# Picture Perfect

Author: Posti
Tags: Boy, Horse, Magic, Male, Transformation

James is visiting an unusual gallery in a small English village - the owner is willing and able to help customers really get into the art scene. (Inspired by the actual Cailler's advert)

The gallery was mostly empty.&nbsp; James supposed the late hour and the fact it was a workday contributed to the lack of customers.&nbsp; He'd only seen one other customer in the 30 minutes or so that he'd been browsing the paintings, prints, and posters that covered the walls of this converted warehouse.&nbsp; A quick check of his iPhone confirmed that closing time was fast approaching.

He looked ruefully towards the back of the huge room.&nbsp; There had to be hundreds that he had not had a chance to look at yet.&nbsp; Too bad he had not discovered this place sooner.&nbsp; The tour group left this remote town at '8 AM sharp,' so there would be no chance to revisit the gallery tomorrow.&nbsp; Thursday was Edinburgh, and this particular village was just the nightly stop for dinner and a place to sleep.&nbsp;

Well, he had a few minutes yet.&nbsp; Instead of continuing further back, he returned to the one piece of art that had caught his eye.&nbsp; Oh, there were some beautiful paintings here, plus many classic prints all beautifully framed.&nbsp; Ironically, the item that stood out above all the rest was an advertisement.&nbsp;

He found it easily, bright colors and large size making the poster stand out from everything else around it.&nbsp; Bold brown and red letters proclaimed 'CAILLER'S Genuine Swiss Milk' over the scene of a uniformed boy selling chocolates to an elegantly-dressed woman in an Edwardian railway station.&nbsp; The woman's features were very attractive, and her clothing made it clear she was a person of wealth and breeding.&nbsp; The boy was thin and gawky-looking, with a pug nose and ginger hair, just as obviously one of the 'peasants.'&nbsp; Emblazoned across the top of the train car was 'London to Edinburgh.'

James grinned.&nbsp; He and the wealthy customer both had the same destination, and she obviously had the better station in life.&nbsp; He'd rather be the boy, though.&nbsp; Those were amazing times.&nbsp; The lithograph dated back to 1901, more than a century past.&nbsp; Horses ruled the roads and only a few primitive automobiles chugged across the whole world.&nbsp; The Wright Brother's first flight was two years away, and construction had not even started on the Titanic.&nbsp; A boy of that time would have seen an astounding number of changes in the world.&nbsp; World War I was 15 years away, World War II 25 years after that.&nbsp; With a little luck, that boy might even see man walk on the moon.

He gave the placard another hard look.&nbsp; One hundred and thirty-four pounds.&nbsp; That was about $200 at the current exchange rate.&nbsp; For an advertisement.&nbsp; To be fair, it was in amazing condition to be well over a century old.&nbsp; The colors were bright, and only a few stains and carefully repaired splits along the edges gave evidence of its age.&nbsp; But it was very large, and even rolled up it would not fit in his one suitcase.&nbsp; The local post office was closed, and there would be no time in the morning.&nbsp; He wondered if the owner would shop it to the States.

"Very nice piece, that one."&nbsp; A very Cockney female voice startled him from his thoughts.&nbsp; He turned to see the owner in question smiling at him.&nbsp; She was about his age, certainly no more than 60, but still had a sparkle in her eyes and pleasant features.&nbsp; Pretty much how he'd expect Eliza Doolittle from 'My Fair Lady' to look and sound at about that age.&nbsp; "Quite rare, too.&nbsp; You don't see many adverts from the period."

James nodded, still debating with himself.&nbsp; He really didn't have that much free cash to spend, especially this early in the 'Grande Tour of the United Kingdom.'&nbsp; The package tour including transportation, hotels, and most meals.&nbsp; But not all of them, and there were also side expenses such as optional side tours that would mount up pretty quickly.&nbsp; "I really like it, but I don't think I can manage to get it home.&nbsp; I'm with a tour group."

She chuckled. "Aye, you're not one of the locals.&nbsp; Most of them won't set foot in here."

"Art critics?"&nbsp; James grinned.

'Ach, no."&nbsp; She leaned close and said in a mock whisper "I'm a witch!"&nbsp;

He had to laugh.&nbsp; "You have to be kidding."&nbsp;

Although her smile was wide, she shook her head.&nbsp; "Not at all.&nbsp; They are convinced that I put people into the paintings."

"Some of these are your work?"&nbsp; James looked around.&nbsp; "Everything looked professional.&nbsp; You must be very good."

The woman laughed, a pleasant high chortle.&nbsp; "Goodness, no.&nbsp; I mean, I am not a painter.&nbsp; Can't even draw stick figures."&nbsp; Her smile widened when she saw James' look of puzzlement.&nbsp; "No, I mean actually put people into the scene that is depicted.&nbsp; Not so great when the subject is the Battle of Hastings, but possibly very interesting when the scene is something like this."

Waiting for the punchline, James raised an eyebrow.&nbsp; "And what might have given the population such a silly idea?"

She beamed.&nbsp; "Because it's absolutely true!"

He stared at her, still sure it was a joke.&nbsp; But the silence stretched on, and while she looked cheerful, she also seemed to be completely serious.

She misinterpreted his reaction as disapproval.&nbsp; "Oh, not against their will.&nbsp; Goodness, no!&nbsp; I'm not an evil witch.&nbsp; Now, Muriel Perkins still carries on about her husband running off to Dix's Metropolis.&nbsp; But it was his choice, and I swear that the Hawthorne boy begged to go into the Bucephalus print."

There was another long silence, but he broke it this time.&nbsp; "So, you are saying you turn people into paintings?"&nbsp; He took a step back without thinking, though he was also calculating the shortest distance to the exit.&nbsp; "Uh, wouldn't that kill them?"

The woman looked exasperated.&nbsp; "I don't kill anyone!&nbsp; No, I put them in the scene depicted!"&nbsp; She strode down about thirty feet and pointed at one of the pieces.&nbsp; "Look here."

Curiosity won out over caution, and he moved to stand next to her.&nbsp; The piece was a black and white lithograph of a classically handsome young man in a flowing loincloth holding the bridle of a huge, rearing horse.&nbsp; After a moment, he made the connection.&nbsp; "Alexander and Bucephalus?"

"Very lovely work by Schommer.&nbsp; Done just a few years before your advert."&nbsp; She got a faraway look in her eyes.&nbsp; "Such power and grace.&nbsp; So beautiful.&nbsp; You can hardly blame the Hawthorne boy."

James nodded.&nbsp; Alexander was depicted as an idealized youth, lean and muscular, perfectly proportioned and very striking.&nbsp; "Not sure I'd want to be that close to those hooves."

She snorted.&nbsp; "Not Alexander!&nbsp; I mean Bucephalus!"

"He wanted to be the horse?"&nbsp; James relaxed a little, the certainty that this was going to end up a big joke returning.&nbsp; "I suppose you waved a magic wand and he suddenly had four legs and a tail?&nbsp; Is he stabled close by?"

"Oh, he's nowhere around here."&nbsp; She grinned.&nbsp; "And I don't need a wand."&nbsp; The woman raised her right arm dramatically with the hand bent forward.&nbsp;

James was suddenly struck by a hundred strange sensations, not the least of which was he was going to fall on his face.&nbsp; It was suddenly bright daylight, and confused images reported rocky, if almost colorless and distorted, terrain.&nbsp; Something was pulling at his mouth, but it was too far from his face.&nbsp; His feet were numb, but it felt like he had gained a thousand pounds.&nbsp; And then he saw the boy before him, gripping the ends of leather straps that hung from James' muzzle.&nbsp; His... MUZZLE?

James came crashing down on his forehooves, bewildered.&nbsp; The boy was speaking softly, stroking James' long, lather-coated neck.&nbsp; None of the words made sense, but the tone was soothing, and he felt some of the fear and confusing draining away.&nbsp; His skin quivered, muscles trembling with excitement, hot air blowing from his nostrils.&nbsp; He was a horse!&nbsp; No, he was THE horse!&nbsp; Bucephalus!&nbsp; He felt incredible, powerful enough to move mountains, huge and magnificent.&nbsp;

Fear was gone now, leaving only the confusion.&nbsp; James struggled to comprehend the smells, the sounds, and the strange feelings.&nbsp; The boy had the strong odor of all his kind, but there was something in his voice and manner that appealed to the stallion, a growing link between them.&nbsp; He calmed even more, snuffling at the boy's hair and letting instincts and a different personality flood in.&nbsp; This was Alexander and he was Buceph...

James gasped, suddenly back in the gallery.&nbsp; He swayed on his feet, feeling disoriented for a moment until he got used to being on two legs again.&nbsp; It took a moment for him to realize the woman was helping steady him with one had on his arm.

She smiled.&nbsp; "If a picture is worth a thousand words, being put into one is worth a million."

"I was Bucephalus!"&nbsp; It was a statement, not a question, for there was no denying the experience.&nbsp; It had been too complete, too real.

"Well, almost."&nbsp; The woman patted his arm.&nbsp; "Animal identities always take over quickly.&nbsp; If I had left you there another couple of minutes you'd have been the horse completely.&nbsp; Still you, but you as Bucephalus.&nbsp; As far as I can tell, even trees retain some vestige of awareness."

"Trees?"&nbsp; James' voice cracked from tension.&nbsp;

"Oh, yes.&nbsp; More than you would expect.&nbsp; I suppose the tranquility appeals to some."&nbsp; She smiled reassuringly, and then started walking to the front. "Don't worry.&nbsp; I'm not sending you into a forest scene.&nbsp; Come on."

He stood gaping at her for a few seconds, and then followed warily.&nbsp; While he no longer thought this was a joke, the enormity of what he had experienced was still sinking in.&nbsp; James took a shuddery breath, aware that his original skepticism about young Mr. Hawthorne's fate had been replaced with understanding and even a little bit of jealousy.&nbsp; To feel that power again?&nbsp; But...

"Wait a minute!&nbsp; If you already made this Hawthorne kid into Bucephalus, how could I be him too?"&nbsp; James almost felt silly trying to apply logic to the absurd situation, but couldn't help himself.&nbsp; "There was only one Bucephalus."

"If what I did was limited to real people and events, I suppose that would be true."&nbsp; The woman stopped and turned to look back at him.&nbsp; Then she gestured around the gallery space.&nbsp; "I have over a thousand pictures, prints, paintings, and other types of art here.&nbsp; Probably less than a third of them depict something or someone real.&nbsp; I could make a dozen people into Bucephalus - it is not the real history they go to, but one created just for them.&nbsp; The scene becomes real for the person who goes into it."

He looked back towards the lithograph, then fought back rising desire.&nbsp; "This...&nbsp; this is crazy!&nbsp; Are you going to do something to me now no matter what I want?&nbsp; Is that why no one will come in here?"

The woman shook her head.&nbsp; "Of course not!&nbsp; You are free to leave.&nbsp; Walk out now, tell anyone you like.&nbsp; But, as you said yourself, this is crazy.&nbsp; No doubt many in the village will be sympathetic, but outside of them, you'll either be laughed at or locked up.&nbsp; Maybe both."

It was true, he realized.&nbsp; And that actually put him at ease.&nbsp; She did not look evil.&nbsp; And if she wanted to harm him, he might already be a tree, or left with Alexander as a horse.&nbsp; Well, that didn't seem like a bad thing now, but even now he still felt the strongest attraction to the old Cailler's advertisement.&nbsp; Which, he also realized, they were back in front of.

He touched the glass, his finger over the boy's face.&nbsp; There was nothing really holding him here.&nbsp; Friends and family, but no wife or children depending on him.&nbsp; Approaching retirement age with no plans for what to do afterwards.&nbsp; "What happens when you put me into the picture?&nbsp; Will I forget everything?"&nbsp; It occurred to him that he had said 'when' instead of 'if.'

"I don't think so."&nbsp; She shrugged.&nbsp; "But I don't know for sure.&nbsp; Best guess is that life here will eventually be more like a dream, and your new personality and situation will become normal.&nbsp; Based on the artwork, I expect the intent is to show a lower class boy at work.&nbsp; Little or no education, poor, and probably average intelligence at best.&nbsp; There was still a strong social class system in 1901 England, and you will be near the bottom."

James stared at the brightly colored lithograph, trying to imagine what life would be like.&nbsp; Medicine was comparatively primitive then, and a poor uneducated boy would have to work hard to make something of himself.&nbsp; Wearing a uniform and selling chocolates was probably pretty good progress for a kid who looked to be maybe 15.&nbsp; Who knows what he will be able to do from there?

He did not remember voicing his decision.&nbsp; One moment he was staring at the Cailler's advert, and the next he was staring up at an attractive woman wearing an enormous red, white and blue hat.&nbsp; He blinked, both in surprise and from smoke and steam that drifted alongside the train.&nbsp; The smell of hot water and burning coal filled his nostrils.

"Boy!"&nbsp; The woman was holding out a shilling.&nbsp; "Come.&nbsp; The train will be pulling out in just a moment."

James realized he had a paper-wrapped chocolate bar in his hand, and offered it to the woman.&nbsp; She took it, and pressed the coin into his palm. &nbsp;"You may keep the change."

"Thanks, M'um."&nbsp; He smiled uncertainly and bowed his head curtly, then backed away as the engine's whistle screamed a warning.&nbsp; "Most kind!"&nbsp; His voice was different, a boy's tenor with an obvious British accent.&nbsp;

As the train began to pull out, he caught his reflection in the glass windows and grinned.&nbsp; A young teenager grinned back at him, pale blue eyes shining under the polished black brim of his cap.&nbsp; Not handsome, but not ugly.&nbsp; A quick mental survey turned up only the most basic math and English skills, and while he remembered what a computer was, the concepts of how it worked or even what it did were already getting hazy.&nbsp; No genius, but hopefully not stupid, either.&nbsp;

Stupid?&nbsp; He blinked as the last car clanked by and then shifted the tray straps so his sweets were more visible.&nbsp; Mr. Pierce said he was the best boy the shop had!&nbsp; Jimmy carefully put the coin away in his pocket, delighted by the generous tip.&nbsp; The sweet was only sixpence, and she'd paid him double.&nbsp;

It would be ten minutes before the next train.&nbsp; He strolled back to the station to wait, whistling 'Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.'&nbsp; It was a new American tune that the town's brass band had taken quite a fancy to, and though Jimmy's lack of musical talent might make some passengers wince, he was too happy to care.&nbsp; He had a feeling that his future was going to be picture perfect.

The end

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/rm8l8PDm