Animated World: Drawn In

"Kenny! It's after twelve! How can you stay in bed all day?!"

I blinked my eyes open, from what I was sure was one of the best dreams I'd ever had, to the pouting visage of my younger sister, Candace. 

Her huge, green eyes gave a visible twitch. 

I muttered something into my pillow and tossed a hand in her direction. But she wouldn't leave me alone. First, came the prodding with her hands, then the poking with her feet, and finally, the drops of water on my neck. 

"You promised to take me to the mall today after lunch!"

I vaguely remembered such a promise from several nights ago and sat up rubbing my neck to get the water off. My sister stood before me, framed by the dark, pen lines which surrounded her body, arms folded, and awaited my answer.

With a sigh, I brushed my hair back and nodded. That was all the affirmation she needed. I was promptly seized by her almond-pink arm and forcibly dragged out of bed and across the floor. Before I could look up, she'd tossed some of my clothes on my head. I lifted them up and glared at her.

"Be ready in ten!" Then she scampered out of my room, a colorful blur.

-----

As I got dressed, I reflected, for the umpteenth time, that I used to tease my sister by calling her a cartoon character for all her antics. I never expected it would literally come true. But then no one expected what began in the world over two years ago.

The first cases were on the other side of the world in strange places with names I could barely say. None of them occurred in the same town and none seemed connected to the other. But each affected, whether while they slept or over the course of a single day, changed from a normal human being to what looked like a living drawing. 

The art styles varied, especially at first. Some were in a nearly photo-real style with few physical changes. Others became like caricatures with odd-shaped heads and disproportionate bodies. Some resembled classical art styles from their culture. Others seemed to be in a new style altogether. 

Back then, the news talked about it all the time, screaming wild theories and even wilder preventative measures. For a short time, art schools were threatened and art museums questioned. But the changes continued, methodically, day by day with more and more people. The first cases in the US were the talk of everyone. Those changed sat somewhere between sideshow attractions, reality stars, and pariahs.

It wasn't until famous and "important" people started to change that the PSAs began. We had a week in classes which was less education and more the teacher throwing out hypotheticals. Of course, there was always the guy who wanted to talk about buxom cartoon girls. One of those guys even wound up as one with a particular version of the change. 

But panic is hard to keep up for a long time. We all got used to seeing the random person who looked like they escaped from an art project. At least until it was my sister's turn. 

Her change started in the middle of the day as she was watching something on TV and noticed part of her hand was a different color from the rest. No amount of washing or scrubbing helped and paint thinner had long been discredited as a home remedy despite one particular news network still bringing it up. 

By evening, most of her had been converted. My sister was one of the lucky ones. She didn't change all that much physically and she actually enjoyed her "color style". She also enjoyed a few weeks of popularity till the next conversion at her middle school. 

Of course, Candace's conversion didn't do anything to prepare me for when mom and dad were converted. My thoughts were interrupted by loud stomping near my door which told me that I was taking too long getting ready.

I tapped on the wall and hurried along.

Candace beat me downstairs and was already at her spot around the table. Mom and dad were both cooking. They couldn't be more different than before. Fortunately, in a good way. 

Mom of before had a short cut of auburn hair which coiled over her ears, stood a head shorter than dad, and always had back problems. A life-long artist, she would sit and work, crouched from sunrise till late in the evening on some painstaking project in her home studio. Now, mom was shorter than Candace with long, aquamarine hair which glittered in the sunlight and overwhelmed her body. She'd tried cutting it several times but, as part of the change, it regrew at a hyperactive rate whenever cut. She wore a white top and black pants as she stirred a bit of egg and sniffed with her little mark of a nose, which barely showed up as a slope in profile.

Though mom became a "little cartoon girl", she still spoke with a feeling much larger than her small body. The first few weeks were tough and I know it hit her hard when several of her "normal" friends stopped coming by and we got the cold treatment from neighbors. 

For mom, it was a revival. She actually embraced her child-like appearance. Her aches and pains improved and she got used to the face in the mirror. 

After mom, it was only a month before it was dad's turn. Like mom, he looked ages younger. The salt-and-pepper on his face was replaced by a smooth visage and bright blond hair which made Candace deem him a "heartthrob". Dad would glare and admonish her about that with his huge, brown eyes.

I didn't really ask how mom and dad dealt with it in private but I noticed that there was a lot more "parent time" with closed doors and that was the furthest I wanted to take that thought.

Mom set down her brightly-colored, cel-shaded spatula. As soon as she stopped touching it, it reverted to a normal one. Such was the case with everything someone converted came in contact with. That was why my sister's clothes looked like art even though I knew they were just ones she'd bought at the mall. It extended to people too, as I noticed with mixed regular/converted couples at school. Kisses got really weird as the influence would spread to the other. One of the long-standing jokes/topics at school was if there were ways to make sex better if the influence spread entirely to someone at climax.

Some still refused to touch the converted and there were always meetings and shouts of "normal"-only classes from hysterical parents. Most classes were regular anyway because the conversion rate in our area was still only about five percent.  

"Well?! Do you want ham?" My sister asked me with a glower. I must've flaked out. I looked to mom's dark U of a smile as she chuckled and I nodded. Dad and she shared a look. 

Tired of Candace being annoyed with me, I tried to turn it around on her, asking, "So why do you even need to go to the mall? You got clothes last month."

And then began the hyper-huffiness. Through it all, I got two inklings. First, that there was a Sunday sale somewhere. Second, that one of her friends was sure to be there and they were just converted and needed to go shopping and how dare I be so insensitive about someone at such a time when they needed friendship and support the most and besides I made a promise to do this and she thought I had more honor than to welch like this and so forth.

Mom tossed me a kind look and I rose to help serve lunch. At least that way sis couldn't complain for a bit. For mom and dad, they had a proper lunch. For us, late breakfast. They knew us so well.

Dad asked me the usual questions between bites of his meal. When would we be home? I turned to Candace for that. She tried to ramble, mentioning the contingencies of her friend's situation. He narrowed his eyes and watched her. One big problem with a drawn face was it was so much easier to read the emotional lines. After a bit of prodding, Candace admitted that there was also a cute boy who just got a job at one of the clothing stores. An older boy. Dad's face was also easy to read. Then he turned to me and made sure I would watch over Candace. 

I gave a half-salute with a serious face. Mom smiled but dad just nodded. Sure, he was a copy-editor now but he'd been in the army for years and it showed, despite all the changes to his appearance. 

Candace bit into her ham and held it till it turned bubble-gum pink. I knew she did it because it grossed me out. 

When we were done, there was no time to linger. I thought about refilling my cup a moment before I was wrenched from the table by my sister's claw-like grip.

I didn't have a car, yet. But I had plans. Summer plans which were closer to vague notions and hopes that I might find something. The family car was good enough that I felt confident when I actually managed to get some time to drive it.

Crossing her legs, Candace folded her arms and firmly booted the glove compartment till I'd pulled out of the driveway. She fiddled with her purse and hip pack all the way. I unwillingly learned from Candace, over one of her prolonged monologues, that makeup took a while to catch up with converted people. Normal tones were like applying a spray can. Since colors could vary so much, the business of custom makeup took off. I honestly couldn't tell the difference from her regular, simple tone with or without it but if it made her feel better, I wasn't about to invite an argument.

The drive was long enough that I started to tap my foot too. At one of the main intersections, Candace asked me what I'd asked myself so many times before, "Do you think it'll hit you too?"

She didn't need to explain further. Going from odds and if there was fairness in the world then I'd probably be one of the last ones "hit". I didn't buy those people who said hanging around the converted changed you faster. 

And it was proven by a noted scientist who put himself in direct contact with the converted every day. As soon as he let go. he reverted and, despite endless hours and days of direct exposure, he was still the same. Of course, then some people took this to mean that touching a converted was like an inoculation.

After finding a good spot on the packed first level of the mall parking garage, Candace hurried into one of the big department stores. I had to hustle to keep up and she groaned that I wasn't faster.

Most stores had display areas dedicated to more colorful products and clothing. Some still had rules that converted people were not allowed to actually handle certain products long enough for their influence to spread. Most of it was going away but one remnant was that certain clothes were advertised brighter so converted people could see what they might look like if worn, which was still ridiculous. 

Just looking around the store, I didn't see anyone else like my sister. But she rarely turned heads anymore. Usually, just young children would stare and try to grab at her clothes before their parents yanked them away with horrified grimaces. 

The interior of the mall itself wasn't anything special, which I heard from Candace all the time. Of course, there was a much nicer, outdoor mall about thirty miles away in the next large city south of us. I liked our mall though. It had used furniture places and small arcades, watch repair shops and big shoe surplus stores. 

I was starting to get winded but I kept pace with Candace till she met up with her friend at the second intersection. They gave each other a big hug. She introduced herself to me as Allison. She was taller than Candace and looked a little more mature but that could've been due to her conversion. She had thicker lines around her body than my sister, though not as thick as mom's and her skin tone was closer to a smooth bisque which shaded nicely with the noonday light through the atrium above 

She had on a flowing, sea-pattern dress with crests and waves like something out of a painting. Her hair was past her shoulder and black aside from a reddish tint at the ends. Her eyes were "anime" big (although the word 'anime' had acquired dozens of interpretations, I still went with my pre-conversion era sense of it) with a dusty-red tone. I winced for her when remembering old stories on the news of converted kids who were beaten when they woke up with bright-red "devil eyes".  

They chatted a bit as I gazed around the mall. The occasional person glanced towards Allison and Candace but that was about it. I was looking for other converts. Candace poked me on the shoulder and narrowed an eye at me.

I knew the plan. I could roam so long as I kept my cell phone on at all times and didn't tell our parents that I wasn't supervising every moment. I was fine with not spending the whole afternoon bored and camped out at every teen clothing store that caught Candace's interest. Plus, I figured she wanted time to flirt with the "new boy" she mentioned. 

For me, I was headed for one of the "odd gifts" stores nearby. They had massaging chairs, which would be great for the crick I still had in my neck from sleeping awkwardly overnight. From there, I glanced over the sports store out of sheer, random curiosity. While there, I noticed one of the clerks was animated. She had on a soccer jersey which complimented her style, which was somewhere between Candace's and Allison's. She had smaller eyes but simple shades of soft yellow hair in a ponytail and Allison's body tone. She was also pretty cute. 

I hung out a while and tried to think of reasons to ask her for help in getting something. But there really wasn't anything I wanted. But she was still really cute and might want to hang out. Candace treated it like I'd become a monk lately but I really did want a girlfriend. Her idea of trying to get one for me involved me hanging around the stores she liked while she muttered suggestive things and giggled. 

Eventually, the clerk vanished in the backroom before I could come up with something interesting to say or do. The head clerk eyed me a little like I was taking up valuable floor space. I moved on.

The gadget stores just made me look longingly, so I wound up at the newsstand/bookstore. They served great orange-flavored drinks next door. I bought one.

Sipping softly, I sifted through some magazines and considered the music store or the trendy graphic t-shirt shop. I would definitely be able to burn some time at the former listening to samples, which I could probably get in full for free online. However, it was on the far side of the mall. Trendy Ts was close but it was quite a bit smaller and I never wound up buying anything there. But there tended to be a lot of girls willing to strike up a conversation about anything. One I remembered wore special makeup to make herself look more like a converted. Worth checking out. Maybe they even had some fun new shirts. 

The store was busy like usual. The highlight was a converted girl, about my age, wearing black. Her eyes were traced like an Egyptian fresco and she had an ankh around her neck. Her style was more indie comic book with odd proportions which exaggerated but complimented her legs and hips. She had lips I knew were intentionally black-traced and a textured, curved helmet of brown hair. She was hot and she looked to be alone, sifting through some purse decorations. 

I figured I might be able to position myself nearby and mention something cool. There were chokers. I diverted over to the shirts. I noticed they had a few "convert" pride ones. Terms ranged from "colorfuls" to "animated" to "anime" to "toon/ed". I often just said, "converted". 

Looking at some really colorful ones, I noticed one in particular and raised an eyebrow. It was related to a well-known animated show with an animal cast. The shirt was admittedly a bit cooler looking than most. 

There had been some rare converts who wound up similar to that show's characters with four legs and a bright color scheme. They'd been in a study by scientists curious if the conversion was ever unwilling. Me, I didn't want to be an animated puppy or pony or dragon or whatever.

Most of them tended to be form-shifters though, so at least they weren't stuck looking like strange animals for the rest of their lives with no way to care for themselves. Putting one of the sample shirts back, I rubbed at my wrist. Behind me, I heard a breathy voice ask, "Hey, can you get that for me?"

Turning around, I was face to face with the animated goth girl. She pointed with a black-pen-traced finger at something right above me. I reached up and took down a key chain in a box with undead Hello Kitty imagery. I smiled quickly and passed it over. She gave a little smile back and looked down. Then she frowned.

She cleared her throat and pointed to my wrist. I looked at it. It seemed fine. Except for a little patch on the back which looked painted in a pale, simple color. My heart thundered in my ears. She looked up at me, as though about to say something, but pressed her lips together and turned away.