Alan approached his young neighbor with gusto. He knew not exactly what was about to happen, but he figured it would be good. Something strong was compelling him, and nothing he could think would snap him out of this desire. He was halfway across the yard, and his mind was teeming with thoughts of what this mysterious medallion could do.
Ross came to a stop near Alan, and he smiled as he asked Alan what he could do for him.
"Good morning, Ross! I was just pleasantly surprised by this weather. Seems like you took advantage of the fine day already!" Alan gushed, suddenly uncertain how exactly to initiate the unknown task the medallion sent him on.
"I sure did. I really winded myself, I didn't want to stop because it was so nice. What about you, any plans for the day?" Ross asked, being courteous. He eyed his neighbor with some curiosity.
"Well, now that you mention it..." Alan suddenly felt an idea blossom. He reached into his pocket and procured the medallion. "I was going to have this appraised."
Ross looked at the gaudy necklace in Alan's hand. "What is it?"
"Well, it's an - um - heirloom!" Alan quickly explained. "Here, take a look..."
Alan proffered the medallion, suddenly feeling a tsunami of sheer excitement welling in his body. He hadn't felt this exhilarated in years. Ross reached forward, fingers about to touch the medallion, when he suddenly pulled his hand away.
"Are you sure? I don't want to mess up such an important family item..." Ross trailed. Something in him felt distinctly anxious about the item. The medallion seemed wicked, and his hand being that close was warded by an unknown sixth sense, warning of it's dangers.
"Aww, don't worry about it. Here, go ahead!" Alan said, thrusting the medallion almost towards Ross's face.
"Oh, um... sure. Okay..." Ross felt the same foreboding as before. However, in a spectacular failure to judge the situation, he reached forward to grab the medallion. As soon as his fingers touched the cool metal, however, the most bizarre feeling overcame him. Little did he know that Alan was feeling it as well.
The two men, unknowing that the other was experiencing the same sudden onset of symptoms, found they were reeling with extreme nausea. In fact, it was very much like vertigo. The two felt as though their legs would give out from beneath them, and only as if some force kept them standing. Their stomachs twisted like a cyclone, and their vision blurred and spun, colors melted into each other. The wind seemed to howl around them and batter their bodies. A great rushing of sound assailed their ears, and all seemed calamitous until at once it ended.
When Alan came to he immediately doubled over, and grasped his sweaty, exposed knees. He stared at the ground, expecting to hurl, but all traces of that harrowing nausea had passed, it seemed. It was only after he realized he wasn't going to wretch that he was suddenly transfixed by a detail he had glossed over. His hands were clamped onto exposed knees, damp with sweat! He had been wearing some sensible slacks. Why were his knees exposed.
Ross had a similar reaction. When he had come to, he put his hands to his face, covering his eyes from the glare of the morning sun. As he realized he was not going to hurl, he went to run his hands through his hair as he normally would, to smooth it out and as somewhat of a nervous tic. His fingers gliding over a smooth, slightly fuzzy expanse gave him pause. And where his stomach had been a tempest before, his gut now felt empty and bizarre.
The two men brought their eyes to bear, and looked right at the person across from them. Alan was stunned to see his own body, it's stomach snug in a polo and contained by a belt. He looked at his former face, with eyes that were fearful, yet behind them was an unknown. He looked down at his form, and saw a sweaty t-shirt, and tight shorts that reached down to mid-thigh. He could see straight down his chest and stomach... a feat that had eluded him for years. He pressed his hands to his now firm torso, and then felt his face. Smooth skin, full head of hair... he was not in Kansas anymore...
Ross was staring at his body as it felt itself up, rubbing his chest and belly. He was aghast, as it dawned on him he was not in control of the body he had so desperately curated for the last few years. Looking down at his own current predicament, he saw slacks, and a belt vying to contain a stomach that was tucked in by an old polo shit, an ugly garish yellow color. He reached to his stomach, and lifted, feeling it fall a bit, and jiggle even. Then he felt his own face, recently shaved stubble, on a face that felt rough and unmoisturized.
The two looked at each other, the realizations dawning upon both men are more or less the same time.
"Did we switch bodies?!"