John saw his painted fingernails and nearly jumped in surprise. Leaning against a wall, hand extended outwards John stared wide-eyed. The colour of his nails gave him a stray thought: a woman he once saw, many years ago, simply painting her nails. The thought was enough and before he Haas even realised that the colour was, indeed, there he had morphed into this memory, however skewed by the years it was. His clothes turned into weekend lazy, his body morphed into that of a somewhat doughy woman.
"What... What in the hell!?" John screamed, terrified and fascinated at the same time.
And, just like that, he was back to his regular self, unchanged, but very disturbed.
