The Potter

A 74 year old potter wakes up in his antique bed frame on the forty-first floor of his lavish apartment to find it has become a mattress on the floor in a dorm room. His wrinkled features have smoothed out, liver spots disappeared, back pain turned tail and ran. He feels strong and sturdy for the first time in 50 years.

"I awoke one morning in April completely not myself." he later stated. "Well, not completely. My mind was intact with memories, knowledge, experience, skill. Though everything from possessions and geographic location to physical features and prowess had been changed. I cannot now and could not then explain it. I had been turned into a 24 year man living in a college residence, and to my surprise I found myself into my sophomore year of Police Foundations. Me! The man who had attended countless protests against the injustices of the justice system was now a drone in training to enforce it. Was this some cosmic karma-tic response? Could I have been dealt a hand of revenge from a being I'd reasoned away my belief in decades ago?"

"You may wonder what did you do? Well I could scream for help although no one, assuredly, would believe this story. So that was out. The only option I seemed presented with was to take the place of the young man whose body I now inhabited."

"The young women, I soon found out, were aroused by the mere sight of me. It turns out this fellow was quite the misogynist and the fairer sex greedily ate it up. That was a delightful contrast from my Potter's life, in which I had a few romantic flings in my youth; though never experienced such a slew of admiration."

"My new chums are the type of people I've generally referred to as monosyllabic. The type of chaps who are dullards and execute orders from their socialist leader. Grunts. Meat-heads. The kind of young men who join the force and make bets on how many niggers they can baton per shift. The sort of meat-heads who broke my nose with the butt of a rifle whilst my person was sitting at a gate in peaceful protest."

"However, I must admit their admiration towards me, as their socialist leader, was intoxicating. The wielding of power it enabled me thrilled me beyond my wildest acid flashback. I soon found myself against my will craving their company. Laughing at their demeaning jokes. Taking part in their pranks on the helpless, and using my experienced intellect to devise more of these harassments. In a moment I would be revolted by these misdoings, and the next submersed in malice and ordering my goons into another attack. It was the way of the wolf on the hunt with its pack: agile, capable, dominant. Invincible."

"At night the war waging between the bipolar ends of my mind drove me from the warmth of my bed. My feet led me to pace the dark quiet corners of the campus. I am surprised and ashamed to know that although each side was stacked to fight my natural impulses were tailored to his state of mind. In my Potters life I spent the better part of my time subconsciously mulling over my beliefs, and then consciously tailoring my behaviour to suit. I supposed my faculties of introspection held sway over my person. Surely it isn't possible for the work of years to be lost in a matter of weeks. I was baffled."