Lloyd did this. Lloyd did that. Lloyd did the other and stretched out a finger from his tight angsty mit to press the button on the bulky makeshift Corporeal Chronology Device. Immediately he was in another skin, the skin of his seven year old self from what he could tell from the mirror on the device. But his bone and muscle stayed adult sized, naked, skinless legs poking through childhood feet at his knees. His dissection etching arms sprouting from school age hands, fingers radiating stiff at his elbow like a peacocks tail plumage. And his head sprouted from a crop of cranial fur circulating his neck. Lloyd quickly reached out for the button and stickily pressed it. In the flutter of an eyelash he had changed, but this time more completely. He was Marilyn, and naked. Lloyd felt all the parts you would expect me have him feel, and then clutching the left breast, he bit off the nipple. It isn’t me after all, he thought, grimacing into the mirror, blood on his chin, on her chin, blood cascading over their stomach and pattering pleasantly on the black tiled floor. Another button press and he had changed again. Cramped, aching, stretched out. Sensations where everywhere, touch, sight, smell, tastes, all scattered across his frame, his mind and thoughts too, no longer were they at some centre, but spread across him and at moments autonomous. Lloyd organised the visual component of his form to look in the mirror of the device. He didn’t recognise the reflection, but then a wave of icy nausea rippled across him. He was a replica, a copy of the chronology machine. A fleshy device and with his very own button. A limb came out of him, from a side, a joined articulated femur and rib. He could sense a distant thought down his left side controlling the appendage, but he only seemed able to watch as the tip of the rib folded down and then pressed his button….il slit heir….breathing…sunlight that doesn’t need hope…nothing…
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- ▼ May (84)