Peter sat on the edge of the bed, with scowl on his face. When he had woken up in this hotel room, he was overjoyed that he was free. Free from solitary confinement, free from prison. But then he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror and saw that he now apparently inhabited the body of a pregnant black woman. A fucking black woman! His enjoyment at his situation suddenly faltered. He was glad he was free, but why like this? He hated blacks ... and Asians and Muslims and Latinos and ... well, anyone who wasn't white like him.
He looked over at the black man lying dead next to him. He scowled at him with disgust. Filthy creatures, he thought. Judging by the fact that the man was in bed with the woman he now possessed, Peter figured that he must have been her husband. But that didn't mean anything to him. Just another dead colored, that's what he thought.
It was so easy to snap the guy's neck. He was asleep at the time, so he didn't struggle. Still, Peter would have liked to torture the guy first. It had been a long time since he had done that.
"The next one," he said to himself. "I'll torture the next one and have some fun with it." He smiled, and saw the reflection of the woman in the mirror do the same. He turned away in disgust. Of all the people he could have swapped with, why this one? It was like a cosmic joke.
He stood up from the bed and walked over to the suitcases next to the door. And that's when he heard someone knocking. He opened the door and a wave of revulsion hit him. It was a maid and she was Latino. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from beating the crap out of her right then and there.
"Room service," she said, with what sounded like a Mexican accent.
"Come back later."
She nodded, then moved on to the next room.
Peter shut the door and went back to the suitcases. He opened the one belonging to the guy and grabbed a pair of his briefs and a T-shirt. Then he took off the nightgown he was wearing, and put on the shirt and underwear. They fit him pretty well, but when he looked in the mirror, the shirt was way too small for the woman. Her pregnant belly was completely exposed and her breasts were splayed in an unflattering fashion. He cursed to himself. He wanted to stay inconspicuous. And wearing something like this wasn't inconspicuous. As much as he hated it, he figured that he'd have to wear the woman's clothes. He took off the T-shirt and threw it aside. But he kept the underwear. The briefs looked okay on the woman and no one would see them anyway. Plus, there was no way he was going to put on a pair of panties, especially since he needed support for his "boys" down there. He opened the woman's suitcase and pulled out a bra and a maternity dress. He put the bra on and looked in the mirror. It was odd. When he looked down at himself, the bra was flat against his chest and wasn't loose at all, but in the mirror, it was holding the woman's D-cup breasts without straining at all. Shaking his head, he went back to putting on the rest of her clothes, and after he put on the dress and the flip flop shoes, he was ready to go.
Except, there was one more thing. He needed money. So, he went through the guy's stuff and found his wallet. On his driver's license was the name Michael Johnson. He took the eighty dollars and the credit cards that were in the wallet and put them in the purse he found. Just out of curiosity, he checked what the woman's name was. On her ID, it said Debra Johnson.
He swung the purse over his shoulder, just like he had seen woman do all the time (before he was imprisoned), and then headed towards the door. He took one last look at his new appearance and his face twisted in disgust. This was his new life - being trapped inside someone that he immensely hated.
Michael Johnson opened his eyes and saw that he wasn't in the hotel room anymore. It looked more like a hospital room, actually. Did something happen to him at the hotel and he was brought to the hospital without even knowing it?
He turned and looked to his left and saw a middle-aged white guy sitting in a chair. He looked up at Michael and smiled. Then he stood up and leaned in towards him. "Dad? It's me. Jack."
"I don't know you," Michael said.
The guy looked disheartened and then sighed.
A woman then walked into the room. She was dressed like a nurse. "Oh, he's awake."
"He doesn't remember me," the guy said to the nurse.
"That's to be expected. Just try to comfort him. That's the best thing you can do for him."
What were they talking about? They acted as though he were suffering from Alzheimer's. But Michael knew exactly who he was and he wasn't who these people thought he was.
"Where's my wife?" he asked.
"Dad. Mom died years ago. Remember?"
"No. My wife. We were in a hotel. How did I get here?"
"He must have been dreaming," the nurse said. "Uh ... can I speak to you outside for a moment?" she asked the guy.
"Sure." The guy stood up, then turned towards Michael. "I'll be right back." Then both he and the nurse left the room, leaving Michael alone.
He turned all the way to his left and saw a wallpapered wall with one large window (looking out onto a group of other buildings) and an empty bed. Then he turned to his right and saw a mirror. But he didn't see his reflection. Instead, he saw an old white guy with wispy white hair. The guy looked ill. Very ill. Michael raised his hand and watched as the old man raised his hand at the same time. Then he made facial expressions and watched as the old man mimicked them perfectly. He didn't know how it was possible, but he was that guy. He was an old white man.
