MidReal Story
Pasta Metamorphosis: A Quest for Reversal
Scenario: I woke up as a bowl of pasta today.
Create my version of this story
I woke up this morning as a bowl of pasta.
Yes, you read that right—a bowl of pasta.
I tried to sit up and untwist my legs from the bed sheets, but I couldn’t seem to find my legs or arms.
Instead, it felt like all of my limbs had been replaced by spaghetti noodles.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I didn’t think that was it.
I tried to breathe, or whatever the pasta equivalent was, but I was struggling to get enough air through the noodles that now made up my body.
I couldn’t even feel my heart beating in my chest anymore, which was just as worrying as the whole being a bowl of pasta thing.
Panic started to bubble up in my chest and I began to flail my noodly limbs around, trying to make sense of things.
But the more I struggled, the tighter the noodles seemed to constrict around me.
After a moment of sheer panic, I forced myself to calm down.
Inhale, exhale, inhale again.
Or at least, try to inhale.
It’s hard to do when you don’t have lungs anymore and they’ve been replaced by spaghetti.
Okay, Sophia, just take some deep breaths and try to think rationally.
This has got to be some kind of dream or hallucination or something.
That would explain why I’m suddenly a bowl of pasta and not an actual human being right now.
I closed my eyes tightly and tried to pinch myself, but it was hard to do because I didn’t have arms anymore.
Or if I did have arms, they were long and skinny and made out of penne pasta noodles.
I think that’s what penne was, right?
The tube-shaped ones?
I don’t know, I’m more of a fettuccine kind of girl myself.
Actually, now that I think about it, fettuccine is definitely the superior noodle.
But that’s beside the point.
The point is that I’m clearly dreaming right now and I just need to wake myself up so I can get on with my day and go see James in class later.
I opened my eyes and looked down at myself.
Except that’s not quite true, because you can’t really look down when you’re a bowl of pasta, can you?
You can try to look inward, I guess, but it’s hard to do that when all you can see are the tops of your noodles.
I tried to tilt my noodly head downward and realized that the tops of my noodles were kind of like hair hanging down over my face, blocking my vision.
I shook my head—noodles—side to side, trying to get them to fall out of the way, and then looked down at my “body” again.
Except, oh yeah, it wasn’t a body.
It was a bowl full of pasta and that pasta was me.
And no matter how many times I pinched myself—or at least, what I thought was pinching—it still didn’t feel like it was changing.
I’m still a damn bowl of pasta, aren’t I?
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks and my stomach began to churn with dread.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.
What is happening?
I grabbed the Parmigiano from the fridge.
What happened to me?
How did this happen?
Is this seriously real life right now?
Was this some sort of weird dream or hallucination or something even worse?
And how the hell am I going to fix it?
Because as far as transformations go, becoming a plate of pasta is probably not the most useful one.
I mean, at least if I were an animal or an insect or something, then maybe I could move around and try to find someone to help me or something.
But as far as I could tell, all I had going for me right now is that I’m delicious—although maybe not as much as when I’d first been cooked—and I’m pretty sure that’s not really going to be all that useful in the long run.
So, how do I fix this?
I need to try to remember what happened last night.
Was there something in the food or the wine that could have caused this?
Did Alex and James slip something into my drink as some sort of stupid prank?
They’ve been spending too much time watching those stupid YouTube videos, I swear.
Some of them are funny, but most are just plain stupid.
And if they did slip me something, what did they give me?
Was it some kind of drug or potion or poison?
And how can I undo it?
Is there an antidote or cure or spell I can use to fix this?
But the more I tried to concentrate on what happened last night, the more blank my mind went.
As soon as I walked in the door, it was as if someone hit the delete key on my memory and I can’t seem to remember anything after that.
Which is not helpful at all.
I needed to come up with some sort of solution, and fast.
But how could I fix this if I couldn’t even remember how it happened in the first place?
In desperation, I tried to move again, but only succeeded in making things worse.
The more I moved, the more tangled up I seemed to get in the noodles that were now my body.
It was almost like they were alive and moving on their own and trying to hold me down so that I couldn’t escape.
Which was not a great feeling, especially considering that I seemed to be attached to them at my crotch.
I mean, yes, I have some experience playing Twister, but this was definitely a whole different level than that.
I needed to figure out what was going on before it was too late and I was stuck this way forever.
But how can you figure something out when you’re nothing more than a plate of pasta?
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.
Inhale, exhale, inhale again.
Except I’m not sure that’s really possible without lungs.
And as I tried to regulate my breathing, I realized that there was another problem I had to deal with: the smell.
At first, it had been a faint hint of garlic and cheese in the air, which wasn’t so bad.
It’s actually kind of nice.
It’s just too bad it’s coming from my body and not something delicious on my plate.
Then again, maybe this is someone’s idea of a joke and they’re going to come into my bedroom any minute and laugh at me for freaking out over nothing.
That would be just my luck.
But then again, if this is real and there’s really pasta in my bed, then what happened to me?
Was I replaced by an alien?
Kidnapped by ninjas?
Abducted by fairies?
And what are the chances that anyone would believe me if I told them what happened?
The only thing worse than being stuck as pasta would be being locked up in some crazy house somewhere because no one believed me.
I mean, can you imagine the headlines?
“Missing woman found after several days but she’s no longer human—she’s a bowl of pasta!”
Or “Local woman hospitalized after reporting alien abduction but she now thinks she’s made out of spaghetti!”
Or “Woman calls 911 for help after ninjas attack her in her sleep but she’s speaking gibberish!”
But as I tried to get a grip on what was happening, I realized that none of that really mattered right now because I had some serious problems to deal with.
Like, for instance, how am I going to get out of this bowl?
And how am I going to clean up all the pasta I spilled?
And what if someone finds me?
Will they try to eat me?
Or will they take me to a laboratory and dissect me to see how I turned into food?
Either way, I don’t like the sound of it, so I need to figure out a way to make myself whole again before it’s too late.
Maybe I could try to move again and see if I can wiggle my way out of this bowl, but last time I tried, it didn’t work out so well for me.
I took another deep breath and tried to think about what other options I had available to me, short of sitting here and waiting for someone to come along and eat me.
But then again, maybe that’s not such a bad idea because at least then my life wouldn’t have been a total waste.
I mean, it would kind of suck for me, but that’s better than being alone in bed forever and never being able to do anything ever again, right?
