• CHP 1


    As soon as the test was over, I immediately walked back home. Didn’t stay around to talk with friends like the others at school. I don’t know how others look at me, or how they think. You could call me somewhat socially-challenged. But just a little. And no, I did have any life-traumatizing event that caused me to have problems speaking my mind. I guess I just don’t like others opinions. Actually, I’ve always been like this. Afraid what others would have thought of me, so I usually didn’t do anything that stood out. Except drawing. I loved drawing. Drawing was one of the reasons that saved me from being a total failure in life. But it’s not like I was a complete loner. I had friends too, and I hang out frequently with them. It’s just that everyday I go home worried about when was the next time I would see them, constantly comparing my social life to others. Such a drag. Anyways, I’d just finished the last final exam of the year, and I was walking home. My pace was quick and hasty, almost like I was afraid I would bump into someone I knew. Another flaw in me. I liked to avoid people. Geez, what’s wrong with me? I sighed inside my head and continued on my way, minding my own beeswax. That was the moment of chance and change happened.


    Next thing I know I’m sprawled out on the street walk, the wind knocked out of me. I regained my senses and looked up at the person who bumped into me. I screamed, horrified in a surprised way. The face that was looking back at me…..was my face! My face was one of those that weren’t the best. Pimple-rimmed nose, unattractive dark eyes, greasy brown hair. A few zit-scars here and there. The boy who was me, but not me, looked alarmingly at me. He grinned elfishly using my face, and laughed. He sprung back up to his feet and raced away, laughing psychotically the entire way as he raced down the sidewalk, leaving me confused and creeped out. I quickly concluded that the person who bumped into me was just someone who had freakishly similar features to me. It wasn’t entirely impossible. I got back up and brushed myself down, and that’s when I noticed my hands were suddenly tanned and muscular. What the hell? I looked up and caught my reflection in the 7-11 convenience store window. I didn’t know how to react. Shout with joy, or be seriously concerned. I was hot. Really, really handsome. I was slightly taller, my hair was now a nice chestnut-brown, no longer greasy but still the same style as it was before. My eyes changed colours, now electric blue. They were glowing radiantly. My face was acne-free. My build was a fit muscular, and my skin a healthy beige.
    The only thing I could say was,”What the s**t?!” I marveled at the idol-like features of the person in the reflection. Now I know this is what most people would’ve found favorable, waking up one day and realizing they had amazing looks. But I for one, was worried. How was I going to explain this to my mom? I hardly looked like her son anymore. If I went home I was probably going to be arrested for breaking and entering. No way was my mom going to recognize me. I’ve seen this situation too many times on TV to follow the main character’s mistake of going home. Man, what was this? A friggin’ drama novel? One second I was a geeky, art-loving kid, and next thing you know I’m legible to be a male model. I panicked and looked down the sidewalk for the kid who bumped into me. This was definitely his fault, but he was long gone. In seconds I grasped the situation. The boy who had bumped into me had somehow changed bodies with me. Through some mysterious, impossible, supernatural happening, I had managed to switch bodies with a boy who had the body of a every high-school guy’s dream.
    I tried speaking a few times and found that my voice was a deep-masculine, with a hint of roughness. I wondered if this was permanent, but for now my life was suddenly messed up. I could no longer go home to my family, or go back to school. Surely no one would know I was my old self. Then I realized it was summer vacation. So the school part was covered, but how would I convince my mom I was me? Would I even be able to go home at all? As I worried and fretted I didn’t see the person above me on the roof of the 7-ll store.


    “Runaway captured,” reported a voice over to the walky-talky. A strange man with orange, afro-styled hair received the message.
    “I saw the transformation. Tragedies: one,” the orange haired man replied into his walky-talky.
    “We’ll leave this one to you Alfred,” said the person on the other end. With that, Alfred, the orange afro man, threw the walky talky onto the roof of the 7-11. With one leap, he jumped down onto the sidewalk where his target was standing unsuspectingly.