Drake had fallen asleep and was finally rousing from his nap. Something had happened to him earlier. He couldn't remember. But it had made him tired. It didn't matter though. Right now, he felt warm and snug, naked, wrapped tightly and securely in a blanket. He could just go right on sleeping, snuggled up in the warm blanket that enveloped him. He inhaled through his nose. It smelled sweet and musky at the same time, the pleasing scent of human hair.
Hair.
HAIR!
Drake's eyes snapped open.
He immediately wished he had kept them closed.
"Oh...my..." Drake trailed off. His forehead was just a few inches from the white speckled ceiling of the dorm room. That was no blanket he was wrapped up in. Rather, it was his own hair.
Drake instinctively began to struggle. He had to get out of there. But he quickly found that moving his body was even more difficult than it had been earlier when the hair explosion only filled up half the room. The hair was now tightly packed in the little room. It had almost filled it to the ceiling.
No, it HAD reached the ceiling in some spots. Behind the mound of hair where his right shoulder used to be, in the far corner of the room, hair was piled thick and dense, pressing earnestly against the ceiling, as if searching for more room to grow.
But it wasn't growing. At least, Drake didn't THINK it was growing. He stopped struggling and tried to remain still, feeling if the tingling was still present. He thought he could JUST feel a nearly imperceptible prickle on his skin. He looked down at his beard and stared at it for a minute.
It WAS still growing, after all. Only MUCH slower than the explosion from earlier.
"Must be stopping," Drake said aloud. The sound of his voice was almost completely muffled by his mustache and beard.
Drake remained there, watching his mustache slowly growing. Slower...slower...finally, after it had grown another couple of yards...
It stopped. The tingling went away entirely. His unfortunate, accidental wish granted, the hair on Drake's body had finally finished growing.
There was silence. Drake didn't move.
Then he squirmed, trying to move his body again. It was difficult. He managed to wiggle his toes slightly and felt the dense bed of hair on the pads of his bare feet (hair hadn't grown there). He might be able to push down on it and climb up if he could get his arms free.
He looked around the room again. It wasn't difficult to turn his head as the last spurt of growth had given his beard and head hair some extra slack. He took some breaths in through his nose (breathing through his mouth was almost pointless as his mustache and beard blocked it almost completely from getting a proper breath) .
As he did so, his heart began to beat quicker. Once again, the reality of what had happened to his body started sinking in. The smell of his hair filled the room. He looked out over a bed of hair pressed up against the walls. Curls, ringlets, MOUNTAINS of hair that had grown off his body and, as Drake guessed, were still firmly attached. The top of his face-- his forehead, nose, and eyes--was the only bit of skin visible. Had he been in a pool and his hair had been water, he might've looked like a swimmer skimming along the surface.
But he wasn't in water. He was nothing more than a pair of wide, fearful eyes peeking out from within what looked like a hay bale of human hair.
"Oh my God...Oh my God..." Drake was losing it again. Tears streamed down his face as he wept, and his sobs became more intense as he, himself, could barely hear them through his beard. What could he do? How could he possibly get out of this room? And even if he did, where would he go? He must've had several MILES of hair growing out of his body. And worst of all, he had accidentally wished to remain this way...forever.
"No," thought Drake. "It can't be forever. I have to get out of here." Drake pressed down with his feet and managed to raise himself up a couple of inches. "I've got to test this. Maybe if I cut it off it won't grow back. Maybe I'll just be hairy like a regular hairy guy. Maybe someone can remove it with a laser or something..."
He tried again to work his legs free, but no luck. Through wiggling his fingers, however, he managed, with great difficulty and struggling, thanks to the weight and thickness of his hair, to get his hands up to either sides of his face. When he saw them--two disembodied hands popping up from a shapeless mass of hair--the tears came again. His palms were as bare and hairless as ever, but the backs of his hands up to his knuckles... The same story as everywhere else.
"No. No no no no no! What happened to me?" Drake cried, wringing his hands. His face was wet with tears. He picked up one of his mustaches and wiped them off his face. Sudden rage flared up inside of him and he pulled violently at the mustache he was holding. Drake gritted his teeth and winced through the pain. He thought he might tear his skin right off.
But the mustache didn't go anywhere. He hadn't pulled out a single strand.
Drake sighed and tried to calm down again. He remained there in silence, looking his beard, trapped in his hair, for what seemed like hours. Drake thought he was starting to lose his mind. He if he didn't do something, and soon, he might just crack up. But what could he do?
If he could climb up onto the bed of hair, at least that would be SOMETHING. At least he wouldn't be trapped in this humiliating position.
Just then...