It was supposed to be only something they could do on purpose. So when Crowley woke up in the bookshop, he knew something was wrong. He didn’t even have to move to know something was wrong, because the body he found himself in hadn’t just been sleeping. It had sat in front of a book in an armchair that was far too squishy. As well as the body he was in. More squishy than his own. Continue reading “Body Swap”
Turns out, she broke his nose.
“B-but it’s cartilage!” She grabbed for tissues, ripping them from the confines of their box and throwing them at him. He might have caught them if they were anything but the thinnest sheets of paper, but as they weren’t, he caught a couple as the rest of them fluttered to the floor.
“Cartilage can still break!” How he managed to enunciate that, she had no idea.
He shook his head, then stopped when that proved to be too painful. “No. No excuses. Just…” The next word was the muffled sound she expected to hear after the crack which preceded this. One of the words had to be “idiot”.
If her panic wasn’t making her say stupid things, she wouldn’t be. As it was, she had to agree.
“Damn.” He stared at the shattered porcelain vase at his feet. “Damn.”
He said it twice, because saying it once wasn’t good enough. One for the fact it was broken. The other for how he would have to end up paying for it.
Considering his options, he decided he might as well go for what might salvage his situation. He settled himself on the floor, making sure to spread some of the glass on his suit. Then he closed his eyes and waited.
Eventually someone would show up. Eventually he could say that he didn’t remember what happened.
When the actor faltered on stage, the entire audience noticed.
That was a little less important than how all the rest of the cast noticed it was coming and tried everything in their power to redirect it. Everything to get the actor to get back on track before it was too late.
Yet even the most professional of actors couldn’t hide it when their leading man had a heart attack on stage.
Of course the entire audience noticed.
It is a strange problem to have, accidentally running the razor over the back of a nail.
She wasn’t sure how she accomplished it, where the razor nicked two oddly shaped grooves into the back of the nail of her pointer finger. If it weren’t for the feeling of it catching that hardness for a split second, it would have been impossible to notice. Only knowledge of the moment made her remember, running her thumb over the marks, bothering to be on her mind.
Only close inspection would show the scratches. One was longer than the other, but both followed the same path. An interesting mark that wouldn’t last very long, eventually growing out, eventually being cut off.
If only she could remember how she did it, to keep from doing it in the future.