Four hours later, Mount Rushmore sported the faces of Charlie Chaplin, Larry, Curly, and Moe; the Mississippi was made entirely of neon-green Kool-Aid; the Statue of Liberty was striking a pose more fitting to a bad disco movie; and the streets of New York really were paved with gold. SR was beginning to get tired, but knew that his fun this night was far from over. He finished giving America's most famously adulterous president the mug shot of the world's most infamous purple dinosaur. After starting the changing process, he went to the refrigerator to pull out a Jolt. He paused to tune the radio to a political news program before sitting down at the console of the computer, downing his soda. It seemed to take an eternity for the 'Preparing to make changes...' counter to reach 100%. When it did, SR was greeted with the now-familiar feeling of vertigo, accompanied by a male voice announcing, "Initiating Changes..." This time, however, instead of that same male voice declaring the changes complete, Dexter called out, "Have you any idea what you have done?" When his head cleared, SR saw a fatal-error box displaying prominently on the screen: "This program has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down." "Dang it, Windows!" SR thought. Before he could react further, however, the announcer on the radio stole his attention: "...that President Clinton had a very emotionally-trying day today. The announcement that the Senate overturned the House's vote for impeachment was followed almost immediately by First Gentleman Harold Rodham-Clinton's announcement that he will be filing for divorce with our nation's leader. Although he hasn't yet given a reason for this dramatic move, sources indicate that it has to do with the Michael Lewinsky scandal. President Wilma Clinton had the following to say at a press conference today:" A voice that can best be described as a 60/40 mixture of Bullwinkle and Slappy Squirrel continued: "I'm only going to tell you people one more time: I did not mean to have sex with that man, Mr. Lewinsky. But I'll never grow tired of telling my dear husband: Harold, I love you, you love me, and we're a happy family..." SR stared in confusion at the speaker on the clock radio across the room. He stood with the intent of walking over to turn up to volume. As soon as he was on his feet, however, two very important things became apparent. Wide-eyed, SR stared downward in shock and horror at the very alien mounds protruding from his chest. Apparently, President Clinton wasn't the only one who had undergone some petite changes. Once again, he had to steady himself on the back of the chair as his knees became the consistency of Jell-o. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. Gasping for air, he staggered to the mirror over the sink. The face that greeted him, although displaying the same incredulous look of wondrous horror SR undoubtedly had on his face, was completely foreign to his memory. His eyes had changed from a deep brown to an emerald green. Hair was still brown, but straight and six inches longer. The cheeks and chin were more angular, yet smaller. The accursedly large Foxley nose had been replaced with a smartly narrow, pointed thing. SR also noticed that he was considerably shorter than his usual six feet. He stumbled his way back to the chair at the console, trying his best to ignore the void manifesting itself between his legs as he sat back down. He (and yes, he was definitely still a he-- this body was as alien to him as good manners are to rugby) clicked the button to clear the fatal-error window, then immediately launched Realityshop again. An eternity of unwanted sensual input passed as the splash screen finally gave way to the main screen of the program. Without delay, SR clicked the 'Help' button. Dexter cried out, "This is all your fault!" as a message-box appeared on the monitor: I'm sorry, SR, but help is unavailable. This time, SR really did scream. Dexter gave his more-than-appropriate line, and the message box changed: You said you were really, REALLY sure. SR began to cry out of sheer panic. Dexter again, and the message once again changed: You told me never to come back, even if you were screaming and crying your eyes out. SR clicked on the 'OK' button, cursing his own pigheadedness, then allowed himself to cry his panic away. Five minutes later, SR was clearheaded enough to start considering what he should do. It didn't take long to come to the obvious course of action: "The 'Undo' function, of course!" SR cleared his throat, as if that would somehow change the soprano voice he heard back to his usual baritone. He quickly clicked on the 'Undo' icon, and his heart jumped into his throat as Dexter cried out, "Have you any idea what you have done?" A warning box appeared in the phosphors: WARNING! SR, you should only invoke the 'Undo' function as a last resort! Due to the more hairy details involved in restoring reality, this process will usually only work on one out of ten invocations. Realityshop may act erratically, and SRU Technologies claims no responsibility for adverse conditions which may occur as a result of invoking 'Undo.' For real, this time, SR, are you really, REALLY, REALLY sure? This time, SR actually took a moment to consider his decision. He took a deep breath, then clicked on the 'Yes, and God help me!' button. He was presented with a dialogue box, asking whether he wanted only the most recent or all changes to reality undone. He clicked on the button that he hoped would undo all his mischievous meddling. Another message box appeared, with the familiar 'Preparing to make changes..." message and counter. SR watched intently as it slowly crawled its way to 50%, then walked to the radio to change to tuning to a station that was playing something other than "Pretty Woman." He gave up and turned the thing off after hitting "I'm a Barbie Girl", "Like a Virgin," and "I'm too sexy," in rapid succession. SR sighed, paused for a moment to consider how unusual it was for him to sigh, then almost compulsively walked to the mirror over the sink. It didn't afford the best of views, but he still stood there, standing sideways to his reflection, admiring his figure. "Dang!" he thought, "I'm hot! I could get used to this..." He cut himself off in mid thought, mentally slapping himself. "No, I won't get used to this! This is not me!" Angry thoughts coursed through his brain. "I'm going to get everything back to normal, even if I have to run that stupid 'Undo' function a million times! And I'm not going to give up until I die or the Big Asteroid, the Vogons, or Cthuhlu comes to destroy the Earth!" He nearly choked when he realized that that, precisely, could be what in the very next moment would happen. Panic renewed, he turned to the screen just in time to see the counter reach 100%, and to hear the now female voice calling out, "Initiating changes..." A wave of nausea and complete disorientation swept over him at that moment. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Dexter call out, "This is all your fault!" "Oh crap!" was SR's last thought before blacking out. SR's thoughts were more than muddled when he again became conscious. The first thing he remembered was the intense craving he had for a certain factory-made pastry. Bringing himself to his feet, he wasted no time searching the cupboard for his Hostess delight. His search coming up empty, he frowned, then settled for a grape soda from the top shelf of the 'fridge. He had nearly chugged the whole thing when a black-and-white striped snake-like thing glanced into his peripheral vision. He spat out the last swallow of soda, dropping the can and jumping toward the ceiling. Heart racing as he hung upside-down from the only light fixture in the room, suddenly a mental switch clicked in his head. His panic ebbed to relief as he realized that it was his own tail. This, in turn, ebbed to panic as he realized that it was his own tail. Still hanging from the ceiling, (he somehow felt more secure in this precarious position) he examined what he could see of himself in the mirror over the sink. The green eyes and pointed nose were gone now, but what he now saw was definitely not what he'd hoped to see. In fact, what he did see could hardly be called human, anymore: Most of his face was covered in short whitish fur. The area around his nose and mouth, and again around each eye was accented with black. His ears had traveled up (or rather, in this position, down) his head. Each was rounded, and covered with the same black-and-white hair. He could see nothing else in the mirror but his stripey tail, but all these clues said one thing: Lemur. The 'Undo' function had obviously run amiss. What's more, SR knew (by smell?) that he was still female. Disappointed and still quite shocked, he dropped to the floor and sat sideways on the chair in front of the computer. There was an error box on the screen: Undo failed! You were warned! Shall I retry? SR clicked on the 'Yes, of course! Did you really think I'd give up now?' button before scrambling to the refrigerator to retrieve another grape soda. Sipping this time, he watched from across the room as the counter slowly wound its way upward. Before he realized what was happening, he was again clinging to the light fixture. A sudden cacophonous sound was assaulting his ears. "What the frink?" he muttered to himself, dropping again to the floor to save the last of the soda pouring carelessly on the carpet. The noise was coming from outside his room, down the hall, and carried an odd echo effect. SR paused to finish off the last of the precious sucrose-laden mixture before peeking out the door. The entire hallway had been transformed into some sort of cavern, complete with stalactites and stalagmites. The stone floor was covered from end to end with a quizzical collection of chipmunks, squirrels, mice, rats, rabbits, moles, and other small mammalia. SR also spied a human who looked and sounded vaguely Scottish. All these creatures were making chirrups, squeals, shrieks, and barks at seemingly random intervals. SR was thoroughly confused until he realized exactly what they were doing. When he did, he couldn't keep from smiling. At least when Realityshop failed, it did so with style! He had the slightest inkling to join them, but against his better judgment, he decided that he'd better continue his efforts with the omnipotent computer program until the reality he knew and loved was restored. Shaking his head in amusement, he quietly shut the door. What would you expect several species of small furry animals gathered together in a cave to be doing with a pict, anyway? He sat down in front of the computer, munching on something sweet retrieved from the cupboard, to watch the numbers on the screen complete their journey to 100%. Again, he was greeted with an, "Initiating changes..." message, as well as the disorienting nausea from before. This time, SR managed to remain conscious long enough to hear Dexter cry out his chiding remark and see the error box appear on the screen-- and to realize that neither were in English anymore. If SR's thoughts could have been articulated at that moment, they would only have come out as a dull and foreboding moan. When SR awoke, he realized that he was lying on his back in the center of the room, staring at the ceiling. Apparently he'd fallen out of his chair after Realityshop's last failure. This didn't concern him, however, as much as the fact that despite his straining, the objects on the ceiling-- objects which had not been there earlier-- would not come into focus. SR had always had near perfect vision, and this newly acquired nearsightedness frustrated him no end. He was also vaguely aware that his hearing and sense of smell had also undergone alterations. He moved to stand up, but was surprised when this movement caused him to leave the floor completely. He was even more surprised when he continued to slowly glide upward until he was touching the ceiling. He could clearly see the objects now: Pencils, pens, a couple of notebooks, a few text books, a board game, a soccer ball, and every other buoyant object SR had had in his dorm. Like a Mac truck hitting a brick wall, SR realized that the entire room was submerged in water. He panicked and gasped for air, gripping his throat. The next few minutes were spent as SR did his best impression of Davey Jones on the day that cliche was born. These antics abruptly ended, however, when SR realized that he only had trouble breathing when he was squeezing the gills that had newly been formed on his neck. Sheepishly, he swam down to the computer. He had no idea how it was still running under water (and salty sea water at that), but was more than glad that at the very least the error box was still on the screen. SR knew that the text was not English, but found that he had no trouble understanding what it said. He quickly clicked on the button that would once again start the ball rolling toward a possible fix for the situation. He stared dreamily at the numbers counting their way to the next attempt. Abruptly, his mind snapped to attention as a deafening "PING!" ricocheted off the insides of his head. SR swam quickly to the window (purposely avoiding the mirror) to see a huge pale yellow cylinder glide its way past. The occupants of the machine could clearly be heard melodiously extolling the virtues and self-sufficiency of living in a yellow submarine. SR watched with mounting awe as, in a matter of minutes, it continued on its journey until it had disappeared with the voices of its occupants into the murky green waters of the sea. As soon as it was gone, three dolphins swam up to the window and bid SR farewell, thanking him for the fish which SR hadn't remembered giving them. They disappeared as suddenly as they had come. SR groaned, doing his best to lay on the bed next to the window. It was going to be a very long night, indeed... Eight hours later, this incarnation of SR was munching on a passing bit of algae as the impressions being sent to him by the grey and blue dodecahedron hovering six inches from the front of his fifth set of eyes finally reached FF%. He had learned to ignore all the crazy happenings of the world around him and concentrate on getting Realityshop to function properly. At this point, this was his last hold on the delicate thread of sanity. With the last attempt to restore reality, the thing that had been his computer had done the equivalent of the infamous 'Blue screen of death' he'd seen so often running Windows. This forced him to turn the thing off and restart. When he ran the program that had been Realityshop again, it warned him that the History.dat file had been corrupted and that the program would attempt to salvage the file. He was slightly relieved to find that it had been successful in its efforts, but still didn't allow himself to get his hopes up. He did the mental and physiological equivalent of taking a deep breath and crossing what would have been his fingers before the changes set in: The familiar disorientation greeted him, then blackness. This time, however, SR didn't hear Dexter's accusing line. SR blinked his eyes in awareness. Several things occurred to him at once: 1. He had eyes. 2. He had two of them. 3. They hurt because he was staring directly at the incandescent light bulb inside the single light fixture in his dorm room. Oh, what a joy this was! Nearly blinding himself had never felt better! He paused for a moment to admire the bleak and cracked plaster of his dorm room ceiling before slowly raising his shaking right hand before his face. Five fingers, with a ring on the fourth one. He raised his left hand. Except for the ring, it was a reflection of the right. Looking downward, he saw that the twin peaks were gone, and a quick manual inspection told him the family jewels were once again safe. He rolled over to check his backside. The madagascan primate's tail was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't allow himself to revel in victory just yet... Standing up on two (not five) feet, he quickly looked over the room. It was in its familiar state of disarray-- and the annoying singing canary-shaped night light next to the light switch had finally disappeared. SR rushed to the window: Blue sky. White snowy earth. Brown trees. Squarish buildings. Four-wheeled cars. He turned on the radio. The station was playing Rimsky- Korsakov's approximation of a piccolo on PCP, and SR was sure that it wasn't accompanying any real bumblebees anymore. SR took a deep breath, expecting the worst, and applied the real test of truth: He walked in front of the full view of the mirror. Whew! Dad's nose and eyes! Mom's ears and mouth! SR let out a whoop of joy and began prancing around the room in elation. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" he shouted to no one in particular, "That's the way... we like it! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" He ran into the hallway. "I'm me again!" he screamed. A passing neighbor looked up in confusion, then continued his way to his room, shaking his head. SR bolted down the stairs and outside, not stopping until he had made six complete laps around the building. Adrenaline wearing off, he finally lay panting in the snow. He allowed the elation he felt to warm his body as he enjoyed the biting cold of earth's white blanket. It was all back, every last detail! Everything-- exactly as he remembered it. In a single day he had completely destroyed, then completely restored the entire universe! SR slowly became aware of how tired he was. He looked upward at the sun, happy that there was only one of them now, and estimated that it must be nearing noon. Exultant, he jumped to his feet and bounced back to his dorm room. Once inside, the clock (which had stopped doing its impression of something out of a Dali painting) confirmed his suspicions: it was 11:43 in the morning. SR yawned widely, closing the door and returning his attention to the computer. There was still a message box on the screen: Undo succeeded. You got lucky this time, kit. SR ejected the CD. Taking a deep breath, he turned off the computer without even exiting the program. He wanted the thing off before it could cause any more trouble. He exhaled when he was sure that nothing adverse had resulted from this last maneuver. In the future, he may have to use Windows again, but that partition would be completely reformatted and reinstalled before he attempted anything else with the machine! The CD stared innocently back at SR's ponderous gaze. He drew his hand back, ready to fling the thing into oblivion against the wall, but at the last moment decided against it. After all, he still couldn't be completely sure that everything was back to normal, and he would need the program to fix any lingering problems. SR pulled out an empty CD case and gingerly set Realityshop 1.0 for Windows! inside. He allowed himself to breathe easier once the CD was safely stowed in the back of one of the drawers in his desk. He smiled to himself, still overjoyed that everything was back to normal. Bending, he picked up a book that was lying on the ground at his feet. For what had to be the hundredth time in the past twelve hours, SR choked at what he saw: It was his astronomy book, and full-color picture of the moon on the open page still showed the signs of his handiwork from earlier that night. Panicked, he tore into his other books to see whether any other changes had survived the undo process. He spent the next hour setting his conscience at ease. The books confirmed that Mount Rushmore again prominently displayed the very human faces of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln; the Mississippi was again composed of slightly muddy dihydrogen oxide; New York's street paving material was the same dull black asphalt and concrete as could be found in other U.S. cities; and Lady Liberty herself was again holding aloft her dignified beacon to all lovers of freedom everywhere. In all his searching, it appeared to SR Foxley that the Man in the Moon was the only permanent sufferer of SR's mischief. Smiling to himself, he placed the last of his books back onto the shelf. His fatigue returned again in force, and SR yawned as he glanced at the clock: 12:58. He closed the blinds and turned off the radio. SR took one last grateful look at his reflection in the mirror before turning off the lights. It felt so good to be back in his own body again! He hopped onto the bed. Placing his cold wet nose beneath his white-tipped, red tail, SR fell asleep. In the mall, and old man in a bathrobe stood, beaming at the growling Old Fox on the other side of the counter. "I still can't believe you actually went through with it!" spat the fox, "I've never seen so much Tom and Jerry foolery in all of my life! Did you ever stop to consider what could have happened?! Why, in my day..." "What could have happened didn't," retorted the old man, "and you and I both know that you're only stalling right now!" Growling, the Old Fox removed a crisp one-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter before making a stiff about-face and limping out of the store. Picking up his winnings, the old man laughed. Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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