Chapter One: A New Man

(first draft) I realise there are some issues with grammar, punctuation and tense. As I say this is a first draft and I'm working on it when I have the time. I am initially focusing on the concept.

I awake with the mother of all hangovers. That in its self is strange, I don't recall having anything to drink last night. In fact I don't remember anything. My eyes are closed. I decide to remain in blissful ignorance for just a moment longer. Soon I would have to face reality, but not yet. It is very hard to ignore the cold however, I don't think I've ever been this cold in my entire life. I'm laid on my back I can tell that much, but that doesn't explain the dampness in my clothes. I open my eyes. The sun is blinding and my head starts to swim. I close them again tightly. I sit up, eyes still closed, and fumble for the curtains at the end of my bed. I need to shut out this blinding sunlight and get some sleep. My hands find nothing but air.

Tentatively I open one eye, just enough to help me find my curtains. They are not there. Nor is my window or my bed. I look around In confusion. Where my carpet should be there is only grass, as far as I can see. I look up, eyes wide open now ignoring the pain the light causes. My fears are confirmed. Bright sunlight and clear skies. I have no idea where I am.

"Ok think." I say to myself. "What can I remember?" "My name Is Jack Harrison. I'm twenty three years old. I was born in Manchester, England." But that’s it. I cannot remember a single other detail. This is serious I think as I let out a sigh. Ok what about last night, what did I do? Where did I go? I have no answers for these questions.

I’ll check my phone, there's bound to be something on there that can be of use. I always take too many pictures when I go out, my friends always tell me. I reach my hand into my pocket. No phone. As I pull my hand out I notice the long red painted finger nails on my hand. I must have had a lot to drink. As I look closer, my hands look smaller than usual, daintier. I frantically start to place my hands all over my body, trying to figure out what Is going on. While I do this I reaffirm what I know. "I am Jack Harrison, I'm twenty three and I was born in Manchester". This may be the case but that doesn't explain the two large breasts my hands have just discovered sitting defiantly on my chest. "What the f**k is going?" I scream. The fact that the voice leaving my body is that of a woman's only distresses me further. I put my head in my hands and start to cry.

After a few minutes the tears begin to subside. I am acutely aware of the silence. I don't mean the typical silence you would find in the country side. I mean pure, deafening, silence. I can't hear birds in the trees, the sounds of farm life, the trickle of running water or even the sound of far off cars. There is no sound to hear other than that of my own breath. Despite all of this I cannot shake the feeling that somehow I am not alone. I look all around, a full three hundred and sixty degrees. Nothing. Just me. I begin to walk the direction I am facing, it seems as good a direction as any. I have no idea where I am after all. Hopefully luck will be on my side. Simply walking however would not be as easy as I first thought. Just as my short bitten fingernails had been replaced by long red acrylics, and my firm, strong pectoral muscles had been switched out for a large supple pair of breasts. So had my Nike trainers been replaced by tall, pink, high heeled shoes. How I managed to get here in the first place is nothing more than a miracle and It would take another for me to reach civilisation without breaking an ankle. Deprived of alternative choices, I decide to go for it anyway. Slowly one foot in front of the other I begin to walk hopeful that my day cannot get any worse.

I would find out later that It could. In fact it could get much worse.

After about thirty minutes of walking everything is going fine. I've made progress, not as much as I’d hoped but I can now see houses in the distance and a fairly busy road with cars passing frequently. I can’t be more than fifteen minutes away. I should certainly be able to hear the cars by now. Still my ears are met only by my own shallow, panting breaths. In my excitement of finally seeing some signs of life I have been ignorant of the changing terrain. This is why I don’t see the rocky patch I have just stepped onto. The heel of my left shoe find its self in the crevice of the rock face and snaps. Before I even know what's happening my head makes contact with the stone, hard. The black veil starts to fall again over my eyes. That's when I see him, the black figure waiting in the shadows under the oak tree. In the periphery of my vision I see him turn and begin to walk away. Blackness then consumes me and I return to my sleep.