After Jen got dressed, she walked outside to get in her car and go to school. She opened up the trunk of her cherry red coupe and threw her backpack inside. As she was walking around the front of her car to get in, she got a call on her phone. She momentarily sat on the front of the car for a moment to answer it, not thinking even for a second of the curse.
“Hello, we’re calling about your auto warranty-” the spam call said before Jen hung up the phone with a grumble. As she went to put the phone back into her pocket, it smacked abruptly on a hard surface, which Jen oddly felt. She looked down to discover that she no longer had pockets, or pants, or legs for that matter. Her torso protruded from the center front of the trunk of her car as though she were an oversized hood ornament, changing from woman to metal an inch or two below her belly button.
Jen screamed in horror, pawing at the transition line (which was very sensitive, as it turned out) and then pushing down on the hood in a vain attempt to free herself. It was to no avail. She was now half woman, half car. A cartaur, like some odd, modern twist on the ancient centaur stories of old. She could feel every inch of the car as though it were her own skin: the sun on her roof, the ground on her tires, the wind on her windows, and even the interior. Calming down slightly, Jen had to decide what to do next.