Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
You hold the cool bottle in your hand, the bright green liquid inside still glowing from the flaring lights of your living room. Ok, then... let's give it a shot, you think to yourself. What more direct way to probe into the day's strangeness then to call its bluff?
Click go the door locks. Snick go the window locks. You close everything down and unplug the phone, feeling like you're going into something illegal. Leaving dimmer, uniform lighting throughout the house, you pull the window shades. Your activities are now unnoticeable and unbreachable.
The plastic security strip crricks off the cap of the bottle of Gator-Aid as you twist it off, the plastic ridges rough on your hands. You pull out a kitchen measuring cup and gently measure out exactly one ounce of the lime-scented liquid. You replace the cap and put the bottle in the fridge. You stare at the liquid for a moment. You glance at the microwave clock (it's 9:00 p.m.).
OK, carpe diem and all that.
Down the hatch it goes!
It's pretty nice; like key lime pie. You quickly rinse out the cup and return to your living room sofa, waiting--Quite nervously, to be precise.
A few tense minutes go by. Your stomach bubbles a few times, but that's the most exciting part.
Who-! Pinchy feeling on the arms! It's rodeo time!
Your hairy (to whatever degree) human arms become armored with dull green scales. You grip the arms of the sofa. Nice, sharp black claws blossom from your fingertips. The scales cover your entire body with the feeling of a rough massage. Your arms and especially your legs shorten and reposition themselves on the sides of your body. You're now precariously balanced on the sofa, doing a strange variation of the splits with your equally-sized limbs sticking out to the side. Your mouth suddenly crowds and your face stretches forward. You flop off the sofa, leading with your lengthening snout, hissing as your thickening jaws bristle with teeth. Your neck tilts upward and your head solidifies at a level even with your spiky back. Finally, your tailbone goes mad with power and a huge, muscular tail punches the jeans off your legs. Your undergarments were irreperably gored to death.
There you are, a massive alligator on the living room floor, the carpet tickling your sensitive belly.
There is a scratching at the door.
...Of course.
Written by Mr.Peaches
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