The Great Shift: Searching for Tony
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I paced back and forth in the arrivals terminal, trying to spot my brother in what felt like the largest game of Where's Waldo ever. My heart was thumping with a mix of excitement and sheer terror. I hadn't seen him since the Great Shift turned our world upside down, and I was supposed to recognize him in the form of a woman named Emily from London. My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: “Don’t forget to pick up your brother. Be nice.”
Yeah, sure, be nice. Easier said than done when you don’t even know what your brother looks like.
I scanned the crowd, feeling more lost than a vegan at a barbecue. Suddenly, a high-pitched yet oddly familiar voice pierced through the noise. "Dave, bro, it's me!"
I turned to see a stunning redhead waving enthusiastically, lugging a pink roller bag. Was this my brother? It had to be. The smile and the swagger were a dead giveaway. He walked up to me and gave me a big hug, pressing his rather ample assets into my chest. I awkwardly patted his back.
"Hey, Tony—I mean, Emily," I stumbled over the words.
"Fuhgeddaboudit, you can call me Tony. And thanks for lettin’ me crash at your place while I figure dis out. You’re a life-saver," Tony said, a perfect blend of high-pitched femininity and that unmistakable Italian mobster accent.
"No problem," I replied, eyeing the multiple bags he was dragging behind him. "Didn't realize you’d need a whole department store for a short stay, though."
Tony laughed, the sound still so him, yet somehow not. "Whaddaya expect, Dave? I'm a dame now, gotsta keep up appearances. You ain’t gonna lemme walk ’round lookin’ like a bum, are ya?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Guess not. Let's get to the car."
As we walked through the airport, I tried and failed to keep my eyes off Tony's new curves. It was like trying to look away from a car wreck—you knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. Every time I got caught, Tony was right there to rib me.
"Oi, Dave, you keep starin’ at my bazoomas like that, people gonna think you got somethin’ weird goin’ on," he said with a smirk.
I turned crimson. "Sorry, it's just...new, you know?"
"Whaddaya talkin' about? Ain't much different from before! 'Cept now, I got a couple o' these!" He gestured to his chest with a playful grin.
“Plus the accents don't match... at all," I pointed out.
"Hey, you try learnin' the Queen's English in a coupla days. Not like I got a manual for dis."
In the car, Tony immediately started messing with the radio. "So, what kinda tunes ya got here? Somethin’ fit for dis new bod’ o’ mine? Maybe some Spice Girls?"
I snorted. "Seriously? You?”
"Well, ya know, when in Rome—or London, as it were," he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"You've really embraced this, huh?" I said, glancing over at him as he attempted to put on some lipstick in the visor mirror.
"Eh, why not? Gotta roll with the punches, Dave. And hey, check this out," he said, turning towards me and puckering his lips.
"Sorry, man—er, sis—no way I’m commenting on that."
"You kiddin’ me? I’m gorgeous! If I weren’t me, I’d be askin’ myself out!" Tony laughed, nearly poking himself in the eye with the lipstick.
"Well, at least you’re still you," I said with a grin.
“Damn straight. Now, how ’bout we grab a pizza on the way home? I may look like Emily, but I’m still Tony. Gotta keep these curves maintained!”
As we drove off, Tony kept filling me in on his plans, punctuating every other sentence with a wisecrack that had me nearly swerving off the road with laughter. New body or not, my brother was still the snarky, joke-telling Tony I’d always known. And as unsettling as the whole situation was, I couldn't help but feel relieved that some things never change.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a story with lots of dialogue where My brother was one of the people who got effected by the great shift which was an event that swapped 70 percent of the worlds bodies. He got put in the body of a girl named Emily who was from London. My mom told me I had to pick him up and let him stay with me. I still don’t know what he looks like for sure. I walk around the airport for awhile to look for him. Until I hear a feminine “Dave, bro its me.” I look over to see a beautiful and busty redhead walking over with a pink roller bag. He smiles and hugs me and thanks me for letting him stay with me while he sorts things out. I just didn't think he would have so many bags I mean how many clothes does he need. I cant stop staring at his boobs he has caught me multiple times and likes to tease me about it. He is still his same joke telling and snarky brother he's always been just with a new much more curvy body. Right my brothers dialogue in an Italian mobster accent
Response: I paced back and forth in the arrivals terminal, trying to spot my brother in what felt like the largest game of Where's Waldo ever. My heart was thumping with a mix of excitement and sheer terror. I hadn't seen him since the Great Shift turned our world upside down, and I was supposed to recognize him in the form of a woman named Emily from London. My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: “Don’t forget to pick up your brother. Be nice.” Yeah, sure, be nice. Easier said than done when you don’t even know what your brother looks like. I scanned the crowd, feeling more lost than a vegan at a barbecue. Suddenly, a high-pitched yet oddly familiar voice pierced through the noise. "Dave, bro, it's me!" I turned to see a stunning redhead waving enthusiastically, lugging a pink roller bag. Was this my brother? It had to be. The smile and the swagger were a dead giveaway. He walked up to me and gave me a big hug, pressing his rather ample assets into my chest. I awkwardly patted his back. "Hey, Tony—I mean, Emily," I stumbled over the words. "Fuhgeddaboudit, you can call me Tony. And thanks for lettin’ me crash at your place while I figure dis out. You’re a life-saver," Tony said, a perfect blend of high-pitched femininity and that unmistakable Italian mobster accent. "No problem," I replied, eyeing the multiple bags he was dragging behind him. "Didn't realize you’d need a whole department store for a short stay, though." Tony laughed, the sound still so him, yet somehow not. "Whaddaya expect, Dave? I'm a dame now, gotsta keep up appearances. You ain’t gonna lemme walk ’round lookin’ like a bum, are ya?" I couldn't help but chuckle. "Guess not. Let's get to the car." As we walked through the airport, I tried and failed to keep my eyes off Tony's new curves. It was like trying to look away from a car wreck—you knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. Every time I got caught, Tony was right there to rib me. "Oi, Dave, you keep starin’ at my bazoomas like that, people gonna think you got somethin’ weird goin’ on," he said with a smirk. I turned crimson. "Sorry, it's just...new, you know?" "Whaddaya talkin' about? Ain't much different from before! 'Cept now, I got a couple o' these!" He gestured to his chest with a playful grin. “Plus the accents don't match... at all," I pointed out. "Hey, you try learnin' the Queen's English in a coupla days. Not like I got a manual for dis." In the car, Tony immediately started messing with the radio. "So, what kinda tunes ya got here? Somethin’ fit for dis new bod’ o’ mine? Maybe some Spice Girls?" I snorted. "Seriously? You?” "Well, ya know, when in Rome—or London, as it were," he replied, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You've really embraced this, huh?" I said, glancing over at him as he attempted to put on some lipstick in the visor mirror. "Eh, why not? Gotta roll with the punches, Dave. And hey, check this out," he said, turning towards me and puckering his lips. "Sorry, man—er, sis—no way I’m commenting on that." "You kiddin’ me? I’m gorgeous! If I weren’t me, I’d be askin’ myself out!" Tony laughed, nearly poking himself in the eye with the lipstick. "Well, at least you’re still you," I said with a grin. “Damn straight. Now, how ’bout we grab a pizza on the way home? I may look like Emily, but I’m still Tony. Gotta keep these curves maintained!” As we drove off, Tony kept filling me in on his plans, punctuating every other sentence with a wisecrack that had me nearly swerving off the road with laughter. New body or not, my brother was still the snarky, joke-telling Tony I’d always known. And as unsettling as the whole situation was, I couldn't help but feel relieved that some things never change.
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