|The Transformation Story Archive||The Circe Treatment|
Standing in the line at the doctor's office, I stroke my fur from my chin to my waist, reveling in the little shivers of pleasure I feel from the touch of even my own hand against it. Of course, a pretty girl's hand is even better, but ...
I wrench my thoughts from that. All too soon, this wonderful body of mine will be gone. Just a memory
But what a memory it'll be.
I remember the first time I ever started wondering what was different about me. I wondered what it was like to be descended from wolves. So, I asked the dog. (Hey, I was about 8, gimme a break.) He said, if he could find out what it was like to be descended from apes, I could find out what it was like to be descended from wolves. So, I ...
Well, I'm really not too sure what happened next. But for the next week, I answered to his name and he to mine.
I sometimes wonder, though. After all was said and done ...
Who was who?
I remember asking everyone who had a beard what it was like.
None of that told me what I was wondering, though. Finally, on the bus to my counselor, I met another patient, and he had a beard. So I asked him.
"It's like having fur."
And I stopped asking.
I even remembered when they'd decided to start this new Circe Treatment project. Apparently it needed more funding, so they granted a small number of licenses to those who said they could do something with it.
My proposal, for a CT haunted house, was a surefire winner. And it won.
I could really remember the change. Only moments after the injection of the special batch of serum, I'd started itching all over as my system found an invader it couldn't really find. Only moments later, the itching had turned to jabbing invisible needles as I went through one of the worst periods of growing pains I'd ever experienced.
But it was worth it. Even with the primitive speech capabilities, with the odd looks, and even with the fact that the company that ran the haunted house would effectively own me for the duration, my new form had something going for it. With all the shaggy gray fur, the long, toothy muzzle, the springy, mobile ears ... even with the digitigrade feet and the tail, this form still had something going for it.
It felt ... right.
For the first time in my life, I looked just the way my mind insisted, had always insisted, I really was.
And now the trial was over, they had enough money, and the license was expiring.
And I had to give it back.
As the last person ahead of me vanished into a treatment room, I was gestured into another at one side. Without preamble, he jabbed the needle in and reinfected me with the invisible magic machines that made up the Circe treatment, this time programmed with my own genetic code.
I was going back. Sadly, I bowed my head.
Suddenly, the temperature of the room seemed to jump by twenty degrees ... then drop by forty. Panting, I looked over at the doctor, who was giving me an odd, confused kind of ... look ...
Suddenly, I ... felt ... strange. I ... shook my ... my head to ... to cle ... cle ... clear it. My ... breathing got ... faster and ... fa ... fa .. fa ... fa ... *************************** When I woke up, I put my hand to my aching head.
And found fur.
My eyes slammed open in an instant as I looked down at my large, gray-furred body, completely unchanged from the last time I'd seen it ... except for an IV in one arm.
A knock at the door signaled the doctor's entrance. He stuck his head in and asked, "May I come in?"
I nodded, wondering why it still felt like I was thinking through fog.
"Mr ... Lupus. Was that your new name?" I nodded. "Mr. Lupus, apparently you should never have been allowed into the Circe program in the first place."
I cocked my head. No sense straining my throat for no good reason.
He cleared his throat. "Apparently, your immune system has a rare flaw. It must learn from experience. The first time your system is infected, there is ... well, very little resistance. Thus, your current form. Unfortunately", he sighed, "The second time produces a marked increase in immune response. Quite simply, Mr. ... Lupus ... your body will not allow you to be returned to normal."
My eyes grew wide, a move he obviously misinterpreted. "Oh, there is a slim chance that, with extensive therapy and medication, we might return you to normal ... but I'm afraid your immune system would ... ahem ... not survive the procedure."
I nodded and finally spoke. "Ry da ritty rein' rayed ry recchin' ra race."
He smiled. "Yes, exactly that. The city would be saved, but it would be destroyed at the same time. An excellent metaphor." The smile faded, and he sighed. "Unfortunately, the decision has already been made by your ... owners. The remedy shall not be undertaken. You are to be returned as soon as we have you up and walking again. Perhaps the day after tomorrow at the latest. I just felt that you should be informed."
"Well, I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then. Eat well, and get plenty of sleep, and you'll be well in no time."
With that, he left.
My mind raced as I calculated all the possibilities in what had happened to me. And even though I was officially owned, no longer human, and could never be human again, two things remained certain.
My friend the head costumer would let my mother in to see me from time to time ... and I had my fondest wish.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Perfect copyright 1996 by Wanderer.
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