Screw it, I'm an unreliable author with too many inconsistent ideas that I don't fully follow up on. Read if you feel like it, but be warned that I made this when I was bored and wanted to play Overwatch right after making this (which means if there are mistakes, I will NOT spot them in time or read through this again to make sure there were no mistakes). Enjoy what may be the only of its kind.
Edit: Well, something the other day took up enough time to prevent me from writing as much as I wanted so new day, new work. Here goes.

I was a monster.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't hate myself or anything. I haven't done anything particularly bad, nor do I plan to in my life. Heck, I would say that as far as guys go, I'm pretty good (and extremely humble too). But that doesn't change my situation.

I had been turned into a monster from a TV show. RWBY to be exact. I don't know why, but one moment I was falling asleep in my bed, and the next I was waking up in a large grassy clearing. There was no transition stage. Just point A, then point B. Kind of like "The metamorphosis," by Franz Kafka. This then brought up the thought of my family. Had something happened to them? Was it just me that this had happened to, and if so, what were they currently thinking? What had even happened?


What happened:

An aging scientist and his grandson approached a dusty grey container with a high-tech lock on it. The scientist took out the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, unveiling a room full of people wearing white medical one-suits lying down on medical beds. Each had a heart monitor next to them, and every heart monitor gave the same audible confirmation – the patient was dead. The scientist stepped inside, grabbing a shovel from beside the door and proceeding to the end of the container, while his shocked grandson hung back.

"Grab a shovel." But the grandson was still shocked at what was going on. Had he caused all of this?

"Wh-What is-?"

"Grab a shovel!" demanded the scientist, annoyed by his grandson. He had spent weeks on this project, and now it was all going to waste because his grandson was too stupid to follow basic instructions. The scientist sighed. Why did he bother to put up with this?

The grandson scampered into the adjoining room. Seeing a switch, he couldn't help himself. Click.

"What was that?!"


Back to the story

It seemed likely I would never know. And that saddened me. So I began to cry. Sure, I was in my twenties, and wasn't the most feminine of people, but I was happy to be who I was and I was not that now. That was when I found out I was a monster.

If I'm sounding too impersonal, or not sad enough, then that is because if I try to explain what I was feeling then I would feel it too, and that would prevent the existence of this story, which would ruin the point of its creation.

Anyway, I realised I was a monster. This was because the noise I created was some horrible screech, a mixture of nails scratching on chalkboards and pebbles crashing into each other which momentarily shocked me out of my sadness from the pure awful nature of its sound. I looked down: or at least, tried to look down. My head had lost the ability to move independent of my body, and my body felt so different and wrong that I couldn't move it. I tried to get up, only to make these things – because they certainly weren't legs – wriggle and writhe underneath me. No matter what I tried, they failed to have any coordination that could help me from my predicament. I tried to push myself up, to see what was wrong with me, but instead of hands gripping what must have been soft green grass, these two pincers – and there was no mistaking their shape, they were in front of me – crashed into the dirt adjacent to each other.

This simply could not be. I couldn't move my legs. My arms and hands were pincers on stalks of armour. My head would not move from its position. I was trapped. Not even paralysed, because my parts were still moving, but trapped by my own inability. Moving my pincers into any shape simply felt wrong, because I should have fingers that could split and rejoin whenever I felt the need, hands that could flex around the wrist, elbows that could twist any direction I want, even my shoulders with their 180 degree movement where constricted. My brain was sending signals to things that weren't there, and couldn't understand the signals it received from what was.

I panicked. I was struggling, writhing, twisting, turning, flinching and flexing to free myself from the physical cage that was me. Or at least, I tried to. In reality I flopped, slammed, and dug my way into my own small crater. I screamed in anger, but the noise that I made dissuaded me from trying it doing so again. God was it awful. I mentally shouted at myself, ordering me to move, for something, anything, to just MOVE!

And a stinger slammed down in front of me.

It was a bone white colour, and looked to be made of chitin, the same kind as any scorpion, except this seemed to be much tougher. It ended in a golden tip that glowed slightly in the light, like a glow-in-the-dark stick when it's cloudy overhead. I felt it too, buried in the soft mud around it. Did I mention it started raining? Well, it did. Anyway, it felt as if I had discovered something new, but at the same time it was always there and I could hardly believe I didn't notice it. Once I felt it, it seemed so obvious that it should be impossible to miss, and yet for the longest time I seemingly had. And when I did, I felt other pathways within me open up.

I lifted up one leg with perfect grace, hearing it let out a satisfying squelch as it stood on firm ground once more. Then another. Then another. And another. Until I had six feet on solid ground, all perfectly synchronised in their movement as I walked forward, eager to use my new found movement capabilities. When I moved, it was as if I glided over the earth, never a single moment where I wasn't moving at the same speed as the moment before. My pincers rested in front of me, and as I turned to inspect them they appeared to have intricate red markings on them. These flowed along the appendage before reaching my body, which I could not see because my head, neck and body were all one and the same, and therefore I could not move any without moving all of them. I could, however, see that they were not on my tail, which hovered in place above me, slightly swinging on its perch from the movement of my body. I did not need to twist my body to see this however, because along with the awakening of my bodily functions was the arrival of several new eyes.

I had exactly ten eyes, which ranged from the larger ones that were practically on my back and let me see the sky above, to four small ones that were immediately in front of my face and mandibles.

Yes, I had mandibles. I couldn't do much with them, because they were only meant to go back and forth, but I had them.

I wondered what to do with my life now. Would I ever see... them... again? I saw them because mentioning their name causes me to cry, and the sound is so awful I have elected to keep myself happy. Maybe the situation wasn't hopeless.

I continued to walk until I reached a path. "Where might this lead?" I wondered. "Can I find help at the end?" So I followed it. I didn't tire, nor did I grow hungry. I travelled through the night, and then the day, and then the night again. I passed by a river and thought that I might take a look at what I truly looked like, but in order to do that I had to have my entire body facing the river and no matter what I tried, I would always fall in. I decided not to let what I looked like bother me – I figured that I was somehow a giant scorpion, and thanks to the sight of my pincers and stinger I had a good enough idea of my colour.

Eventually, I reached the remains of a town. Smoke still blew from abandoned homes, and the town reminded me of those ancient pillaged Japanese villages you might see in samurai movies. It was scarier in real life. My new found size had done nothing for my confidence, and even the click-clack of my feet hitting the paved stone scared me. I backed away from every shadow, jumped whenever something that wasn't me hit the ground and full on ran when I heard something howl in the distance. I wanted to leave that place. And so I did.

I was continuing on this path when I saw two children in the middle of the road, walking quickly in the other direction with nothing but a knife in one hand and a small wooden mallet in the other. I must not have thought too much about how my appearance would seem to them, because when I tried to shout hello – the screech was far less awful, and instead felt more like an indication than a nightmarish scream – the boy, who wore a green Japanese-style shirt, gasped then grabbed the hand of the orange haired girl before she could scream. Immediately they both turned grey, as if all the colour in the world had bleached out of them, or as if an artist had drained the colour from his art.

They no longer really seemed worth much time. I even considered downright ignoring them. But I needed their help, and unless I was mistaken bad things could happen to children wandering alone in a place like this. I walked towards them.

Well, I started this when I had spare time, and now I have finished it when I really should have been doing just about anything else. I have no intention of finishing this story, but instead I wish to write one more chapter (which will most likely be extremely short) before I leave this up for adoption. My main reason for writing this was that I would read stories that tried something new by making the main character a Grimm – and then realise that the species is always beowolf and that more times than I would like the main character has aura, or people realise it is different and accept it so damn easily. It's like saying that someone found out that their parent was actually of a different sexuality or gender than the one you thought for your entire life – it isn't that easy to accept that what you thought you knew wasn't true! So I made this. Hope you like it, and that someone takes it up after chapter two.