At first everything was dark. I felt stiff and sore, and above all, confused.
My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and my confusion grew as I realized I could see fairly clearly despite the lack of any lights. Along with the confusion was fear.
I was laying on a cement floor in what seemed to be a cellar. I hadn't moved yet, and the two walls I could see were unfinished rough cement. They weren't featureless though. They were 'decorated' with what looked like blood smears and claw marks. Like actual claw marks in the cement.
I could also see some trash on the floor in the corner, torn pieces of plastic. There were some markings on the plastic but from where I was laying I couldn't quite read them.
There was a smell in the air too, that just added to my anxiety. It smelled like blood, like stale blood. And I worried there was something dead in here with me, but at the same time the smell almost made my mouth water when it should have turned my stomach.
My mind raced. I had no idea where I was or how I got here. I couldn't remember what happened to me.
Despite my fear I couldn't feel my heart pounding. I wasn't sure what to make of that.
I was scared to even move, incase there was something large and dangerous nearby. Whatever left those marks in the cement had to be pretty ferocious and terrifying.
I'm not sure how long I lay there just staring at the corner of the cellar, before I realized I was holding my breath. As quietly as I could, I let out a little sigh then took a slow shallow breath. More of that old-blood smell assaulted my nose.
Finally I turned slightly, and realized there were bars. Metal bars, a meter or two behind me. I was in some kind of cage. There was more of that plastic trash on the floor, scattered around the cage. I wanted to say my heart was racing with fear now, but I still couldn't feel that. I just knew I was scared.
There were no other sounds though, I held my breath again and listened and I couldn't even hear anyone else breathing. I had to assume I was alone.
I slowly raised my head just enough to glance around. I was in a cage in a corner of a room in a cellar. There was no light, I couldn't even see any light fixtures. The cage was about three meters by three meters, with floor to ceiling bars along two walls, the other two walls were just the rough cement. The floor and ceiling were also cement slabs. There was a door of more iron bars set in one of the cage walls, with a big metal padlock to keep me locked in here. The cellar itself was fairly large, and the ceiling looked rather high up for a basement. I figured it was a good three meters high, which seemed like a lot.
My cell was completely empty and featureless. There was no cot or anything to sleep in or sit on. No toilet, not even a bucket. Apart from me, the only thing in here was all the torn plastic trash on the floor, and the dried blood smeared on the walls and floor. And the claw marks.
Outside my little cage the room was more featureless smooth cement, overall it was about six meters square. There was a door set in the middle of one wall. And to the right of the door, in the corner opposite to my cage was a cot. And there was someone laying on it. My captor, my jailor. My kidnapper?
On the floor next to the cot was a large plastic cooler, like the kind you took camping.
Whoever it was there on the cot, they were laying on their side with their back to me. I could see messy black hair, a grey t-shirt, and grey track pants.
They weren't moving at all, and I couldn't hear any breathing. I had a panicked thought that somehow my jailor had died, and I'd be left to starve trapped in this cage.
I let my head settle back on the floor again as I felt another wave of panic. I had no idea what to do. I felt sort of hungry and I figured there'd be food in that cooler, but the only way to get it would be to make some noise and wake up the person on the cot.
None of this made any sense. I tried to think back, what was the last thing I remembered?
It was the middle of July. The fifteenth. It was Saturday night. I was having dinner with my parents and little brother.
I felt nauseous as the memories hit. I came out to them. I told them I was trans, told them I had an appointment at the gender clinic next week. I told them I was starting my transition. And they threw me out. They said horrible hateful things, and they cast me out.
My stomach twisted as I tried to remember what happened next. I was in shock, depressed. I went to a bar. I had a few drinks, and... I decided to kill myself.
I frowned as I remembered that. It was a shortsighted impulsive decision. I didn't think things through. I was glad I didn't go through with it. I still had no idea where I was or what happened after I left the bar, but at least I was still alive.
It probably took another ten minutes before I finally pulled myself up to a sitting position. As I did, my mind was almost overwhelmed by several new sensations. My hair was longer, I could feel it tickling my shoulders and neck. And there was weight on my chest that I'd never experienced before.
My eyes were wide with shock as I stared down at a body that wasn't mine. I had boobs. My arms and legs were smooth and slender. My hands and feet were small and delicate. I had a narrow waist and wide hips.
I raised two shaky hands up in front of me and stared at them. My fingers were slender and delicate, and my fingernails were long and slightly pointed. My hands moved to my chest next and I suppressed a gasp as I cupped my boobs.
My boobs. I had boobs. They were real, they were large and heavy and soft and smooth and warm. My nipples were sensitive.
Then I let my right hand slide down over my smooth flat belly and in between my legs. I kept my jaw clenched shut and forced myself to stay quiet as my fingers reached my vulva. I shifted slightly and stared down. There was a small wispy patch of blonde hair, then my womanhood.
It was unbelievable. Impossible.
The last thing I remembered was telling my family I was trans, that I was really a girl. Now here I was waking up with an actual feminine body.
I almost couldn't process what I was experiencing. This was impossible. It was a miracle, but it was impossible. And why was I naked in a cage in a cellar? What did the smeared blood and claw marks mean? It was like some kind of horror movie, and I started to wonder if I was the subject of some terrifying illegal medical experiment.
I took a couple deep breaths, then quietly got to my feet. I was equal parts elated, confused, and scared. But I had to find out what was going on. And I needed something to eat, I was hungrier than I thought.
I moved to the bars nearest that cot and called out nervously, "Hello?"
My eyes bulged again at the sound of my voice. It was high pitched, soft, girly. I sounded like a girl. Like a little girl. That felt just as strange and impossible as everything else.
The figure on the cot responded. She sat up and turned to face me. It was a high-school kid. She looked maybe seventeen. Eighteen at most. She had pale skin and dark eyes, her hair was a messy black mop framing her face. She might have been cute, but right now she looked unhealthy. Her face looked gaunt, like she was half starved. Her eyes were a little sunken, with dark circles under them.
As she stared at me her eyes widened, and her expression was hard to read. Was she surprised? Happy? Excited? Anxious? Maybe it was a mix of all those emotions.
I figured she couldn't be the one who kidnapped me. She had to be another prisoner.
She stayed seated on the cot for now, but she was facing me. She asked in a soft, nervous voice, "You're awake? How do you feel?"
"I'm very confused," I replied. "And hungry. Where am I?"
The girl turned and opened the cooler. She pulled something out of it but held it behind her so I couldn't see what it was. Then she got to her feet and slowly approached my cage.
I was shocked to realize how tall she was. She was a good three inches taller than myself, which would put her over six feet. Her proportions were wrong though. She didn't have the proportions of a really tall girl. It was the opposite, at first glance I thought she was petite rather than tall.
The brunette stopped a few paces away from me. I still didn't understand how I could see so clearly despite the lack of lights down here, and she could obviously see me just as well. She was barefoot, and as far as I could see she had nothing on apart from grey track-pants and the t-shirt.
She stared at me, and I could tell from her expression now she was clearly worried and nervous. She asked, "Do you remember your name? Do you know who you are?"
"Sure," I replied. I was about to give her my usual name, the one my parents called me, when I stopped myself. Fuck that I thought. I had no idea how any of this happened or where I was, but I was a girl damnit, and now I had the body to match. I'd never have to use that other name again.
"Tara," I stated. "My name is Tara."
The brunette sighed, she looked relieved.
"Oh thank fuck," she exclaimed. "Tara I've been so worried. Nothing went like I thought it would, and I've been down here looking after you. I've been worrying and waiting and hoping you'd come back. I'm so sorry."
I just stared at her sort of blankly. Obviously she knew me. Obviously she had something to do with whatever resulted in me getting this new body. And obviously something went wrong.
Her expression of relief shifted back to concern. "You don't know who I am, do you? Do you know what happened?"
I shook my head.
"Fuck," she sighed. "My name's Samantha, but you can call me Sam. You were going to kill yourself, you were on the Bloor Street viaduct? You were going to jump? I uh... I didn't really save you, but you and I talked. I offered you another option."
Her words triggered some vague dream-like memories. They didn't make sense though. It was like a horror movie after all. Something about vampires. And I remembered Samantha, but I remembered her being a lot shorter. She was like five-foot-three or five-foot-four. Not this six-foot-plus giant looking down at me now.
I was still staring at her when I felt a lurch in my stomach. It was like one of those optical illusions, where it's one thing till you finally see the other thing, then your perspective shifts. She wasn't six feet tall. The ceiling wasn't three meters high. And I wasn't five-foot-eleven anymore.
Samantha was the same five-foot-three petite high-school girl that I remembered. And now she was a few inches taller than me. Everything seemed bigger because now I was a lot smaller than I was used to.
No wonder my voice sounded so girly and high-pitched. I was tiny.
Sam wasn't like I remembered either. On top of looking malnourished and unhealthy, she also seemed anxious and vulnerable now.
"You said you were hungry," Sam stated as she held out what she'd taken from the cooler. "Here you go."
I looked down at the plastic bag she was offering me. It was full of a thick red liquid. There was a label stuck to it, with some barcodes and dates and fine print. In the corner in larger text it read "O pos."
My stomach lurched again. All the plastic scraps around the cell were empty torn up blood bags. I felt equal parts disgusted, nauseous, and hungry.
I made no move to take the blood from her yet. I just gulped and asked, "How long have I been here?"
Sam replied in a half-whisper, "About two weeks. I'm sorry Tara."
thanks for the chapter