Why Tessa went to the Forest (Short Story)
My take on The Marquise, an IronAge writing prompt
It was Entirely her Fault!
Things had gotten out of hand. Things had gotten out of hand, but on the bright side, I still had hands. My “friend,” as she describes herself, wasn't so lucky: she had paws at the time, which was unfortunate for her, because she wasn't born with paws, she didn't want paws, and she couldn't paws-ibly (sorry) have seen her sorry fate coming. But what was this sorry fate? And why was it entirely her fault? Let me back up and try to explain.
Kash, as my friend has been so unfortunately named, once embarrassingly stained the inside of a hotel toilet with poop. A classic skid mark! And I know Kash was the culprit, because between the time we checked in (when the porcelain bowl was ostensibly clean and somewhat pristine), and the discovery of the brown booty streak, we had been the only two who had entered the bathroom, and between the two of us, she is the only one who poops.
Now I do not, and have never, seen it as a big deal: Most people poop, but I don't, and I don't view myself at all as a lesser person for having never defecated; I'm truly unbothered by it, and I don't feel I'm missing out on much! But Kash is petty, and she likes to bring people down a few dozen pegs to her woefully basic level.
“You lying, constipated sack of crap,” Kash yelled at me in disbelief when I broke the news. “You have a butthole, and everything with a butthole poops!”
“You haven't confirmed that, now have you?” I replied.
Ever since that exchange, neither of us have once touched a toilet brush, because Kash has been trying to prove that I'm as nasty as her–that I pass fecal matter through my butthole–and so far, she has yet to prove anything.
Aside from the trivial fact that I don't poop, Kash doesn't realize that I have an alter ego, Shawnie, who does all that nasty stuff. Shawnie spits, Shawnie farts, Shawnie, poops–but that's not me!
On the day in which things had gotten entirely out of had, Shawnie had an emergency: she experienced a sudden urge to pass diarrhea–her chili must have been spiked! With no time to exit the apartment we still presently share, Shawnie rose from the couch–in the middle of our favorite can't-miss television program, Foolish Ghoulish Fatties–and with her best poker face, nonchalantly walked toward the bathroom.
Perhaps Shawnie should have been laughing as she exited, or answered a pretend phone call, or anything that wouldn't have seemed strange, because suspicion had overtaken the petty Kash: Seconds after Shawnie had entered the shitter (already squatting over the bowl with her skirt hanging over the towel rack), and before a plan to disappear all evidence of excrement expulsion could be hashed out, Kash started messing with the doorknob like a mad woman, and had burst into the bathroom in no time.
With no time to think, and almost no options, I did the only thing I could do to keep my secret: I hit Kash with blast of bitch spray! It was supposed to knock her out. Instead it turned her into a giant white wolf, or rather, a furry snow white bitch, as she knocked her head against the door frame and passed out. Phew. My secret was safe, but I had a new problem.
“Uh, we got a problem, Patel...” After phoning the man who sold me the bitch spray, and cussing him out for doing so, I was informed of an antidote: a rare flower in the heart of the Lost Forest. With no one willing to partake in our shenanigans, and everyone we trusted feeling as though we needed to learn a lesson, me and my dog-friend–when she came to–set off to the Lost Forest in order to find the special species of flower that would make her human again.
***
“So what kind of animal am I?” Kash inquired, in a creepy, animalistic growl.
“I don't know, some kind of giant Dalmatian, I guess.”
The trip was long: either the antidote was much deeper into the forest than we had optimistically anticipated, or we had gotten lost. Either way, my legs were tired, and I resorted to riding upon Kash's fur-coated back. My friend's obsession with returning to human form energized her to the point where fatigue and lethargy were as out of reach as her smooth neck and thumbs had been. But my problems extended beyond exhaustion: I–I mean Shawnie–had to shit again!
What excuse could I have made to separate from the beast who was relying on me to turn her back into a girl?
“Can you excuse me while I change into more comfortable pants? I'm starting to chafe. You don't want me chafing on you, do you?”
“What? No, I want to find the antidote!”
“It'll only take a minute.”
“Ugh! Hurry up!”
“Alright, just wait here.”
“Where are you going, just change here!”
“With you watching? Are you a dog, or are you a gay dog?”
With Kash finally off my back, I stepped a safe distance away, opened my travel bag (to get some wipes) and began the quick process of taking a speed dump!
That dumb idiot will never catch on, I thought, as Shawnie tugged on her left butt cheek to shake out some hot gas. It was almost pungent.
“Ah hah!” the white beast roared from a distance. “I gotcha now!” she said as she raced toward the stench, the earth shaking beneath her beast-feet.
Oh no! How could I have forgotten?! Wolves have, like, a super sense of smell! I'm an idiot!
Panicking and on the verge of being found out, I did the only thing I could think to do: I disappeared by hitting myself with some bitch spray, and a beautiful white beast took my place.
Suddenly, there were two great beasts, both of whom were lost, and unable to radio for help. The time I spent as a giant white wolf was the longest three years of my life.
https://www.ironage.media/prompt/the-marquise.html
This image served as the inspiration for what you’ve hopefully just enjoyed reading.