She Wakes With The Arse Of A Pig And Trotters

She wakes early, the sun shines in through her bedroom window. The birds cheep in the tree outside. She swings her legs out from under the bedclothes, she rubs her face with both her hands. She looks up, out the window to outside. She sits for a moment on the edge of the bed. She feels a little woozy, she isn’t sure why. Just the morning, she guesses. She has never really been a morning person.

She can feel that something is different. She squirms a little on the bed. She can feel that her arse was different. What she sits on had changed. She can feel that her arse is huge and round. She looks down one side. Her torn nickers lay on the sheet under her. She looks down her other side. She jumps up onto her feet, which make an unusual clack, clack, clack sound on the tiled floor, as she grabs her arse with both hands. She looks down at her feet, which are trotters.

Ah! She spins around to look at her now, huge, arse, in the full length mirror she keeps in the corner of her room, only to see a curly tail growing out of her unusually pink rump. “Oink!”

She hears herself for the first time. “Oink!”

She can’t believe what she sees. “Oink!”

Her head spins. “Oink!”

How could this happen? “Oink?”

"Oink! Oink!" She wails and spins around on the spot. Clods of shit fall from her big, round arse, plop, plop, plop. "Oink! Oink! Oink!" she cries. Her snout in the air. Clack, clack, clack, sound her feet on the tiled floor. Clack, clack, squish, squish, sound her feet as she slips in her own shit, smearing it across the white, tiled floor.

Ah! “Oink!”

She throws herself to the ground and rolls in her faeces smearing it across her face, and her body, pissing herself as she lay hysterical on her back kicking her totters in the air. It was strangely satisfying.

How... “oink”... did... “oink”... this… “oink"… happen?

She oinks and flails on the shit smeared tiled floor until she is exhausted.

She has to be dreaming. This had to be a nightmare. Someone must have spiked her drink? If only she could remember anything before this morning?

The points of pink ears appeared first in the mirror on the dressing table, sliding up, sliding up. The creased forehead, the small black eyes. Her hands clasp her face. It is true, she isn’t dreaming. She hadn’t taken a bad trip, or drunk a bottle of absinth she’d forgotten about. At least that might have explained it. What did she do last night? She couldn’t remember. She lets out a wail, "Oink, oink, oink, oink!" and falls to the floor again.

What is wrong with me?

She begins to sob, but only pig grunts can be heard coming from her.