Writing Prompt

A soft buzzing rang in a far corner of the room, and I groaned. I had once dreamt of a day that school had been cancelled and my mom would tiptoe in, turn off my alarm, and let me sleep past 6:30am. But here we were, another grating entry into the overstimulating world of high school.

So I wiggled my toes and sighed. Odd. Those weren’t the familiar scratchy Target sheets we bought last year in the back to school leftover sale. That wiggle felt uniquely soft. Smooth. One might say, buttery.

I fluttered my eyes open and felt my eyebrows furrow as I took in my surroundings. A dresser in the corner first caught my eye. An elaborate wooden thing - rounded corners and stunning knobs and pulls that came straight from an episode of Martha’s Vineyard or something. So, odd. I couldn’t get the buzzing out of my ears.

At that thought, the lights flipped on and I was jarred awake. “Antoni, darling, it’s time to get up. You didn’t forget we are shooting photos for the new season promos today, did you?”

Antoni? Paulie, he must have meant.

Shooting photos? School photos, he must have meant.

He… wait, what the fuck?! Last time I checked, my mom and I were the only ones who had any business being in my house at 6:30am.

I jerked upright in bed to look at this complete stranger in the eye and inquire, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my bedroom?”

The very fabulous man gasped at my outburst. His hand very dramatically flew to his chest and he quivered, “Antoni, I, why, what? What did that naughty Tan give you to drink last night?”

I stared. He stared. I lost.

“Okay, joke’s over. Me, your dedicated assistant by the name of Quinn who has been taking care of every aspect of your life for four years, does not deserve this kind of treatment. I will pretend you are on drugs like every other star out there and just do my job. Now up, up, up!”

He scurried over to me and courteously flipped me out of bed, letting me tumble out onto the floor and shuffle around like a gangly squid on land.

I looked down at my boxers.

Fuck, boxers?!

My gaze traveled up my body and landed on my bare chest. Bare. Chest.

But instead of the perky c cups I was blessed with at 16 years old, I had, what appeared to be, in no uncertain terms, developed a MASCULINE ripped upper body.

I ran to a ridiculously crafty floor length mirror and saw my reflection for the first time this very disconcerting morning. And what I saw was not Penny Oak, 16-year old book nerd who just received an award for highest math score in AP Calculus. No. My reflection was in fact, Antoni Porowski.

The Antoni Porowski who graces the world with his beauty and kindness and recipes and ripped upper body.

So I fainted.

When I woke up from my sleep, I suddenly found that I was in the body of my idol Sofia Carson. I admired her because she was everything that I aspired to be: beautiful, talented, but above all, confident. While I envision myself as everything she is in my dreams, the reality is different. I am ugly and extremely shy. I see how people around me have friends and want to be like them but whenever the time comes to talk to someone, I get nervous that I won’t say the right thing.

I woke up, just like I would any other day.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was in a different room.

Shoot. What did I do last night?

Well, I did my homework, ate dinner, read some of my book and went to bed. Okay, I didn’t get drunk or anything like what happens in films where they wake up in someone else’s bed.

Right. Now where am I?

Who knows? Who the hell knows?

I shuffled over to a mirror on the wall.

I pulled back my usually straight hair, now it was curly.

I looked at my reflection.

It wasn’t me.

It was my celebrity crush.

“Holy moly I’m Finn Wolfhard!”

Good lord What now!

In a small town, lived a shy and introverted teenager named Lily. She was a quiet girl who preferred the comfort of her own company and the solace of her books. However, Lily had a secret obsession with reality TV shows, particularly one that followed the glamorous life of her favorite celebrity, Kim Kardashian.

She always loved how confident the Kardashians were, and wished that she could be the same way. She often found her self daydreaming about what it would be like to have all the attention on her, instead of being a nerd. What would it be like to be noticed? While she preferred to lay low, her mind couldn’t help but wonder, whenever she’d watch the show.

One fateful morning, Lily woke up feeling different. As she rubbed her eyes and stretched, she realized something was off. Looking around, she noticed the luxurious surroundings of a lavish bedroom, completely different from her own modest room. Confusion washed over her as she glanced at the mirror and saw a reflection that was not her own. Lily gasped in disbelief as she realized she had somehow transformed into Kim Kardashian herself.

Panic and excitement coursed through Lily's veins simultaneously. She couldn't believe her luck, yet she was terrified of the attention that came with being a famous reality TV star. The thought of cameras watching her every move, 24/7, made her stomach churn. Nevertheless, she decided to embrace this unexpected opportunity and make the most of her day as Kim Kardashian.

As Lily stepped out of the bedroom, she was greeted by a flurry of activity. Stylists, makeup artists, and personal assistants buzzed around her, preparing her for the day ahead. Lily felt overwhelmed by the attention and the constant presence of cameras, but she reminded herself that this was just temporary.

Throughout the day, Lily experienced the extravagant lifestyle she had only dreamed of. She attended glamorous events, walked red carpets, and even had lunch with A-list celebrities. However, as the day progressed, Lily began to realize that the glitz and glamour were not as fulfilling as she had imagined. She missed her quiet moments, her solitude, and the simplicity of her own life.

In the midst of a crowded event, Lily found a quiet corner and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back in her own body, back in her own room, surrounded by her books. As she opened her eyes, she found herself back in her own room, and in her own life, however she was standing there as Kim, still. She watched “herself” and noticed how pretty she was for the first time ever. Yeah, that was her body but look how she was standing. Confident, radiant, beautiful… She had the power all along to shine like a star, she just didn’t realize it wasn’t all about looks and glam, but believing in herself and confidence. Suddenly, she looked around, noticing she was finally back in her own skin.

Lily felt a newfound sense of confidence and appreciation for who she was. She realized that she didn't need the cameras or the fame to feel validated. She had her own unique qualities and strengths that made her special. From that day forward, Lily embraced her shyness and introversion, knowing that it was a part of her identity that made her who she was.

As time went on, Lily continued to watch her favorite reality TV shows, but with a different perspective. She no longer yearned to be someone else, but rather, she found inspiration in the stories of others. Lily learned to find that same confidence in herself, that she felt as Kim, knowing that she didn't need to be someone else to be happy. She had her own journey to embark on, and she was ready to embrace it with open arms… and maybe a Gucci bag or something too.

When I woke up this morning I was in a completely different room than the one I had gone to sleep in last night. It looked familiar though. It was the room that belonged to my favorite reality television star. After a day of having cameras following my every move I was done.

All stale beer and roasted peanuts, the smell of McClusky’s made Officer Jack O’Connor relax. After the shift he had O”Connor needed to unwind. He strolled to the bar where his buddy Officer Karen Lipton saved a stool for him. Tate the bartender looked him over and set a Coors Light and a bowl of nuts in front of him. They clinked bottles.

“Why do we always get the crazy ones?” O’Connor asked.

“Just lucky I guess. What was the full story with that cuckoo? I couldn’t make hide nor hair of whatever the hell she was saying.”

“That my dear Lipton was Tara Hanson.”

Lipton stared at him blankly.

“The heiress Tara Hanson of the Palm Beach Beach Hansons. The family owns deluxe resorts and that airhead is a model and an influencer and has that new reality show everyone is talking about,” O’Connor said.

Lipton slow blinked.

“She dated the running back for the Cowboys. You remember that sex tape that got leaked,” O”Connor said in a whisper.

Recognition bloomed on Lipton’s face. “Hands-on Hanson! That was impressive piece of work but wait the chick taking one on for the team in the sex tape that’s not that porky kid we arrested outside of 356 Madison.”

O’Connor sighed and took a long pull of his beer. “That’s what I’m saying dummy the Chubbs we picked up thinks she’s this Tara Hanson. She was trying to get to Tantamount Production headquarters on the 21st floor. She refused to show ID and went all squirrelly about body switching. While ou were batting your eyelashes at the security guard I was trying to calm her ass down. Look at the number she did on my arms.”

“That’s terrible. So Tara Hanson got Freaky Friday-ed like in the movie with Jodie Foster or the remake with Lindsay Lohan. Classic, just classic. But the real question is why does a grown ass man know so much about reality TV. I’m just saying,” Lipton said and began to cackle.

“Screw you, I’m a renaissance man,” O’Connor said with a mouthful of peanuts.

The friends laughed and finished their beers. Lipton motioned to the bartender. Tate gave her a nod and returned with two shots of Old Granddad, a pair of Coors Lights, and another bowl of nuts.

“I heard you talking about Tara Hanson where you part of the detail that escorted Tara out of the Times Square Sephora. Her speech about self acceptance and being trapped in someone else’s skin was weird but beautiful you know,” Tate said.

“Nah, Times Square is a different precinct. Oh for Pete’s sake, where have all the real men gone? Is everyone watching girly tv shows, Christ on a cracker,” Lipton said throwing up her hands.

O’Connor guffawed. They downed their shots and returned to their beers. O’Connor showed off his scratched arms and Lipton pretended to play the world’s tiniest violin for him. Rolling his eyes at them Tate walked away to grab drink orders from the new customers walking into McCluskey’s.

It wasn't supposed to work this fast. You get what you pay for, I guess. If you're the kind of person willing to buy from the old lady with three teeth in the last row at the farmers' market, you have to be willing to eat the consequences. And I was. It was all I ever thought about. Every Thursday night, Nicole and I were glued to the TV watching the models drape acres of silk over their impossibly small hips. We'd watch the dancers move for the camera like it was the only thing that mattered. Nicole would sigh and pinch the nonexistent flesh at her waist. "I want that job. It's not that hard. I could give up cheeseburgers." I'd sigh right along with her, knowing that the only difference is that my kid sister actually meant it. Strangers were always asking her if she modeled. Me, though. I liked the dancers best. And when Lara danced, the world went away. Lara. Single name like Prince. She wasn't like other dancers. She didn't even seem to feel the stage underneath her; her feet and hips and shoulders, her hands with the blood-red nails, her untameable black hair were their own instruments, she didn't need music. Sometimes she'd fire-spin, sometimes she'd dress in a single piece of gossamer and beat a frame drum like she was a Roman priestess or something, if Roman priestesses believed in wearing a lot less. One time, she danced with a snake and when people cried animal cruelty, she laughed. Lara wasn't beautiful, not like the models, and I didn't need beauty, either. What I needed was brave. And I watched and learned, but brave isn't something you learn.
The farmers' market was Nicole's idea. She knows I hate crowds, but she saw a TikTok about exposure therapy so there we were. Nicole took off for the taco truck as soon as we got there, and, in a sea of jostling people, all breathing the same air, kids hollering to go play in the park, I considered losing it and calling a Lyft. But I didn't want to be that kind of girl for once, so I searched everywhere for the quietest spot, the one with the least people, and there she was. Just her, by herself, with a rickety card table piled with dark glass bottles. She was doing the crossword. Rude as hell, Nicole would have said. Rude as hell means no people. I love rude as hell. I made my way over to her. They let you put up posters at this market, but hers just had a little index card. I had to bend down to read it. Everything For a Price. "No freebies?" I tried to be chummy and regretted it immediately. She looked at me like I was tracking something on my shoe. She was the best defense for the idea that if you make a face it'll stick that way. "Read the sign." "What's all this stuff?" I tried again. "Depends," She finally put the paper down and looked up at me, "on what you want." "I mean, is this medicine or whatever?" "It can be." I reached out and picked up a bottle and, my hand to God, she slapped it away with the newspaper. "Not that one. You have too much of that one already." I pulled my hand back. "That one's caution. You're covered in it." "That one?" I pointed, playing along, not wanting to get back in the crowd, not wanting to get smacked with the paper again. She actually tnorted. "Love? You wouldn't know what to do with love if it jumped up and bit you on the..." "What about that one?" "How stupid are you?" she was actually laughing now, "that one's a repellent. You don't get out enough for that. Waste of your money." I don't exactly give "have somewhere to be on a Saturday night" vibes, so I wasn't suspicious yet. She picked up her crossword again. "Courage, lacks. Six letters." Now the smallest of the little hairs on the backs of my arms started to prickle. "Hey, that's not funny." I started to walk away, thinking I'd try to track Nicole down and get a coffee. I guess she saw her only sale of the day walking away because she reached deep into the pile and shoved it into my hands. "This one's for you." Naturally, it didn't have a label. This isn't a story about good decisions. "What's this one for?" She actually smiled and, giant gaps where there should have been teeth notwithstanding, it was a nice enough smile. "Two drops in that coffee. Then five more before you go to bed. You can mix it in water, but take it with food. Courage isn't for weak stomachs." "What's in it?" See, I wasn't completely stupid. "It's not poison if that's what you're worried about." The scowl was now firmly bck in place, "that man-child from the health inspector's office says it's not poison. Doesn't mean I have to give you the recipe. Anyway, tomorrow morning," the smile again, "the world's at your feet and it won't matter. Don't forget the little people." I'm not going to lie. I thought maybe I was accidentally in a drug deal and a tiny part of me wasn't mad about it. You get tired of being scared of everyone eventually. I made a big show of a noncommittal shrug. "How much?" With drug deals on TV, they always say the first one's free to get you hooked. No such luck here. "Ten dollars for today," now she was really smiling, and I wondered if anyone had ever talked to her about her teeth, "come see me next week. If you like it, you'll be able to afford more by then." I hadn't really planned to throw away ten bucks this fast, but at least it was a cheap drug deal. Nicole couldn't believe it. "You have to let me have some!" she passed over her coffee, but I shook my head. "I tried to touch one and she hit me. I think it's only one per person." "You know it's sugar water, right? All that stuff's fake." I knew that. But the little part of me that wouldn't shut up, the part that said what you need is brave, squeezed two drops of a supiciously dark liquid into my coffee. It tasted like nothing. When I hadn't died by the time bedtime rolled around, five more drops down the hatch. This time it was slightly bitter, smoke and a little burn like the first (only) time I tried whiskey. I left the bottle on my night table in case I keeled over and they needed to tell the cops. Still laughing at myself for buying ten-dollar whiskey sugar water from an actual witch, I pulled the covers up. Six AM. I'm never up at six AM. The first thing I noticed was how heavy my head was. Reaching out and turning on the lamp, I realized why. And froze. Where my mousy strawberry-bonde strands had been was a thick mane of raven's-wing hair. I was too surprised to scream. It was around this time that I lealized my hands looked strange in the lamplight. Where my bitten-down-to-the-quick nails had been, my long, tapered fingers were painted a lustrous wine-red. My hands were for beating a frame drum and dancing with snakes.

Clove wasn’t shy. Or at least, she wasn’t willing to admit that she was shy. She was just avoiding people. Certain people. Specific people. All people.

She felt that any interaction she had with anybody she saw was sure to go badly, was certain to end up with her being disqualified from the August Witch trials.

So Clove figured she would just run in the other direction whenever she saw anyone. She would just bide her time until she became an August Witch. Then, she couldn’t ruin her chances. Then, no one could take the title of August Witch away from her.

When Clove saw the dean of Afterglow Academy, she ran in the opposite direction. She could feel her heart beating abnormally fast, as it had been constantly for the past month or so.

“Clove,” the dean called out.

Clove used a book to cover up her face as she walked away. She pretended that she couldn’t hear the dean.

“Do I need to call you to my office over the speaker?” the dean asked.

Clove froze. She felt her stomach tighten. She did not want to be called out over the speaker. She could only imagine the number of people who would stare at her and take notice if her name were announced.

Clove turned around and walked back to the dean.

“Very good,” the dean said. “Clove, it’s your turn to be an August Witch for the day.”

“I already did that,” Clove protested. “On my first day of school, I was August Witch.”

The dean sighed. “Yes,” she said. “You were August Witch for the day at school. But this time, you will be an actual August Witch. Tomorrow, you will wake up in the body of an August Witch. But don’t be fooled. This is a test. We will be watching to see how you handle the position and what you do. Fail, and you will be disqualified.”

The next morning, Clove woke up. And just as the dean had said, she was in the body of an August Witch. But she was in the body of Wisteria Putnam, both an August Witch and a reality TV star.

Clove looked around the room for cameras and saw a camera man pointing a camera at her face.

Wisteria Putnam’s channel was always on in Afire. She was watched constantly.

Clove was going to have a hard time hiding and biding her time.

If Clove messed up, the dean would know. The dean would see it on TV.

“Wisteria, baby,” the camera man mouthed inaudibly. “Why don’t you give us a nice smile and tell us good morning?”

Clove attempted to smile.

The camera man winced.

“Good morning,” Clove said flatly.

The camera man almost dropped his camera in alarm. “Are you sick?” he mouthed.

Clove shook her head.

The camera man groaned quite audibly and then cursed.

The rest of the day did not go much better for Clove.

Clove felt that it was exceedingly challenging to be Wisteria and hoped that it was not this challenging to be an August Witch if you weren’t also trying to be someone else.

Clove did not like the cameras or the calls to pose. She did not want to talk to people. She felt like exploding whenever she saw anyone, so she avoided eye contact and kept her mouth tightly closed.

People were worried about Wisteria Putnam.

Clove was handed several sheets of paper with hidden messages.

They asked her if she was alright. They asked her what was wrong. They asked her if she was upset about something. They threatened her that if she didn’t get her act together then her channel might be cancelled.

Clove couldn’t wait for the end of this nightmare of a day. She hoped that she hadn’t failed the August Witch Trials. Clove felt it was all that she could do to just hold her tongue and keep from saying something nasty to Wisteria Putnam’s people.

Then, things got even worse.

A girl appeared on TV and accused Wisteria and another woman named Holly of lying.

Clove, as Wisteria, was expected to say that she did not lie. After much prompting, Clove complied. “I did not lie. I truly believed what I said.”

This did not appease Wisteria’s people at first, but later they lavished her with praise when the public believed her, and she was off the hook.

Holly also put out a statement that she did not lie.

But no one believed Holly because she wasn’t an August Witch. Everyone believed Wisteria because she was one. The public even blamed Holly for Wisteria’s lies, saying that Holly must have lied to Wisteria.

Clove didn’t know why, in the midst of everything going on, she became obsessed with Holly. She found out that Holly was a sealant witch like Clove. And Holly was predicted to lose her business, a small bakery, over this ‘lie.’ Clove felt horrified.

Clove wanted, even more, to become an August Witch so that what happened to Holly would never happen to her. She wanted to hide and bide her time.

But at the same time, she felt so strongly for Holly.

The next day, when Clove was Clove again, she stopped by Holly’s bakery and bought a cookie. She even made eye contact with Holly, smiled, and said, “Good morning.”

“Sadie, get up! Confessional interviews start in twenty minutes and I’ve got to get you looking ready to face the camera!”

I awoke with a start. Confessional interviews? I don’t think I have any of those on my todo list today. I think that’s probably better than my actual todo list which consists of writing an essay for my government class, studying for my math test, and reading 100 pages in a book that I hate, but of course, I don’t get to decide.

“Sadie, I’m serious! The producers are going to be mad at both of us if you’re not there for the interview on time. Of course, they’ll take it out on me and not you, but it doesn’t look good for either of us. We have a schedule to keep here!”

“Umm…Okay,” I respond, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I sure hope you will be!”

I walk over to my closet, except the closet in front of me is not mine. Thinking I’m in what must be a pretty cool dream, I pick out a cute outfit and walk over to the mirror to check it out.

That’s when it hits me.

I don’t look anything like me. I look like Sadie Wilde, my favorite contestant on the hottest new reality show, Villa of Love. Pretty cool dream, I think to myself again.

“Sadie, what are you doing in there?”

“I’m coming,” I say as I walk out the door.

“Oh thank goodness you’re already dressed. Sit down, let me do your hair and makeup.”

“Thank you…,” I pause as if waiting for a name.

“Thank you what?”

“What’s your name?,” I ask.

“Sadie, what is going on with you this morning. I’m Ash, I’ve been doing your hair and makeup every day now for weeks!”

“I’m sorry, I guess dream me doesn’t know that,” I say, laughing.

Ash looks at me, confused before responding.

“Sadie Wilde, this isn’t a dream.”

“It must be,” I reply. “I’m not Sadie Wilde. I’m Sadie Somer.”

“Stop messing with me before I burn you with this curling iron by mistake,” Ash says, looking genuinely worried.

“I’m not messing with you,” I respond.

She looks at me for a minute and then a look of realization passes across her face.

“You’re actually telling the truth, you’re not Sadie Wilde! You’re just some look alike. Where is she?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say in a panic. “I don’t look like Sadie Wilde, at least not usually. I’m only 16!”

“Then how’d you end up in her body?!”

“I don’t know!”

Before I can finish saying what I wanted to, one of the producers of the show storms into the makeup room. She yells at Ash and grabs my arm, pulling me down the hallway as she lectures me about the importance of being on time for live confessional sessions. Before I know it, I’m sitting on a couch and there are ten cameras filming my every move.”

“Hey, Sadie! How are you feeling this morning?” A voice from the loud speaker asks.

“I’m honestly terrified right now,” I respond.

“Oh, are you that worried about Ashley trying to steal Josh right out from under you?” the voice asks.

“Umm…yeah. That’s definitely it,” I say, remembering that I have to respond as if I’m an actual contestant on the show.

“That’s strange,” the voice replies. “You’ve never seemed like the nervous type. How are you feeling about the elimination tonight?”

“I hope Ashley gets eliminated,” I respond, trying to sound convincing.

“There’s the Sadie we know and love!” the voice exclaims. “That’s all the time we have for today!”

My vision goes black.

I wake up in my own room and I look like myself in the mirror. It was just a dream, I think. I knew it wasn’t real. I go to turn on the TV so I can watch the real Sadie Wilde’s morning confessional on Villa of Love, but when I look into her eyes and hear her responses, I only see myself.