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Anonymous
She morphed again, in the blink of an eye. Now she was a young black man, replete with baseball cap worn trendily backwards.
Sara laughed a bit as she saw her reflection now. "This one looks funny," she said. She made what she thought was a gang sign with her hands, and said, in as good an african-american accent as she could manage, "Respect, yo!"
"No, no, no... there's no use doing that, unless there's someone there to see," her friend said. "We'll have to find some people and show off to them."
Without any warning, Sara's legs began walking, out of her room, down her stairs, and out of her front door. Just a few dozen metres away, there was a group of four genuine black men, sitting on a wall and their bicycles, looking vaguely menacing.
Sara whispered, "I don't want to go up to them, they look kind of scary," but she continued walking still, until she was standing right in front of them. Out of her control, her hands made a complex set of movements, and her mouth said a string of words she barely understood, though she was able to pick out "mother" and "fucker".
"What did you say about my mother?" one of the men drawled. He stood up. Sara wanted to back down, but her body or its new skin wouldn't listen to her. Before she could try and apologise, he had hit her across her face, a dull pain erupting across her jaw.
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