Jock and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: A Tale of Moral Instruction for All Ages

[flamejock]

Who: Jock, Blake, Blue
What: Jock awakens into a nightmare
Where: Jock and Blake's room, BE-07
When: June 29th, 2am
Warnings: Descriptions of gross things

Jock had been super excited by the fact that some people had gotten shuffled around in the dorms and now Blake was his roommate. Jock loved having his best friend in the same room as him, even if Blake did spend most of the day in sleeping. Now they could take naps together without that one weird guy looking at them funny. And mom could sleep over whenever she wanted to and he wouldn't have to worry about anybody else moving in.

He went to bed with his belly full and his pride even fuller. Everything was beautiful with the world and nothing bad would ever happen, ever.

Comments

[flamejock]

Something was horribly wrong with the world, and something bad was happening, right now.

Jock woke up at like 2am with a stomach ache. He felt like death warmed over, and Jock was a good judge of that, as he'd set quite a lot of dead things on fire in his time. He rolled out of bed and slouched to the bathroom. "I don't feel so good," he mumbled to Blake who was probably doing something dumb like studying at 2am, as he shut the door to their little shared bathroom, and switched on the light.

He shivered (why was he so cold?) and suddenly felt as if he was going to throw up; there was no time for him to make it to the toilet. He managed to throw himself at the sink to vomit into that. He heaved mightily into the basin and looked at it (he was a dog, it was pretty much a compulsion to at least examine it). It had tasted more awful than the typical bout of vomiting. He recoiled in horror as he saw what was plastered to the sink -- mud.

There was mud in the sink.

Jock looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He looked terrible. For starters... why were his sideburns pink? And for seconders... where were his glorious abs? Why did he... have a little fat around his middle? And his tattoos were... faded and barely visible on his shoulders and arms.

He shuddered again and vomited up more of the foul-tasting mud.

He nervously ran a hand through his hair after he'd finished retching.

Large clumps of hair fell out at his touch. He looked again at his reflection in the mirror. Half of his hair on his head was gone. He slowly swept his other hand through the rest of his hair. It fell out, and landed in a clump beside him.

Jock began to hyperventilate. He brushed his hands across his chest. A veritable snow shower of blond chest hair fell to the ground and... there were blue marks... blue marks on his chest.

"I'm dying," he whispered between quick breaths. "This body's dying." He was clearly moments away from his human body disintegrating into a pile of goop.

He had to turn back into an arcanine, immediately. It was his only chance to save his life. Maybe he could get a new human body later, but right now the important thing was not dying. He'd explain it to Blake and Blake would explain it to mom and everything would be fine. Everything would be just fine.

Jock shifted into being a pokemon again.

[worstjock]

The bathroom loomed above him. The mirror, which he should have been staring into, was far above him. The mud-covered sink was at least three feet out of his reach. He was shorter than he'd ever been before. Not since he was a little growtlithe puppy had he been this tiny.

He continued to hyperventilate.

He realized he was sitting up on his hind legs (how was that possible? HOW WAS THAT POSSIBLE) because he couldn't feel his front paws on the ground, and so he leaned forward to put them on the ground. He suddenly realized that he didn't have any front paws as he went crashing into the floor.

He didn't have any front paws. He couldn't get back up. He had no idea how to stand back up. He didn't have any front arms or paws. He continued to hyperventilate as he rolled around on the bathroom floor, in a pile of what used to be his own hair.

He thrashed about violently, desperately trying to stand back up, but only managing to get more of his old hair stuck to his tiny body; it got in his eyes. He started to weep. His voice sounded tiny and hideous.

He managed to look down at his feet. They were blue. And he had a tail. It was blue and fat. And moist. All of him was moist.

He suddenly stopped crying as he realized what he was. The slimy blue skin. The tiny, tiny size. The lack of arms. He was a wooper.

He started sobbing even more than he had been previously.

He couldn't. He couldn't be in this body. He had to switch back. He couldn't lie on the floor in his hair (all of his beautiful, beautiful hair!) as a wooper.

He shifted back.

[worstjock]

Jock curled up on the floor, in a pile of what used to be his hair.

He held his legs up to his chest and hugged himself in the fetal position and sobbed.

"I wish I was deeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad," he choked out.