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Daily Changes: Boar

Othrin did more fiddling with his gun than he did actual boar hunting. No that wasn't a metaphor, hunting was always more his father's game but he also wasn't the type to jerk off in the forest. A game that, while not particularly interesting to him, he found himself playing at least once a month. Looking around he felt just isolated enough to load up an audio book and get some spare listening time in whilst the getting was good.

Tugging his phone free he tracked down to the app he was after only for his phone to instead flash a brilliant white. Muttering a few confused nonwords Othrin tapped and stabbed at the screen. Even a good shake seemed to accomplish nothing more than...making his fingernails grow longer, thicker, and darker? Swapping the phone to his normal hand he let an uncharacteristic snort of confusion slip free. As the letters DC manifest upon the screen Othrin found himself focusing on the much stranger hand.

As the thumb seemed to melt down along the side of his hand the other four fingers seemed to shorten up and thicken out. His fingernails seemed to draw into the next. With a partial swirl his index and middle nail merged to a point, while his ring and pinky nail flattened out. With the nails merged the fingers they were attached to followed soon after. Shortened now they had begun to merge at the knuckle. Othrin tried to use what humanity remained in his hand to pry apart, unwilling to drop his phone and tug at the strange pig flesh that had begun to overtake him. Nothing would prevent this however, and soon his hooved hand showed just how futile resistance was to the oncoming changes.

Things calmed for a moment while other changes went unnoticed. Othrin was too distracted watching the spread of dark grey fur running down his arm to notice the curly tail poking out over his belt. Looking down at his rifle and back to the slow spread of pig skin and fur he found himself considering and immediately disregarding the ill conceived plan to shoot off the changed flesh to abate the spread. The thought of such a consideration alone was enough to make his curly tail twist ever so tighter over onto itself.

Whatever it was that he may well have been becoming would still be him. At least to the degree by which its destruction seemed to truly be a form of self destruction more so than any kind of reckless defense. This he could not abide, and so a boar he would be. Unnoticed much the changes went, large in body and long in tusk. A courtly approach followed and by the camera of his phone he mounted an eager sow just as his father rounded the treeline with his rifle at the ready.

They looked each other in the eye, and there was more than just the tatters of clothing that revealed Othrin to his disheartened father. For a time there was a standoff. With a confused father not knowing whether to pull the trigger or give his boar son a hug. The eyes, Othrin's eyes, convinced him of the latter. After the sow had taken what the former boy could give he found himself hugged by a crying old man who in many ways had lost a son.

"You're still in there...you're still in there..." went the last of the recording as it was aired on the news. One after the other, it had become known. Five people had turned into animals now, one each day. The world had been made aware of these daily changes.