Hillbilly Drama

— H-h-hey! Hey, you! Whoever ya are! Change me back, dang it!— A desperate scream rang out across the sunlit backyard of a farmhouse, where an old swing creaked quietly. A girl in a white dress and a ridiculous knitted sun hat, who could easily be mistaken for a local, stood there flailing her arms. Her big blue eyes shone with sheer terror, and her voice, high-pitched and trembling, radiated pure panic.

'Damn boobs! Why the hell are they bouncing so much?!' — raced through her mind as her hands accidentally brushed against her chest again, intensifying her panic. She looked down at her body in disbelief — the white lace dress barely covered her thighs, its thin straps oozing an unwelcome femininity, and the sandals on her feet made her feel strangely light and unsteady.

Her scream startled the neighbor’s dog, which dashed to the fence barking furiously. From the next house came a lazy, slightly raspy voice:

— Hey, Mary-Jane! You hollerin’ at your shadow again, are ya? — A man in his forties, wearing a cap and holding a beer bottle, peeked out from behind the gate.

"Mary-Jane?! WHAT THE HELL IS A MARY-JANE?!" — her thoughts buzzed like an angry swarm of bees. She turned, desperately searching for someone who could explain what was going on, but all she saw was an old tractor and a basket of freshly washed laundry.

— Uh... uh, are ya talkin’ to me? — she stammered, clearly unsure how to respond. Her voice was still foreign to her — high, soft, almost melodic. That only made things worse.

— Who else would I be talkin’ to, Mary-Jane? — The man chuckled, shading his eyes from the sun. — Can't sit still again, huh? Why don’t you do something useful for once while your mom’s out in town!

"Mom?! Town?! What the hell is going on here?!" — her thoughts were an endless chaotic whirl, like someone had tuned into a nonsense broadcast. Just a few hours ago, she — no, HE! — had been an ordinary guy from Chicago. Mark, 27 years old, IT consultant, who had come here with friends for a short getaway to celebrate someone's birthday in the countryside. The countryside seemed boring, his friends had gone to town for beer, and he, looking to kill some time, wandered into an old barn on the edge of the village. That’s where he found the damned strange object — something resembling an old video camera with a bunch of buttons. He’d barely toyed with it for a minute when there was a flash, and...

Everything became a blur after that. Now he stood here, with breasts he couldn’t ignore, long arms, soft legs, and a cascade of blonde hair that kept falling into his face. The white dress clung to his body one moment, only to flutter in the breeze the next. Every movement felt awkward and alien.

— No respect for elders. Back in my day... — the man started, clearly gearing up for a long rant about how everything was better in his youth.

Suddenly, a sharp, loud female voice rang out from the house behind him.

— Mary-Jane! Why you hollerin’ like a dang banshee? Get on over here and help me hang this laundry! Them cows still need milkin’! — The voice startled Mark so much he jumped. Out of the doorway stepped a tall young woman, about twenty-five, dressed in tight jeans and a plaid shirt tied at the waist. Her expression was a mix of annoyance and fatigue. She carried a huge laundry basket that looked like it weighed a ton.

— What’re ya standin’ there for, like a scarecrow blowin’ in the wind? — she snapped, coming closer. Her light chestnut hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and a stern gaze peeked out from under the brim of an old baseball cap. — Ma told ya to keep an eye on them cows, not to be foolin’ ‘round. And what in tarnation’s that in yer hands? Drop that nonsense! We got work needs doin’!

— Wh-what?! Hey, don’t go messin’ with that! That... that dang contraption turned me... — Mark tried to yell something that made sense, but instead his own voice blurted out: — …turned me into this... yer dumb girl or somethin’, dang it!

He froze, stunned. "What in the hell?! Why am I talking like this?!" — the thought struck him like lightning. His mind was spinning, but his tongue had already turned traitor. The voice, now coated in that ridiculous local drawl, only poured fuel on the fire:— Damn it, I mean, I’m not Mary-Jane! I’m from Chicago! CHICAGO, you hear me?! Argh, damn it all!

— You sound like ya done got hit upside the head, — the girl with the laundry basket interrupted, eyeing him skeptically. She glanced at the strange device in his hands. — What kinda junk is that? You’re playin’ with it like it’s a toy, and here we are drownin’ in chores!

— Y’all don’t get it! This ain’t no junk! This here contraption done changed me! — Mark was practically screeching, desperately trying to sound convincing. — I was a fella! Just a moment ago! Dang village, dang contraptions!

— ‘A guy?’ What kinda nonsense you spoutin’, Mary-Jane? — She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcastic irritation. — Maybe you’ve had too much sun. Or is this somethin’ leftover from yer last bar crawl?

— I’m tellin’ ya! — Mark was on the verge of hysteria, his "new" voice growing more desperate and high-pitched. He looked again at the device in his hands, trying to turn it on, but it suddenly shuddered and... cracked. Right before his eyes, the black casing split like a plastic shell, and its contents scattered in tiny sparkling pieces, as if it had been some cheap magic shop toy.

— No, no, no! Not this! — He whispered in panic, staring at his now-empty hand. — You gotta be kiddin’ me! How’m I supposed to… how…?

— Alright, that’s enough, — the girl interrupted. She set the basket down and put her hands on her hips. — You’ve plain lost yer marbles. Go see Pastor Phil; maybe he’ll pray some sense into ya. Or better yet, find yerself a doctor. Seriously.

Mark clutched his head. "WHAT is she talking about?" — His brain was overheating, but his lips refused to cooperate. Instead of saying something sensible, he muttered aloud:

— Dang it, this is all ‘cause of this backwoods place! I’m even startin’ to talk like y’all! How the heck does that even happen? C’mon, Mark, just say somethin’ normal, dang it!

— ‘Talk like us’? Do ya even hear yerself? — The girl laughed, looking at him like he was crazy. You’re a real hoot, Mary-Jane. Anyway, I ain’t got time for this nonsense. If yer so bored, fetch some water from the well, will ya? Lord knows I’m beggin’.

— Water? From the well?! — Mark’s eyes widened as he realized the situation was slipping further out of his control. His brain scrambled for a way out, but a loud, mocking voice rang out from the gate.

— Aw, leave her be, Lauren, — it was the man with the beer again. — Can’t ya see she’s havin’ one of them... girly fits? Let her sort herself out. Mary-Jane, you’re always a riot! — He laughed so hard that the neighbor’s dog barked again.

— I’m NOT Mary-Jane!!! — Mark exploded, throwing up his hands. But in doing so, his palms brushed against his chest again, which responded with a betraying heaviness. Dang it, enough already! These... these boobs — they ain’t even real! I’m not...

— Alright, that’s enough, — Lauren waved dismissively, clearly deciding the spectacle had gone on long enough. She hoisted the basket and, heading back toward the house, threw over her shoulder: — When you’re done with all this foolishness, get yer tail in the kitchen and wash the dishes. And knead the dough while yer at it. Them pies ain’t gonna bake themselves by supper. And if ya pull another stunt like this, Mom’ll tan yer hide when she gets back. Oh, and them cows ain’t gonna milk themselves either. I mean quit foolin’ around.— She disappeared into the house.

Mark stood there, completely stunned. Pieces of the device glittered at his feet in the sun. Somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed. The warm breeze tugged at the edge of the ridiculous dress that felt so unnatural on him. His mind struggled to grasp the reality of the situation.

"This is a trap. This... is some kind of twisted simulation!" — Mark looked around, trying to find something — anything — that would explain this nightmare. But instead, he caught his reflection in the large window of the old house. A frightened, bewildered girl in a sun hat stared back at him.

— Oh, for cryin’ out loud, — he muttered. — Am I really stuck in this dang nightmare?