“You’re picking him just because I was in him yesterday?” Pickle said. “Anyways, just hold your hand on his head and close your eyes. The first try is always the roughest one. Follow my voice.”
Timothy laid his hands on the kid’s head and closed his eyes. He breathed, awaiting the next thing that’s going to happen.
“Imagine yourself as a circle; the inside and the outline. Imagine yourself separating between two parts where the inside becomes denser. You feel it?”
Timothy nodded. The names weren’t exact but he knew what Pickle meant. The inside was his soul and the outline was his body. His soul flared like a blazing candle inside his heart. It moved wherever he wanted it. The only thing caging it is the boundaries of his skin.
“Your outline is just a line. Dissolve a small part of it and seep out the insides. There, I see it. Beside your outline is another outline, go inside it. Quickly. You don’t want your soul escaping.”
Timothy could not believe how easy he’s doing Pickle’s instructions. It wasn’t far but the other outline he mentioned is within his grasp. The entrance to the shape is small but he went inside nonetheless. The change of sensations was gradual, his limbs shortened and the way his body sang its biological tune irked a higher frequency. His breathing shortened yet quickened its pace. His heartbeat, although relaxed, was half faster than a clock. Even the taste of his tongue changed from last night’s soup to stale morning breath. The most noticeable change, however, is the loss of clothing. Cold air swept up and licked his butt cheeks.
“Open your eyes,”
Timothy did and he saw the expected unexpected. His old body is in front of him, immobile like the rest in the warehouse. He, on the other hand, was twice shorter. He reached out his hands and admired how soft and unblemished his fingers are.
“This-” His voice changed too. It’s deeper than the one he’s heard yesterday. It’s normal since he’s hearing the voice inside his body, not outside of it. “This is so cool!” Timothy said with child-like wonder. He touched his skin, the soft delicate surface - safe from the effect of aging.
“I got that body from 200 years ago,” Pickle said. “A farmer sold his son for three of my goats during one of the angriest blizzards I’ve seen. The father knew his son would die of the pox and he thought he could swindle me.”
Timothy could only stare at him blankly. That sudden comment only brought more questions than answers. Pickle took notice of this and excused for his sudden exposition dumb. It’s a force of habit thanks to talking to himself throughout these past decades.
“While I go make breakfast and think of jobs I’m going to give, practice returning to your body and back. Practice on other bodies too. Jumping bodies doesn’t always feel the same.” and with that, he’s gone downstairs.