This short story was inspired by two images created by SpinateR/DierVonDan and posted to /tfg/.
You can find the two images posted here: https://desuarchive.org/trash/thread/64983584/#q65093425
And you can also find SpinateR/DierVonDan here: https://twitter.com/DierVonDan

“Honey, it’s time to get up!” a maternal voice calls out, awakening you from your deep unconsciousness.

Faced with this sudden command, you continue to lie in your bed with your eyes closed as a mild form of protest until it suddenly hits you like a freight train.

I live alone.

You sit up and your eyes shoot upon only to be bombarded by the colour pink. Pink walls, pink bed covers, and pink miscellaneous items scattered throughout this foreign bedroom you find yourself in. A far cry from your typical, mundane bedroom you slept in last night, or, at least you thought you slept in last night. In your initial scan of the room, your eyes find themselves stuck on the horse poster hung adjacent to the door.

Where am I..? is the burning question your mind keeps repeating to itself.

Your vision gradually shifts to the bulky CRT television along with what appears to be a Playstation 2. It has been many years since you’ve personally seen both of these relics together in such a natural environment.

When am I…? a very small portion of your brain can’t help but think.

While sitting there dumbstruck, a small clump of hair falls in front of your face and you instinctively go to brush it aside. As your hand quickly moves from the front of your face to the back of your head, you immediately sense that something is off, even from the brief and blurry glimpse of it.

As anxiety starts to overwhelm your body, you close your eyes as you bring both of your hands in front of them, hoping to see something familiar. Hoping that the fears that have spawned in your mind will be proven false and put to rest. Hoping you can just get up, go downstairs and quickly leave, and put this all behind you as something you can laugh about one day. But, sadly, a part of you knew what was coming and the rest of you was soon going to catch up.

As your eyes start to open, your soul sinks like an anchor. Before your vision even focuses, you already know what the damage is. Your heart feels like a jackhammer and it drowns out the sounds of your hyperventilation. There they were. Two hands that were as dainty and feminine as they were childish. They were as normal as any other pair of hands you had ever seen with four fingers, one thumb, and no deformities. But despite their apparent normality, they were as foreign and unfamiliar as hooves. You turn them, bend and extend your fingers, rub them together, and they act like nothing like the ones you had grown used to. They moved through the air differently. They felt like they used completely new muscles. Gone were all the small scars and calluses, signs of experience and skill, replaced with flesh as smooth and fresh as that what you’d expect on a child. A female child.

You sense moisture growing on your eyes, but you hold any further feelings back. Your hands move to the back of your head to rub and comfort yourself. Doing so, you touch the large frizzy mass in place of your usual short and clean cut. Your fingers feel around and dig in, but it almost feels like your hair goes on forever, exacerbated by just how much smaller your new hands are.

You look down at your legs that are concealed by your pink covers, and you see just how much less of you there is. Your feet used to be nearly at the end of your bed, but it seems as if you only come half way now. Your lower body even makes a smaller and less pronounced lump in the bed. Hardly noticeable compared to what it used to be.

Your eyes travel further down and onto your body, and you gain the smallest sense of relief at how your shirt seems to be the same as last night. The same red t-shirt as before. Quite a bit baggier than you remember, but at least it was something familiar. But it’s how the shirt is being worn that is really upsetting you. .You admit that you didn’t have the most intimidating figure before, but now it was a joke. The shirt looks like it is being held up by a thin wire display. A burly shirt hiding a meek body. Billowing sleeves concealing your thin arms to below the elbows.

You need to see who you are. What you are. You glimpse over to the right of this bedroom to see an open closet surrounded by posters, stickers, and pictures. This may hold some answers for you.

As you pull off the covers and jump out of bed, you feel yourself fall for a moment before you hit the ground. Just a split second of air, but it was still enough to startle you slightly. You hadn’t been expecting such a drop, and this only goes to exacerbate your loss. You wander to your open closet briskly but cautiously. You are shaky on your new feet. Less surface contact with the ground as well as a completely new centre of balance causes the wander to be more of a stumble.

As you reach this closet, filled with skirts and dresses and boxes labeled ‘Toys’, you slowly close its doors. And there it was. A mirror showing the reflection of a very shocked and worried girl. A girl no older than 13, but no younger than 7. A girl who looks like she had just had a rude awakening. A girl wearing the same baggy red shirt that you found yourself in this morning along with a pair of patterned shorts that were also too big for her. You briefly glance down and confirm that you’re wearing the same. You tug them slightly and the girl in the mirror copies it exactly. Her mouth is contorted and you see some sweat roll down her face that coincides with the same feeling. Her breathing is matching yours beat by beat.

“Wuh…” escapes from her lips. Not even a word and barely a whisper, but it’s all you need to get a profile of this voice. Quiet, youthful, and unmistakably… girly. Your heart is beating so fast it feels still.

While staring at this girl frozen, you hear another voice. One that you heard not long ago.

“Sweetie, hurry up or you’ll be late for school!” the same maternal voice that woke you up calls from outside. Upon hearing this woman’s voice for the second time, you cannot help but notice that it carries a familiar tinge.

This was going to be a very long day for you.