As you drew the picture of the fox, kicking your feet back and forth, it slowly began to dawn on you that something was defiantly wrong...and not just with you, but with the class and the school as well.
Raising your head, you look around the room, focusing mostly on Johnny next to you and the girl two rows over, you suddenly cannot remember her name.
Squirming about in your seat, you look down at the picture, seeing the childish-scrawl that is normal for someone of six years old and looking back up you, reach down and pick up the crayon again. Looking like you're in thought, your feet swinging back and forth, you look around the room, trying to discern any other changes, but finding it hard to focus for some reason.
After a bit, you realise Missus Hopkins is looking at you and adopting a studious look, you return to your drawing, all the while mentally asking yourself, "What is going on here?"
When the final bell finally rung, you were only too happy to leave and collecting a pink backpack with a white cloud design printed upon it, you dash outside, thinking of catching the bus home...but are distracted when you see the two girls from lunch and immediately strike up a conversation with...which you continue as the three of you get on the same bus.
Home, you tell the girls, "See you later," and exiting the bus, you walk up the sidewalk and into the ranch-style house your mom bought about a year ago.
Inside, you drop your backpack and are about to announce your presence when you hear your mom talking to somebody and that somebody is being addressed by the name of Agnes Hopkins, the elementary school teacher you had class with today.
Creeping silently on cats-paw toward the living room, you eavesdrop on your mother's conversation.
"Uh-huh...I understand."
A pause and then, "Responds to the name Kathy or Kat...Okay...Uh-huh...And what do you hope to accomplish with this experiment, Agnes?"
Yet another pause and then you hear, "Yeah...I hope so," but you are too busy moving away from the living room and toward your room, your mind a cloud or turmoil as you realise that your mother was in on whatever was going on, to hear the rest of the conversation.
Inside your room, you immediately strip off your shirt, shoes and pants, feeling that for some reason your mother doesn't want you playing in your school clothes.
Naked, except for your socks and underwear, you look down, thinking your now flat stomach and hairless body looked odd for some reason. Grasping the hem of your underwear, you pull it forward, looking down at you now underdeveloped penis and testicles. After a bit, you let the garment go and sighing, wondering what was going on, you absently rub the base of your spine...which suddenly really itches...and walk over to your dresser to change.
Afterward, you enter the bathroom and looking into the mirror, attempting to decide if something has changed or if everything looks normal, despite the feeling you believe something is off.
As you are looking at your ears...whish are now atop your head and more like those of a fox...your mother walked passed and then stopped, commenting as she did so, "I didn't know you were home Kat. You should have said something."
Exiting the bathroom, you look down at the floor, trying to come up with something to say. After a bit, your mother tells you, "Well I should have expected that. You were always might silent little Kit...even when you were a babe." and then, before you can ask for clarification, your mother announced, "How about pizza for dinner? Does that sound good?"
Nodding, you agree. Stooping down, your mother gives you a kiss and then tells you, "Go and play for now...we shan't be leaving for another couple of hours. Hey, I got those new crayons you have been asking for. Why don't you draw me a picture? You can use your favourite colours...Yellow and Pink...Huh?"
Unsure, you reply, "Yes mommy," and watching her walk away, you head to your room...which you suddenly realise looked like a girl's room, but were unsure how it was supposed to look like.
Alone in your room, you notice the box of Crayola Crayons on the plastic Tea-Table and suddenly you want to draw with them. Picking up a doll from off your bed, you select the pink and then the yellow crayon. Thinking, "This all started with these two crayons," you sit and puzzle over whether anything has changed or whether it's all your imagination...and whether, if anything has changed, you can reverse this experiment as Missus Hopkins and your mother called it.