Making a mistake

Honestly, you kind of blame this washed-up piece of shit of a reporter who first got you onto this band wagon. If you hadn't read that article back then, you'd probably never have jumped to the conclusion that you were meant to be a little horse.

But, so what? You had been young and impressionable and he had offered you an easy excuse for your mental problems. Your trouble fitting in, managing your existence in this society? Why, it must all have been because you were actually born the wrong species. The day you would finally get your hands on some of those pills and leave your old human self behind would be the day you'd be truly born, finally come into your own. All your worries would fall off and leave behind a new being that could finally face the future with some optimism.

So just why is it that you don't feel anything in what should be the most important moment of your life?

You had this whole plan for the day you would finally take the plunge. It had been kind of romantic in an odd way, too. A swan song for your old life. "A part of me dies today and here," the song you'd picked out for the occasion would crow and you'd throw yourself down onto your bed and enjoy the changes washing over you with closed eyes, every fiber of your being focused on your DNA being rewritten. You know that that's the way things are supposed to be, because you've planned them this way.

And yet here you stand, without as much as a lit candle. No music and certainly nothing in the way of ceremony.

Oh well, bottom's up.

The pills feel odd sliding down your throat, leaving a chafing sensation as you drop down onto your bed. Already you can feel the goosebumps breaking out on your skin as a layer of fur begins growing on your limbs. You watch with absent-minded nonchalance as the fur spreads out over the rest of your naked body.

Wasn't this supposed to feel great?

 

A CRACK as your spine shortens momentarily takes your mind off the growing doubts. Now that the changes are starting in earnest, the feeling of ecstasy you've read so much about is sure to begin.

Any second now.

 

But it just won't come. Not when your hands and feet become overtaken by ceratinous growths and slowly turn into hooves, not when your tail comes in, not even when new limbs form on your back and leave you with a pair of brand new wings. As the changes abate and you finally sit yourself back up, you don't feel any different from before.

There's a mirror set into the door of the closet, and as you stare into it now you are overcome with disgust. The creature that stares back at you is worthy of disdain, no, disgust: A pathetic failure of a human being who was stupid enough to tell itself that if it threw away anything that made it more than a parody of some kind of animal, it could finally be happy.

When you had first imagined this day, you had envisioned yourself crying with happiness once it you'd finally achieved your “true self”, but the tears you find yourself shedding now are of an all too bitter quality.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to start off with the overdose as a first time user.

God, you really fucked up this time.