl to your lips. The drip trickles onto the tip of your extended tongue.
Immediately the room swims, your visions dims and goes black. Even before your new eyes open, you know it has worked! Your body feels bigger, stronger, harder, the product of twenty years hard, manual graft. Your vision returns to reveal your dad's body, only from a first person view, and there, wearing an expression of perfect surprise, your old scrawny body.
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