Unforeseen Transformation

Ashton Johnson was just an 11-year-old boy, standing 4'6" and weighing about 80 pounds. With his tousled sandy blonde hair, cut just above the ears, and piercing blue eyes, he could easily be mistaken for any other kid in his middle school class. Born on December 12, 2012, in the quiet suburb of Maplewood, he found himself walking home alone for the first time. It was a small step towards independence, one that his mom, Emily Johnson, supported despite her overprotective nature. Emily was a 36-year-old woman, standing 5'5" and weighing around 140 pounds. She had soft brown hair that fell to her shoulders in gentle waves, complimented by warm hazel eyes that always held a sparkle of kindness. Born on May 3, 1987, Emily had a comforting presence and was known in their community for her kindness and resilience. Her gentle encouragement had given Ashton the confidence to take this journey by himself today. It was late afternoon, the shadows beginning to stretch across the well-trodden path Ashton took. As he walked, he heard the distinct sound of crying. Startled, he turned to see a woman in clear distress sitting on a bench just off the path. Her name was Jenna Waters, a 27-year-old woman standing 5'7" and weighing around 130 pounds. With her long, jet-black hair styled in loose curls and vibrant green eyes, she usually carried herself with an aura of confidence. But today was different. Jenna was wearing a pale blue sweater which hung loosely over her frame, paired with short shorts that barely reached mid-thigh. Her feet were clad in delicate, feminine flip flops, white with tiny gem embellishments that sparkled weakly in the diminishing light. Her nails were meticulously done, each one painted a vibrant red, matching the crimson purse slung over her shoulder. Inside the purse were all the hastily gathered belongings she took when she fled from her boyfriend. His increasing bouts of anger had finally driven her to run. The usual contents of her purse—wallet, phone, makeup, keys—were accompanied by haphazardly thrown-in items such as a change of clothes and a small photo album. The weight of her situation finally broke her composure, and tears streamed down her face as she sat quietly, reflecting on the turmoil. Ashton, feeling a mix of compassion and nervousness, approached her cautiously. Jenna, in her distressed state, barely heard his approach until he was almost beside her. Her head snapped up, and in a desperate motion, she reached out for him, her grip tight and unyielding. Before Ashton could react, his vision blurred, and consciousness slipped away. When he finally awoke, everything felt off-kilter. The world around him seemed strangely different, almost detached. It took a few moments for him to gather his bearings. His first realization was startling: he felt taller. He looked down at himself and nearly jumped out of his skin. The first things he noticed were the red nails adorning his hands. The purse hung heavily from his shoulder, and he was still wearing Jenna's blue sweater. His feet—now adorned with the gem-embellished flip flops—made an odd clip-clop sound as he moved, the cool air brushing against his bare legs. Feeling a wave of revulsion, Ashton yanked off the sweater, only to reveal a skimpy, feminine camisole underneath. The top, thin and lacy, clung to his new form, accentuating a figure that wasn’t his own. Panic filled his mind as he stumbled to the nearest reflective surface, which happened to be the large, ornate mirror in the entrance of the nearby public library. As he caught sight of his new reflection, the face staring back at him was unmistakably Jenna's. Her green eyes, framed by the jet-black curls, blinked back in disbelief. Stepping closer to the mirror, he tried to speak, hoping to hear his own voice. Instead, what came out was a feminine, valley-girl pitch. “Wha–what the heck is going on?!” he exclaimed. But what should have been a simple phrase sounded entirely different: "Whu–whaat tha hecck iz going awn?!" The words were drawn out, the inflections entirely foreign to his ears. Each syllable was a reminder that something was fundamentally wrong. "I need to fix this, like, right now!" he said, each word dripping with an uncharacteristic, airy cadence: "I neeid to fiix this, lyke, right naow!" Struggling with the gravity of what had just happened, Ashton—or was he now Jenna?—had no choice but to start searching for answers. The suburban evening that once seemed so familiar now felt like an alien landscape, filled with uncertainties and a new, deeply unsettling reality.