The Karma Of Serenity free porn video

The Karma of Serenity By Morpheus It was Friday afternoon and school had just ended for the week. This should have put me in a good mood, but my mood was anything but good at the moment. I'd gotten a B- in history class, which wasn't quite the grade I'd been aiming for. Unfortunately it was too late to do anything about that now as they'd already e-mailed my grades home. I snarled as I walked down the halls, glaring at several students who got in my way and smirking as they quickly jumped aside. The crowded hallway split before me, which wasn't much of a surprise since I was a pretty intimidating guy. I was 6 foot 3 and built like a linebacker, which I actually had been until I'd gotten kicked off the school football team for fighting too much. "Out of my way," I snapped at one boy who hadn't moved fast enough. I gave him a casual shove and knocked him aside, not even bothering to stop and watch him scramble for the papers he'd dropped. "Watch it loser." I stepped outside the main doors to the school but I still didn't feel any better. In fact, I was only growing angrier, though I didn't quite know why. But that was no surprise since I was usually in a bad mood. Then I saw him, Gary Pritchart, a total wimp who somehow rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. He was six inches shorter than me and fairly thin, though I knew he got a lot of exercise from being on the school swim team so he wasn't completely without muscles. Still, swimming was a girlie sport...something only real wimps would actually compete in. "Hey Bitchart," I exclaimed, using my little nickname for him. Gary looked at me with his eyes widening slightly. "Dan," he said with a gulp, obviously afraid of me. I grinned at that, while his eyes darted around for a way to get away. "What's this?" I asked, gesturing the pad of paper in Gary's hands. He was holding a pencil in his other and seemed to be doodling. I snatched the pad out of his hand while he protested, "Give that back..." One look was enough to show me that Gary had been drawing a picture of one of the other students, and it was good enough that I was able to immediately recognize who he'd been drawing a picture of. "It's bitch art," I teased, pleased by my take on his nickname. I flipped the pages, seeing pictures of other students. Then exclaimed, "This is total crap..." I tossed the drawing pad to the side, then glared down at a defiant Gary. "Didn't you know that drawing is for little kids and girls...?" "Why don't you leave me alone?" Gary demanded. "I've never done anything to you...you jerk." If Gary had just backed down, I would have been able to continue going on my way, but since he'd challenged me in front of all these other kids... I just snarled at him, pushing him backwards and watching him fall on his ass. "You offend me," I spat at him. "Real men don't waste their time with that art crap. Why don't you grow a pair and man up." I gave him a fairly mild kick and then turned to walk away. A lot of students had gathered to watch the show, and most of them were staring at me with looks of fear or even anger. However none of them had come to Gary's defense, so I thought they were just hypocrites. If they really wanted me to stop messing with him, they would have done something to interfere. Then one skinny black girl ran to Gary's side to see if he was okay. I knew that she was a friend of his, though I didn't know her name or care. What I did know was that she was Twisted with some sort of trick that let her sense other people's emotions. Her being Twisted wasn't a big deal though since this was Spiral and about half the kids in school were Twisted and her ability wasn't something I was worried about. "That boy is just full of anger and resentment," the girl said, glaring at me while helping Gary to his feet. I just continued walking away as though I hadn't heard her comments about me. The other people who'd been watching were beginning to mutter as well, though not to my face or where I could see who had spoken. Still, as I left, I heard the words jerk, asshole, and bully. I acted as though I hadn't heard those either. "A bunch of losers," I muttered to myself as I began walking the two blocks to my home. I could still see all those faces staring at me with fear and contempt in their eyes. My dad always said that having people be afraid of you was a good thing. It showed that they respected you. And as dad always said, a real man demands respect. "Bitchart should thank me for helping set him straight," I told myself grimly. "I mean, I'm giving him lessons in how to be a man for free..." When I finally reached the small house where I lived with my dad, I was still in a bad mood. I wanted to hit someone...hard. I'd held back against that wimp Gary so I still had a lot of anger to burn off. I was about to go inside when I heard someone call out, "Hello Dan..." I looked to the driveway next door and saw my neighbor Mrs. Fritz pulling some bags out of the trunk of her car. She was an old woman who was always friendly, so I smiled and waved back. Then I quickly looked around to make sure my dad wasn't watching. My dad didn't like Mrs. Fritz...or much of anyone else. "Do you need a hand with those groceries?" I called back, already starting towards her. "Thank you," Mrs. Friz responded, looking up at me with a pleasant smile. "It's no problem," I told her as I picked up the remaining bags of groceries from the trunk of her car and began carrying them inside for her. When I was done, Mrs. Fritz said, "Thank you again, Dan. You're such a good boy." I winced faintly at that, and as I turned and started back for my own house, I muttered, "No I'm not." My dad was already home, which wasn't too big of a surprise. He worked in construction, but he couldn't do his job until other people had completed theirs first. That meant he often had odd hours, sometimes working only a couple hours a day and other times working a series of fourteen hour shifts in order to catch up. My dad, Dan Jones Sr, was a large and imposing man who demanded respect from everyone around him. Respect and fear. At the moment, he was sitting in his recliner, sipping on a beer while watching TV. He had his computer tablet sitting next to him so I knew he'd probably already seen my report card. "You're late," dad said, though I knew he didn't really care about that. "I had to teach some punk a lesson," I responded with a smirk. "I had him crying like a baby when I was done." "Good," dad responded, giving me a level look. "A real man makes sure people know to respect him. He makes sure they know not to fuck with him." I nodded at that since this was about as close as my dad would come to giving a compliment. Usually he only showed disapproval, often in a very painful fashion. We didn't exactly have a warm and friendly relationship. In fact, I hated his guts...and was afraid of him at the same time. That probably made the fact that I'd spent most of my life trying to earn his approval even stranger. "I got your grades today," dad said, gesturing to his computer tablet. "I see you got a B in history..." "B minus," I corrected him, then wished I hadn't. "What?" dad demanded, giving me an angry glare. "You turning into some kind of egghead? You think you're smarter than me?" "No, I just guessed good," I quickly said. "I got lucky on that test..." Dad nodded at that, taking a drink of beer and then glaring at me again. "Of course you did. You're dumb as a box of rocks, and don't you forget it. I don't want you getting too big for your britches or I'll have to teach you a lesson." "No sir," I responded with a grimace. I let out a sigh of relief when dad turned away from me and began focusing on the TV again. I was just thankful that he didn't want to teach me another lesson. The last major lesson he'd taught me had been about two months ago. I'd gotten beaten up at school by some girl with a powerful trick. She hadn't really hurt me much, other than a few bruises and the damage she'd done to my pride. However when dad heard that I'd been beaten by a girl, he'd been furious and went at me with a baseball bat, breaking my arm and putting me in the hospital for a couple days. "Don't you ever let a girl beat you again," dad had yelled at me while hitting me. "No son of mine is going to be pathetic enough to get beaten some damn girl." Those words still echoed in my head, along with memory of how much it had hurt. Since my dad had effectively dismissed me, I went back to my bedroom and turned on my stereo, keeping it low enough that it wouldn't disturb my dad. At the same time, I wished that I'd taken a bit longer coming home or that I had somewhere else I could be instead. There was a nice park down the street and it might have been nice to go there and hang out, but that was out of the question. Hanging out at parks was for little kids, not for men. The last time I'd actually been at that park had been when I was a kid, back before my mom left. At one time, I had been on the school football team and would have stayed late for practice, though the truth was that I'd hated football. I'd only signed up because my dad made me, saying that football was a man's sport. Baseball and basketball were acceptable but things like track and swimming were for pansies and girls. I'd been pretty good at football, but I'd hated the game and my dad wouldn't let me just quit. So I got into fights with some of the other guys and was thrown off the team instead. As was usual with my dad, having me get kicked off for being too violent was much more acceptable than just quitting. I briefly thought about going to see some friends, but the truth was that I didn't have friends. There were a couple guys at school that I'd sometimes hang out with, but they weren't friends. I'd never been to any of their houses nor had any of them ever come to mine. I stayed in my room until dinner, then came out just long enough to eat my TV dinner with dad. According to dad, cooking was women's work, which meant that we rarely had anything that wasn't fast food or just prepackaged meals that just needed to be heated. And as with most nights, we ate in silence, with the occasional exception of dad commenting about someone who needed their ass kicked. Once I was done eating, I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, then I paused to stare at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I was seventeen years old with dark brown hair, thick and bushy eyebrows that came close to forming a unibrow, a wide jaw, and a nose that had obviously once been broken, courtesy of one of my dad's lessons. All in all, I looked like a brutish thug, which I suppose was appropriate since I was a thug. "Dan Jones Junior," I said my name with a faint sneer. I looked a lot like my dad and was even named after him. I hated and feared the man, yet I was just like him. As I stared into the mirror, I could see my future spread out before me as I continued to follow in my dad's footsteps. After school, I'd get some kind of grunt job, then I'd spent the rest of my life slowly getting more bitter and angry. Twenty years from now, I'd probably have my own kids to take it out on as well. I snarled in anger and nearly punched my own reflection. It suddenly struck me that I hated that reflection, or more specifically, I hated the person it represented. I hated myself and the dismal future I saw stretched out in front of me. With another snarl of anger, I stormed out of the bathroom, going to my own room and slamming the door behind me. Anger was good. Anger was an acceptable emotion. But on the other hand, it was also an emotion that I was tired of constantly feeling. Unfortunately the only alternatives seemed to be fear or loneliness, and those were even worse. "What the hell am I going to do?" I muttered bitterly. I sat on the edge of my bed and closed my eyes, only to see images of my earlier encounter with Gary. All those other kids had stared at me with looks of fear and contempt. I was used to those kind of looks, but I still didn't like them. Dad always said it was good to have people fear you, that it meant they knew you were stronger than they were. However I had a hard time seeing those looks as good, no matter how hard I tried. Anyone at school would immediately describe me as a thug and a bully, the kind of person that everyone hated. I knew exactly what everyone thought about me, but I couldn't disagree. I knew what I was...and I hated it. I was just so tired of it all, but there was nothing I could do. I just felt...trapped. For most of my life, I'd tried earning my dad's approval, but it very rarely came at all. He had strict standards about what it meant to be a man and about how a real man should behave. And whenever I didn't meet those standards, his disapproval could be quite painful. When I was ten years old, I'd found my mom's old flute, the one she used to play when she was in high school. She'd given it to me and had even begun teaching me to play, but when dad found out he was furious. He used the flute to beat me until it snapped in half. Even seven years later, I could still remember him yelling at me, exclaiming that no son of his would play a girl instrument like a flute. According to dad, guitar and drums were the only acceptable instruments for a man to play. Dad had also made his views known when he caught me trying to draw pictures of our old dog Bill. Though dad didn't hit me that time, he'd torn up my pictures and yelled about how only girls and little kids wasted time by doodling like that. That was the last time I'd ever tried my hand at art. I grimaced and laid back on my bed, closing my eyes. As I thought back on my life, I realized that every time I found something interesting or fun, dad would forbid it, saying that men didn't do that. And even though I was disappointed, I would always listen to dad and try to earn his approval. I'd tried so hard to become the kind of man he'd respect and approve of, but it still wasn't enough. And even worse, the closer I came to earning his approval, the less I approved of myself. Here I was, having spent most of my life trying to earn my dad's approval...trying to prove that I was a real man. But all I really had for it was the hatred of everyone at school and a whole lot of self-loathing. "A thug," I muttered bitterly, knowing what everyone at school called me. "An asshole. A bully." Other than those things, I didn't really know what I was...or who I was. I'd spent so much time trying to be what dad wanted me to be that I didn't even know who I really was. "Who am I?" I whispered to myself, shaken by the realization that I had no idea. Then I thought back on all the things that had ever caught my interest, the things that I'd actually enjoyed and loved doing. But I'd been forced to turn my back on nearly every one of them since real men didn't do those things. Men didn't play the flute, draw pictures, or dance. It suddenly struck me that I was trapped...trapped by expectations. I was trapped by my dad's expectations of what it meant to be a man and my own need to fulfill them. I was trapped in my role as a brutish thug. I hated who I was but I couldn't see a way out of these chains that bound me. "I wish things could have been different," I thought aloud, wondering what my life would have been like if I'd been allowed to just be myself. What would it have been like if I'd been allowed to follow my interests, whatever they were? Who would I have become if I'd been free to choose on my own? But of course, it was pointless to imagine such a thing because there was no way dad would have allowed that. As he'd told me on countless occasions, his son was going to be a real man. With that I suddenly wondered what my life would have been like if I'd been born a girl. If I'd been born a girl, then dad never would have tried pushing me to be like him. He never would have pushed me to be a real man or forbidden me from doing things just because they weren't manly enough. "If I'd been born a girl," I mused as my imagination began to run with this idea. If I'd been born a girl, then I never would have been trapped by my dad's expectations. I wouldn't have to follow all of his rules. I wouldn't have to always prove how tough I was so I'd be able to have friends. I could actually do the things that interested me without worrying about his disapproval. At that moment, all I could think of was that if I'd been born a girl, my entire life would have been completely different. I would have been completely different. I would have been free of these rules and expectations. I could have been...me. Suddenly every hair on my body began to stand on end, as though I had somehow built up a static charge just by laying on my bed. But at the same time, I felt a strange pressure building inside of me and around me. I opened my eyes and began to sit up when it all exploded at once and I crashed into darkness. -------------------- I woke up to someone shaking me and yelling, though I was far too disoriented to make any sense of it. Still, in spite my confusion I immediately realized that something was very VERY different. "Who are you?" dad demanded as he shook me. "Where's my son?" Dad and I were about the same size, though he'd always somehow managed to seem bigger than me. But now, it was as though he'd grown larger...much larger. I gasped and squirmed out of his grip, only to tumble onto the floor where I stared up at him. "Did my good for nothing son sneak you in here last night?" dad demanded angrily. "I can't believe he'd sneak his slut in and then sneak out..." "Dad," I started, only to pause at the sound of my own voice. It wasn't my voice. My entire body felt different...vastly different, so I glanced down at myself and let out a loud gasp. My eyes darted to my bed, which was now completely blackened and charred. I could smell the stench of something burnt in the room. "Oh shit," I blurted out in sudden realization. I stared up at my dad and exclaimed, "Dad, I think I went through my twist..." That was enough to make my dad freeze and stare at me with a look of shock. Then a look of understanding spread over his face and he asked, "Dan?" I nodded at that and stared up at my dad, feeling as though I was in shock. My dad wasn't Twisted, though he probably would have been easier to deal with if he had been. If he'd been Twisted, his personality could have been blamed on his twist and excused to a degree. But no, my dad was a norm. My mom was Twisted, which meant that I'd always known there was a good chance that I would be too. But since I took after my dad in nearly every other way, I'd always kind of assumed that I'd take after him this way too and hadn't given it much thought. "Fuck," dad exclaimed, staring down at me with a scowl and a look of intense disgust. "I can't believe you'd do this to me..." "What?" I gaped at my dad in surprise. "Damn good for nothing," dad snarled storming out of my room and slamming the door behind him. Even through the closed door, I could hear him exclaiming, "This is all because his whore of a mother..." Once dad was gone, I remained where I was for several minutes, feeling overwhelmed by what was happening. Then I slowly got to my feet, being careful not to actually look at my body. The one look I'd already taken had been shocking enough so I was trying to avoid another. When I was on my feet, my whole body felt rubbery and shaken so I grabbed hold of my dresser to help me keep my balance. I stared at my dresser, which seemed to have become quite a bit larger than normal. Intellectually I knew that wasn't what had happened at all, but I was trying not to think about it. Instead I looked at my bed, or at least at what was left of it. I'd learned in school that when someone goes through a mild twist, it often came with sparks, an odd glow, or some kind of minor light show. But when someone went through a drastic physical twist, the energy released would usually destroy their clothes and just about anything else they were touching. In my case, that was definitely proving to be true as not only were my clothes destroyed, so was my bed. Most of my sheets and bedding had been burned to ash...along with part of my mattress. It almost looked like someone had set fire to my bed, so I was surprised that dad hadn't said anything about that. After taking a good look at my bed, I slowly began looking around the rest of the room. It seemed...larger. Everything in my room seemed larger. But of course, I knew that wasn't the case. My room hadn't changed. I had. With that I took a deep breath and then looked down at myself again. A single glance was enough to show that my body was much smaller, with no signs of body hair or even any real muscle. I would have thought that I'd turned into a little kid again if it wasn't for the fact that I actually had a pair of tits growing from my chest. I was still in shock and a bit numb or I probably would have freaked out. Instead I hesitantly felt my tits, verifying that they were indeed real. They were firm and perky, and though they seemed huge to me, I realized that they probably weren't really all that large. And once I was done feeling them, then I reached down between my legs and confirmed that mister happy was gone too. "I'm a girl," I whispered with a gulp. For several minutes, I just stood there, running my now small and delicate looking hands over my smooth and hairless body. My whole body felt completely and totally strange, yet it was obviously now my body. I could feel my hands as they passed over my now soft and sensitive skin. "I'm a girl," I repeated again, my voice shaking along with my body. Then, as I realized my dad might walk in on me at any moment, I decided I had to cover up. I grabbed one of my shirts and put it on, but it was far too large and draped over me almost like a dress. If my dad and the furniture in my room hadn't already convinced me, this would have been proof enough that I was tiny. I left my room and peaked down the hallway, nervous about having my dad see me like this again. He'd already proven that he wasn't happy about my twist and I didn't want him taking that displeasure out on me. I was already having more than enough to deal with at the moment as it was. When I got to the bathroom, I found that the bathroom mirror was now too high for me to easily see myself. I jumped up and down several times for a better look, then remembered the foot stool in the corner. A few seconds later, I was able to get a good look in the mirror. "Holy shit," I blurted out at the sight of myself. I didn't look like myself, not in the least. Instead of a brutish looking guy, there was a petite girl staring back. She was small and undeniably female, with perky tits that were just the right size for her body. Her features were delicate and fragile, but also quite beautiful, giving her an almost elven look. Golden blonde hair spilled down to the middle of her back, though I'd already noticed that while I was examining myself a couple minutes ago. And her eyes...the eyes that looked back from the mirror were a brilliant blue that didn't seem quite natural. "That's...me?" I whispered in stunned disbelief. Suddenly this whole situation seemed ludicrous, like I was in the middle of some kind of twisted dream. I was a guy, a large and imposing guy who intimidated most people...not some tiny slip of a girl who didn't even look strong enough to lift a can of beer. The idea that I had become this small and weak girl was absolutely ridiculous. "This isn't real," I told myself, trying to convince myself that this was some kind of dream. However that thought went away after I pinched myself. "This is real..." I had no idea how long I just stood there, staring in the mirror and trying to absorb what I saw. Then there was a loud pounding on the bathroom door as dad yelled, "Hurry up... I need to take a shit..." I quickly got off the foot stool and opened the door before dad got man. We stared at each other for a moment, then I squeezed past him, blushing bright red and feeling humiliated at looking like this. When I went to the living room a minute later, I saw the clock and was startled to realize that I'd been knocked out for the entire night. It was now morning, which explained why I was starting to feel hungry. Still, I didn't go grab something to eat quite yet. Instead I waited. Once dad was done with his business and in a better mood, I hesitantly approached him and said, "I think I need some new clothes... Nothing fits me now..." I winced as I said those words. "Do you think I'm made of money?" dad asked with a snort. "I bought you new clothes a couple months ago. Damn, I knew I should have made you go get a job..." I didn't say anything as dad grumbled, nor when he stared at me with a grimace and a shake of his head. I knew that he was nearly as disturbed by seeing me as a girl as I was by being like this. And as I'd learned long ago, when dad was upset about something, it was usually a good idea to avoid antagonizing him further...especially when he now seemed like a giant to me. "I think some of your mother's crap is stored in the basement," dad finally said with a deep scowl. "That should do for now..." Then he gave me another odd look before announcing, "I'm going to work. I need to check on a few things." With that he got up and left the house, muttering, "God damn Twisted bitch," as he walked out the door. Once dad was gone, I let out a sigh of relief. I knew that the real reason he'd left was because he didn't know what to do about me, but I was perfectly fine with that. At the moment, I was having a hard enough time making sense of this and having dad around only made it worse. Since I had the house to myself, I wasn't in a huge hurry to find girl clothes to put on...especially ones that would have been boxed up in the basement for the last six years. I had no idea what kind of condition those clothes might be in and imagined dust or mildew on them. The more I thought about that, the less eager I was to get dressed. I stared down at myself, at my oversized shirt and the curves that it couldn't quite hide. I shuddered, suddenly deciding that I needed something normal while I tried absorbing all this. What I needed was breakfast. A nice normal breakfast. When I went to the kitchen, I quickly discovered a problem that immediately reminded me that nothing would ever be normal again. I was used to being tall, often the tallest person in a room. But now, I couldn't even reach the cupboard where the cereal bowls were stored. I had to go get a chair to stand on, just so I could get a bowl. By the time I sat down to eat, I was beginning to get over my shock at waking up at this and starting to get scared. "I'm Twisted," I told myself, feeling a knot in my stomach as I stated that simple truth. The very idea of being Twisted was frightening. It meant that some strange energy would smack you upside your head and then change your life in ways that you couldn't control or predict. It could change your body, your mind, and even your very soul. Since I'd just gone through my twist, I didn't have to worry about it happening again, only about what had already been done to me. "I'm a girl now," I said, stating the obvious. But the truth was, I had no idea what else my twist might have done to me. How much of my personality had been changed without my even being aware of it? Would I suddenly discover that I had some kind of compulsion that I couldn't control? Maybe one that would make me even more dangerous than I had been before, or one that would make me dangerous only to myself. I had no idea and that scared me. There were a lot of people in the world who feared the Twisted, sometimes for very good reasons. Fortunately I lived in the town of Spiral where being Twisted was common and wasn't considered to be a big deal. Half my classmates were either Twisted or likely to go through a twist in the next couple years. And of course, my own mom was Twisted. I'd always known there was a possibility that I would be too, though I hadn't thought about it much in the last couple years. Maybe some part of me had thought that if I didn't think about it too much, it might pass me by. But that was obviously not the case. As I thought about this my twist, I grew worried about what would happen to me. I even felt like I was about to start crying, though I tried to shake it off and told myself, "Man up and deal with it." Then as I realized what I'd just said, I burst out laughing at the irony, though my laughter came out sounding more like giggles. A few minutes later, I braced myself and then started down into the basement so I could find some clothes. After mom had left six years ago, dad had trashed everything she'd left behind and had thrown it away. However she'd had some of her old clothes already boxed up and in the basement, and the only reason dad hadn't thrown those away as well was because he kept forgetting about them. "Lucky me," I muttered bitterly. I wasn't happy with the idea of having to wear my mom's clothes, but I knew that I didn't really have much choice. As the shirt I was wearing demonstrated, none of my own clothes would come close to fitting me anymore, and I couldn't count on dad to get new clothes anytime soon. That meant, unless I wanted to run around naked or wearing one of my old shirts like a dress, I'd have to wear what was available. When I opened the boxes and looked through the clothes inside, I was relieved that there was no sign of dust or mildew. My mom's old clothes looked like they were all in good condition, but I still wasn't happy about the idea of wearing them. If nothing else, I decided they needed to be cleaned before I'd even try them on. After I threw some clothes into the washing machine, I stared down at myself again, still having a hard time believing that this was me. My hands were so small and delicate looking. They were definitely girl hands, even having somewhat long finger nails. I ran them through my long hair with a sigh, sure that I'd never get used to this. "Just how small am I?" I asked myself. I let out a sigh, then went and found a tape measure so I could answer that question. After a quick measurement, I was disgusted to see that I was now only 5 foot 2, more than a foot shorter than what I had been. But not only had I lost all that height, I'd also lost a LOT of bulk and muscle mass. "I'm puny," I blurted out. I was used to being big and strong so the fact that I was now short and weak was difficult to accept. It was almost like a physical blow against my sense of self-identity. It was a wonder that I was taking this as well as I was since I thought I should probably be freaking out. Since I'd already started investigating just how small and weak I'd become, I decided to continue with this. If nothing else, at least I'd have a better idea of what my new limitations were. Most Twisted had a trick, a special power that could be anything from being able to make your hair change color to being able to throw balls of fire. I've previously run into one girl whose trick was that she was super strong, so I was actually hoping to discover that I had something similar. I was really hoping to discover that I was stronger than I looked. My first few experiments quickly dashed those hopes and proved that I was indeed as weak and helpless as I appeared. I tried lifting the couch, which normally would have been easy, though now it felt as though it had become a hundred times heavier. I could barely even budge the couch. I tried lifting other things that I'd always considered light, only to find that some of them were too heavy for me to lift at all. "It's official," I told myself with a grimace. "I'm a total weakling..." I snorted in disgust, suddenly realizing that I'd probably have a hard time just opening a pickle jar now. After this I just sat down and felt depressed as I thought about what my twist would mean. Instead of being big and strong, I was now small and weak. I was a girl. I was helpless. After I'd spent my entire life trying to be strong and tough, this felt as though someone was playing a cruel joke on me. "This proves that God exists," I muttered to myself bitterly. "And he's got a sadistic sense of humor." When my mom's clothes were cleaned, I reluctantly pulled them out of the dryer and then began to try them on. The clothes were all too big for me, but not nearly as bad as my own were. I ended up putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, both of which were loose, but were about the best I could do at the moment. Fortunately there had also been a pair of sneakers in the box, even if they were a little too large as well. I just dreaded what my dad would say when he came home and found me wearing my mom's clothes. I sat down and stared down at myself, feeling completely and utterly humiliated. Before I realized it, tears were beginning to form and run down my cheeks. They came so easily that they were there before I even knew it. "Men don't cry," I reminded myself quietly. This was one of the rules that I'd lived by for most of my life, a rule that dad had long ago impressed on me as being important. Then as I wiped my tears, I took another look down and whispered, "But I'm a girl now." For a moment, I just froze, suddenly struck by the realization that I was actually allowed to cry. Men didn't cry...but girls could. This realization was followed a moment later with a strange sense of relief that I didn't quite understand. And oddly enough, I didn't really feel like crying anymore. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, suddenly deciding that I needed to get out of this shithole house. I needed to go out and get some fresh air. Unfortunately the very thought of leaving the house like this made my stomach knot up. I was small, weak, and helpless. I couldn't even defend myself if something happened. Then I felt ashamed for feeling this way. In spite of the fact that I was afraid, or perhaps even because of it, I started for the front door. I'd learned a long time ago to hide my fear, at least in front of my dad. He always took any sign of fear as a weakness that needed to be dealt with. I shuddered faintly as I remembered just how he dealt with it. When I stepped outside a minute later, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that girls go out in public all the time. This wasn't really a big deal and I tried not to worry about it. After taking a few more steps without the sky actually falling down on me, I began to relax. Suddenly a voice called out, "Hello." I looked next door where I saw Mrs. Fritz standing in her garden. She was watching me with a curious look and asked, "Are you a friend of Dan's?" "Um...no," I responded, staring at the ground self-consciously. I grimaced, then blurted out, "I am Dan." I finally looked at her and explained, "I just went through my twist." "Oh dear," Mrs. Fritz responded, staring at me with a look of surprise and then sympathy. She started coming towards me and cautiously asked, "Are you all right dear?" I gave her a weak smile, then admitted, "I'm not sure..." Mrs. Fritz gave me an odd look and then a knowing smile. "I'm not Twisted, but my daughters and grandchildren are. I remember when Gwen went through her twist. Back then, people were just starting to go through their twists and no one really understood what it meant to be Twisted. My daughter suddenly gained two hundred pounds, going from slender to obese in the blink of an eye. It was very difficult for her..." "I'd imagine," I responded sympathetically. "She adjusted," Mrs. Fritz told me with a faint smile. "I know you will too." I nodded at that, though I wasn't quite so sure. Then again, there were kids at school who'd gone through even weirder twists and they seemed to be adjusting. From what I heard, one guy even turned into a mermaid. "If it helps," Mrs. Fritz told me pleasantly, "you make a very lovely young lady." I winced at that, and before I could think of how to respond, a cell phone began to ring. "Oh dear," Mrs. Fritz said as she pulled the phone from her pocket. "It's my grandson... I'll see you later..." And with that, she answered the phone and began to walk away. "That was...awkward," I muttered, though I was thankful that Mrs. Fritz hadn't made fun of me. I shook my head, then began walking down the street, not having any particular destination in mind. However that changed seconds later when I realized that I was walking almost straight towards the park, the one that I'd played in as a kid but hadn't been to in years. Hanging around parks was something that a real man just didn't do, but I felt a strange glee as I realized that rule no longer applied to me. When I stepped onto the park, I almost felt as though I was doing something naughty or inappropriate. I continued walking further in, I looked around. There was an area full of playground equipment for little kids, a wide open area for people to play Frisbee or other such games, and there was even a section full of picnic tables and BBQ grills. I remembered coming here as a kid, playing on the jungle gym and just running around. My mom would just sit back on one of the benches, watching me with an amused smile on her face. She'd always liked coming here. After walking around for a minute, I sat down on one bench and just silently watched the kids playing. I even smiled faintly, forgetting my odd situation for a minute and remembering what it was like to be one of those kids. That had been so long ago. A short distance away from me, a woman was standing there and watching the kids play as well, or at least watching a specific kid play. She was obviously Twisted, a fact that anyone could see from the fact that she had four arms. She waved to a little boy with three of her arms while her fourth one held a cup of what I assumed was coffee. "Hey mom, watch this," the little boy called back to her as he climbed on top of some monkey bars in a way that wasn't quite safe. I remembered doing the exact same thing when I was his age. "You be careful," the four armed woman warned her son. "Okay," the boy responded, just a second before he slipped and fell from the jungle gym. He hit the ground and began crying, with his mom already running to him. "Jimmy," she cried out in a near panic. "Are you hurt?" The boy just cried. For a brief moment, I felt a surge of annoyance and the urge to yell out, "Boys aren't supposed to cry." However I bit my lip and felt a little guilty for even thinking that after he'd just fallen. In fact, he could have been badly hurt. I hurried to the boy and his mom, hesitantly asking, "Are you all right?" The boy...Jimmy stared at me in confusion, probably wondering who I was and why I was talking to him. He had tears running down his cheeks and a little snot bubbling out of his nose. "It hurts," the boy exclaimed, holding his leg and looking to his mom tearfully. "Let's take a look," she said, pulling his pant leg up and revealing what looked like a nasty bruise that was starting to form over most of his leg. From the way he fell, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd broken his leg as well. I bit my lip for a moment, then on an impulse, I told Jimmy, "You're being pretty brave about this." His mom gave me a curious look, but Jimmy smiled at the compliment. Then he hesitantly asked, "Did you see me fall?" "I sure did," I told him with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "But next time you should be a lot more careful." His mom gave me an appreciative nod at that. Jimmy tried getting back to his feet, but then fell back down once he put weight on his leg. His mom and I shared a look at that. "I'm going to call an ambulance," his mom sad, then tried telling him, "Don't move..." I could hear the worry clear in her voice. "Everything is going to be fine," I told Jimmy. "It looks like your mom is going to take you to a doctor who will make you better..." Then for some reason I wasn't quite sure of, I slowly reached out and gently touched his leg. The moment I made contact, there was a green glow around my hand, followed by a surge of pain through my leg. "Oh God," I gasped in surprise. Jimmy's mom screamed, "What are you doing?" I yanked my hand back in fear and blurted out, "I don't know..." I stared at my hand which was no longer glowing green, noticing at the same time that the massively bruised feeling all over my leg had faded away almost as quickly as it had come. "What were you doing to my son?" Jimmy's mom demanded angrily. "I don't know," I repeated, feeling scared and confused. Then Jimmy exclaimed, "It doesn't hurt anymore..." He stood up and I saw his leg, which no longer showed any of the discoloration or swelling that had been there just a minute before. "Oh my God," Jimmy's mom exclaimed, grabbing his leg and running her hands over it. Then she stared at me in surprise. "You...you healed him. Is that your trick?" "I...I don't know," I said for a third time. I stared at Jimmy's leg, feeling just as confused as his mom looked. "I...I just went through my twist this morning..." The four armed woman gave me a sympathetic look followed by a grateful smile. "Thank you," she told me. "If you can heal people... That's a fantastic trick..." With that she turned her full attention to hugging Jimmy while I backed away. I stared at my hands, feeling surprised and excited at the same time. My hands had glowed and then Jimmy's leg got better. "I have a trick," I whispered to myself, still amazed by that. I'd been so caught up in the physical aspects of my twist that I hadn't even given much thought about what kind of trick I might have, at least not once I'd realized it wasn't super strength. "I can heal people..." I slowly made my way to a park bench where I could sit down and think about this, but as I was about to sit, I looked around and suddenly saw someone that made me freeze. "Bitchart," I whispered in surprise. Gary, that wimpy kid I was always messing with at school was sitting at another park bench with what looked like that art pad in his hand. He was also staring right at me. "Oh shit," I gasped, wondering how the hell he recognized me when I didn't look anything like I had. Then I realized, if he knew who I was, then I was in trouble. I'd given that guy a LOT of shit and he was going to want some payback. "And now is the perfect time for him to get it..." Just then, there was a yell from the playground equipment and I snapped around to see what was going on. To my relief, it was just Jimmy and some little girl playing some kind of game. I let out a sigh of relief, then looked back to Gary. However Gary was now gone, and when I looked around, I didn't see any signs of him. "Just great," I grumbled as I sat down and rubbed at my temples. "How could this get any worse?" Not only was I stuck as a girl, a small and weak one, but I had a lot of people who'd want a piece of me. I'd messed with a lot of kids over the last few years and there was no doubt that they'd see my twist as the perfect opportunity to get even. "If I was still a guy," I started with an angry snarl, only to pause as I remembered what I was thinking last night before my twist. I let out a long sigh, feeling my growing anger flowing out with it. Thanks to my twist, I was now a girl. I was small, weak, and helpless. But the truth was, I'd hated being a guy, or at least I'd hated the kind of guy I'd become. For most of my life, I'd tried so hard to be a real macho man, the kind of man my dad would approve of. I'd turned my back on everything that had ever made me happy and had done things that I hated, only to turn into a thug who couldn't stand to look at himself in the mirror. Tears began running down my cheeks, though I wasn't quite sure why. Ever since my twist, it seemed that they came out so much more easily. This was the second time I'd started crying today. Instead of wiping away my tears, I quietly reminded myself, "Girls are allowed to cry..." Then I looked around where I was sitting and added, "And go to the park..." As I sat there, other things were added to the list of things that girls were allowed to do. They could go swimming, and do art, and play music, and so many other things that a man just wasn't supposed to do. "And they don't have to play football," I whispered in awe, "or beat up people to prove how tough they were..." I felt stunned as I was suddenly struck by the realization that I was no longer bound by my dad's rules of how a real man behaved. I was no longer a man so those rules didn't apply to me anymore. I was...free. I'd spent most of the day thinking about how my twist was a horrific curse, yet now I realized that it was also a strange sort of blessing as well. It felt as though a huge weight had just been lifted from my shoulders. Tears continued to run down my cheeks, but these were no longer tears of fear or frustration. For the first time in my life, I actually felt free to be myself, or to at least discover who that person really was. I couldn't resist laughing at the sudden realization that the twist I'd been cursing may very well have been the best thing to ever happen to me. -------------------- I felt oddly happy as I washed the dishes in the sink, but then again, I'd been in a good mood ever since yesterday afternoon. Sure, I was a girl now, but at the moment, that seemed like a small price to pay for my freedom. At the moment, I felt so light on my feet I almost thought I could dance in the air. That made me pause for a moment and wonder if I should try dancing. I'd never done it before since that was something real men didn't do, but it might be fun. Of course, I didn't currently feel like I was light on my feet just because of this intoxicating sense of relief. I actually was light on my feet. I didn't weigh nearly as much as I did before, and I was a lot more flexible as well. I might not be as strong as used to be, but I could move around more easily. I hadn't told dad about my trip to the park yesterday, nor about my trick or revelation. There were things that dad just wouldn't be able to understand, and honestly, I didn't want to have to explain them to him either. Dad was starting to think of me as a girl, a fact that he proved this morning before going to work. He'd ordered me to do the laundry while he was gone and make dinner before he got home, both things that he considered to be girl's work. I wasn't quite sure what I thought about that though. "At least he's gone," I told myself, thankful that I didn't have to deal with dad at the moment. It had been difficult enough dealing with him when I was a guy, but now that I was a girl... I could see the disappointment every time he looked at me. When I was done with the dishes, I began looking through the kitchen for something for dinner. We didn't really have much in the cupboards or fridge, nor did I really know what to do with anything I did find. Just because I'd turned into a girl, that didn't mean I suddenly knew how to cook. A lifetime of microwave meals and frozen pot pies hadn't prepared me for cooking a real meal. "Maybe I can just order a pizza," I thought aloud. Dad would approve of that, as long as I got pepperoni and sausage. I went into the living room and looked around, noticing the empty beer cans by my dad's chair. For a moment, I wondered if I should pick that up. After all, dad always said that women were supposed to clean, and since I was now a girl... Still, when I looked at the mess, I felt no real urges or desires to clean it up. Instead I decided to do what I'd always done before...ignore it. Since I didn't know what to do with myself at the moment, I decided to go for another walk. Of course, I'd already learned that even a short walk would take me longer than before. My legs were shorter, which meant that I had to take more steps just to cover the same distance. "And to think," I mused to myself, "at one point, I'd actually wanted to try out for track..." I smiled faintly as I remembered that, as well as the fact that I hadn't mentioned a word of that to my dad. I'd already known that there was no way he'd ever accept a wimpy sport like track, especially when he'd already decided I was going to join the football team and follow his footsteps. "It wasn't like I had the build for it anyway," I reminded myself. I'd always been too big and bulky. Besides, I'd been even more interested in swimming, not that I would have had any better chances with that. For my walk, all I did was walk around the block, taking my time and trying to just get used to the idea of being out in public like this. Every step I took was a reminder that I wasn't my old self, that I was smaller and lighter. I might have accepted that my new body could be a good thing, but I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to the odd sensations. When I returned home, I arrived just as Mrs. Fritz was beginning to leave. She waved to me so I waved back. "How have you been holding up?" Mrs. Fritz asked me with a look of concern. "All right," I admitted, giving her a faint smile. "Well, you certainly seem to be in a better mood than yesterday," she said with a chuckle. I nodded at that, then gave her a self-conscious smile. "I'm not quite as upset about this." I gestured down at myself. "I mean, it could have been a lot worse than turning into a girl." "Very true," Mrs. Fritz told me. "Trust me, there are much worse fates than being a pretty young lady." I couldn't resist chuckling at that, though it came out more as a feminine giggle. I almost clamped a hand over my mouth. "It's still pretty weird," I told her with a sigh. "I mean, I've been a guy my whole life... It's all I know..." I paused at that, then quietly admitted, "I don't know how to be anything else. I don't know how to be a girl." "It isn't all that hard, dear," Mrs. Fritz told me with a sympathetic look. "You'll figure it out. In fact, you should probably talk to some of the girls you go to school with. Surely some of them would be able to help you adjust." I snorted at that and shook my head. "I don't think so." I had a hard time believing that any of the girls I went to school with would help me, or that I'd trust them to actually do so. "But I'll figure it out..." I gave her a weak smile that I hoped was reassuring. Mrs. Fritz and I talked for another couple minutes before we said goodbye and I went inside. I called to order a pizza delivery, then waited for dad to get home from work. I didn't have to wait long since dad got home earlier than I was expecting. Then again, it was Sunday and he only had to go in to try catching up a little in order to get the project back on schedule. "Fucking bastards," dad exclaimed came through the door. "Those dumb fucks can't get their work done on time, so now I have to come in on the weekend and rush to catch up..." I stood back and avoided attention as much as I could while dad vented. I'd learned a long time ago that he was likely to be even more explosive than normal when he was going off like this. While dad was venting, he grabbed a beer and downed the first one in just a couple gulps. That was a bad sign, especially as he immediately grabbed a second beer and began drinking that one as well. By the time the pizza arrived, dad had calmed down a bit, though he did complain about the pizza and a few other things. I just ate quietly, eager to get done and back to my room where I'd be out of sight and out of mind. But when we finished eating, I remembered that there was something else I needed to talk to dad about. I braced myself, then brought up the subject. "I'm gonna need new clothes," I reminded dad. "Mom's old stuff is too big for me..." "So you're just like your slut of a mom," dad responded with a sneer. "Wanting to spend all my money on clothes..." I grimaced at that, growing angry about him talking that way about my mom. However I had a lot of experience at concealing it in front of him. "I just need clothes that fit me," I pointed out. Dad snorted at that, giving me another look of disappointment. "We'll see." Then he was silent for a minute before saying, "You were barely a man before, now you go and turn into a slut. What did I ever do to deserve this?" "I didn't ask to turn into a girl," I pointed out grimly. Actually, I sort of had asked for it, but I certainly wasn't going to tell that to da. "Don't sass me," dad snapped, giving me an angry glare and making me take an instinctive step back. "Little girls should know their place." Those words sent a cold chill down my spine as well as made me angry. I'd just escaped from the role he'd forced on me for so many years, and now it seemed that he wanted to force another one on me. "I can't believe my son turned into a God damn slut," dad exclaimed. "I'm not a slut," I snapped back angrily, knowing it was a mistake even as I said it. "I've only been a girl for two days and I haven't had sex once. I think you need to look up what that word means..." Without warning, dad backhanded me, sending me flying back and into a bookshelf, which then fell over. All the random clutter and junk that had been stored on the shelf fell all over me and the floor. I staggered, trying to get back up though half my face was now hurting. "Look at the mess you made," dad yelled. "Clean it up now you little bitch..." I glared at dad angrily, then did something I never would have done as a guy. I screamed, "Fuck you..." That was the wrong thing to do as dad immediately rushed over and grabbed me by the arm, then lifted me of the floor. His fingers dug in so deep that I knew my arm would be badly bruised, and it almost felt as though he might yank my arm out of the socked. "You're just like your bitch of a mother," dad snarled in my face. "She left because you're an asshole," I yelled back, trying to cover my terror with even more anger. Dad slapped me across the face and then threw me back, right into the coffee table. I quickly scrambled to my feet, but dad was already coming at me with a furious expression. I knew exactly what he was planning to do since I'd seen it often enough with my mom. He was going to slap me around until most of my body was black and blue. It wouldn't be as bad as when he'd gone at me with a baseball bat, but I was a lot smaller now and couldn't take as much damage. "No," I screamed in panic as dad grabbed for me again. I grabbed the lamp from the end table and then swung it at dad as hard as I could, catching him across the face and knocking him back. Then realizing just how pissed that would make him, I turned and ran out the front door as fast as I could. "Get your ass back here," dad screamed as he came out the front door, staggering and holding his head where I'd hit him. "What's going on out here?" Mrs. Fritz yelled while I just ran down the street as fast as I could. Dad was slow to give chase thanks to that hit I'd given him, but he started running after me. I'd made it to the edge of the park before he finally caught up with me and shoved me to the ground. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson you're never going to forget," dad yelled, picking me back up and then hitting me across the face. He slapped me several more timed before throwing me back on the ground. "What the hell are you doing?" a voice yelled out, though I was hurting too much to look at the source. Dad just snarled and began kicking me. The kick to my side nearly made me scream, and when I tried using my arms to block his next kick, there was a sharp pain that told me he'd probably broken my arm. Still he kicked me several more times while several people were yelling. "I called the police," the voice yelled again. "They're coming right now..." "Stupid little slut," dad snarled at me, giving me one final kick. "This will teach you your place..." And with that, he hurried off while I just remained were I was, my whole body hurting too much to move. "Are you okay?" the oddly familiar voice asked from beside me. Several other people were starting to gather around as well, each of them looking concerned. "I've already called the police..." I remained curled up in a ball, tasting blood as I gasped for breath. I closed my eyes for a minute, until the ambulance arrived and the EMT's began to check on me. Only once they were moving me to a stretcher did I open my eyes and take another look around. "Is she going to be okay?" the familiar voice asked the EMT's actually sounding concerned. I didn't pay attention to the EMT's answer. Instead, I was staring at the source of the voice that'd chased my dad away. I knew the voice was familiar, but I never would have guessed the source. It was Bitchart. The one who'd saved me from my dad was Gary. -------------------- I hated hospitals with all the antiseptic scent and the feel of pain and sickness in the air. This wasn't the first time I'd been put in the hospital by my dad, though I was sure the falling down the stairs or football accident excuses wouldn't work this time. I was in my hospital bed, trying not to move. They'd given me some painkillers but definitely not enough. It hurt just to breath, which wasn't surprising since I had cracked ribs. Those went along with my broken arm and the bruising over nearly my entire body. As much as I hurt, I suspected that person in the bed next to mine might even hurt a little more. She was a little girl, about ten years old, whose body had been torn up with two dozen shards of shattered glass that had gone through her like a shotgun blast. From what I'd overheard, the girl's older brother had recent gone through his twist and had gained some sort of trick that let him control glass and move it around. Apparently, he didn't have much control over his trick and this was the result. A few hours ago, the doctor had told her family that they'd managed to remove all the glass from her body, but she still had all the puncture wounds, several of which had gone through important organs. I could only imagine how much it would hurt having a hole through your kidney. I closed my eyes and just tried to go back to sleep, though it didn't do much good. I'd hurt too much to sleep last night, though I'd had a couple short naps this morning. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw dad coming at me with that furious look on his face. I winced and immediately opened my eyes, breathing hard which only made me hurt even more. Then I suddenly heard a voice from out in the hallway, a familiar voice. It was Gary. I felt a surge of fear, wondering what he was going here in the hospital. "Yes, the young lady who was attacked last night is in this room," the nurse told him. "She was here two months ago with similar injuries, but of course, that was before her twist. She was so polite... Oh, I shouldn't have told you all that. It's part of my twist. I'm a bit too talkative..." "Thank you," Gary told her. "I appreciate you letting me visit..." "The poor thing," the nurse responded. "She really needs a friend at a time like this..." Gary came into my room a moment later and stopped to stare at me. He took one look and winced visibly. "Hi," Gary said with a weak smile, looking nervous. "I know you don't know me, but I saw what happened last night and wanted to make sure you were okay..." "You stopped him," I said quietly, my voice hoarse. I stared at him in confusion. "You called the police..." "You remember?" he asked, looking somewhat pleased by that. "Why?" I asked quietly. "You hate me..." "What?" Gary asked, looking both surprised and confused. It took me a moment to realize that he didn't know who I was. When he'd been staring at me at the park the other day, it hadn't been because he somehow recognized me. Gary stared at me and shook his head, "I don't hate you. I don't even know you." "You do hate me," I said quietly, chuckling faintly but then wincing at the pain stabbing my sides. "You just don't realize you do..." "This is only the third time I've ever seen you," Gary told me gently. "I saw you helping that little boy a couple days ago, then I saw you were in trouble last night..." He paused at that and then asked, "How are you feeling?" He actually sounded concerned, which confused me a little. I was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. And as I stared at him, seeing that he was actually worried about me, I couldn't help but feeling guilty. After everything I'd done to him, he was the one who'd kept me from being hurt even worse. "Don't embarrass yourself being nice to me," I told him quietly, unable to meet his eyes. "You'll only regret it." "What?" Gary asked again, obviously confused. Before he could ask what I meant, someone else stepped into the hospital room and I took a quick glance to see who it was. A moment later, I froze and stared. The newcomer was an attractive woman in her late thirties with shoulder length blonde hair. However this was a woman I knew well, even though I hadn't seen her in six years. "Mom?" I blurted out in shock and disbelief. "I guess I should get going," Gary said, giving me a worried look. "I hope you feel better..." And with that he gave me a reassuring smile and left the room. I barely paid attention to Gary though, watching my mom instead. I was more than a little shocked to see her here, not to mention confused. How had she even known I was here? "Danny?" mom asked in the quiet voice I remembered so well. "Is that really you?" I cringed in embarrassment, and at that moment, if I'd been able to hide beneath my hospital bed, I probably would have. This was the first time I'd seen my mom in six years, and she was seeing me like this... "Yes," I finally answered her, unable to meet her eyes. "Danny," mom whispered, hurrying to my side. "Are you okay? Oh, of course you aren't... I'm so sorry..." "For what?" I asked, raising my voice in anger. "Leaving me?" I winced in pain but my mom winced as well, though for an entirely different reason. My mom's twist meant that she couldn't handle confrontations of any sort. A raised voice was enough to overwhelm her, which was why she'd been such a natural victim for my dad's aggression. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, feeling bad for making her jump like that. "So am I," mom said, giving me a forced smile. Thanks to her twist, I knew that this wasn't easy for her as she explained, "I wanted to take you with me when I left, but I didn't have any way to take care of myself much less anyone else." "How did you know?" I asked, still trying to make sense of her being here. Mom smiled a little more genuinely and answered. "Mrs. Fritz. She's been...keeping me updated on how you've been doing. She told me about your twist...and about what happened last night." I winced at that, feeling even more humiliated that she knew about what dad had done to me. Of course, I knew that if anyone understood what it was like, it was her. I'd never blamed her for leaving dad...only for leaving me behind. "There were so many times I wanted to come back for you," mom said quietly. "But I didn't dare go back. I couldn't risk facing your father again..." I nodded in understanding of her wanting to avoid dad. With her twist, it wouldn't take much to make her cave and do whatever he wanted. And knowing dad, what he would have wanted wouldn't be in her best interests at all. "I'm so sorry this h