"I'm feeling a bit old-fashioned today, you know? Want to play innocent." Andy grinned. "I guess I'll be Pinocchio."
--Across Town--
Mitch was staring at his computer screen, trying to figure out the best way to phrase the next part of this presentation. He had to get the hook just right, or it wouldn't win over the board the way it had to. He raised his hands, and rubbed at his temples consideringly before moving to begin typing.
"The proposal needs the backing the entire corproatwe" Mitch paused typing. Why had he made such a ridiculous typo? His fingers were feeling stiff. He groaned some, and fished opened his desk drawer, withdrawing a stress ball, and squeezing it firmly in his hands, one after another.
He needed more coffee, that was it. He was getting tired. He got to his feet, pushing his chair back, and nearly toppled onto his face. With a THUD, he caught himself on his desk. He looked down, and wondered what the hell was going on today. His legs were aching some, and his face felt like he'd hit it off the desk. He took his left hand and pinched his nostrils closed in case he'd hit his nose and it was bleeding. He got back to his feet - the stumbling seeming to have passed, and made his way to the bathroom.
Entering the room, he walked past the mirror, and froze. Slowly, he stepped back, and looked at his reflection. His skin was darker, and there was some kind of pattern on it. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was wood grain. He shook his head firmly, mumbling to himself: "Seeing things, Mitch." He checked that there was no blood on his nose, shook his head again, and laughed.
He let himself into one of the bathroom stalls, unzipping his fly to take a quick leak - only to discover that his groin was totally smooth. Eyes widening in horror, he stuffed his hand into his fly, frantically feeling for something - anything - on the smooth crotch. His skin felt hard to his touch, almost like wood. Panicking now, he unlocked the stall door, and shot back to the mirror to star at himself. His skin had darkened more, and raising a hand to feel his face confirmed the wooden texture. The tip of his nose was elongating some.
"What the FUCK!?" Mitch screamed as his hands began ripping off his tie and frantically undoing his dress shirt as he shucked off his jacket. His undershirt was tugged over his head easily. What he saw on his chest made his stomach flip. His head and neck had the look of wood, and the darker color was slowly spreading down his chest - and up from his trousers. Nervously, he kicked off his shoes, tugged away his socks - and saw his feet were solid blocks of wood, no toes, no nails - nothing. Pure wood.
Next off came his trousers, revealing - to his horror, that the wood had already taken his legs. His joints looked like the joints of a marionette. He shucked away his boxers, and stared at his reflection in the mirror as the wood began spreading down his arms.
Mitch moved reflexively as he crossed the room, and locked the door of the bathroom, before moving back to stare at himself as his entire body became wood. He placed his hand on his chest, and couldn't feel his heart pounding or his chest rising and falling with breath.
And then his entire body felt like it was encased in fire. He screamed in sheer pain as his legs and arms shortened, his head shank, and one of his fingers withdrew into his hand. He dropped to his knees, groaning in pain. After several minutes, the pain had subsided. Slowly, carefully, he got to his feet, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was barely four feet tall, and had to heft himself onto the sink counter to see himself fully in the mirror. His hair had become black wood - solid to the touch. His joints were like those of a marionette, free-swinging and loose. His mouth had become two slats on either side of his painted lips, and when he opened it, the small block of wood with a bottom lip painted on it dropped. His eyes were painted on, and bright blue. He looked around the bathroom, and saw that his clothing had changed as well.
He clambered down, and looked at the clothing. Slowly, he began to pull it on - beginning with the yellow shirt with its wide, white floppy collar. It was very snug fitting against his wooden skin. Next, he pulled on the red velvet lederhosen, tugging its straps over his shoulders. His hands clumsily tied a blue bow-tie around his neck, and tugged on a pair of brown shoes much too big for his new puppet feet. He pulled on a pair of white gloves nervously, wiggling his new four fingers. Last, he put the yellow hat on his head. And immediately, he screamed again as his head felt like it was being struck by a hammer. His wooden hands went immediately to hold it tightly, and after several seconds, it passed.
He looked around nervously, unnerved by not knowing how he'd gotten here. "P...Papa?" He asked, terror in his pre-pubescent voice. "P...Papa Gepetto?"