Horse Play

But as she regained her features, the liquid dried to a sheen that perfectly matched that of the varnished wood of the carousel horse. She could feel a stiffness creeping into her arms even as she raised her hands to cover her exposed chest and soon she was as immobile as the other horses on the carousel.

She had become a centaur carved of wood, gilt paint and varnish.

Annie watched in silence as Malcolm and Pickford inspected her body. They put their hands all over her and she felt every touch in her own torso and that of the carousel horse. They took turns to sit upon her back and she felt their excitement through the fabric of their trousers as they did so.

All the time she wanted to scream.

But instead she remained still, a blithe smile frozen on her immobile features.

Pickford ordered Annie hoisted out of the liquid when the required time had elapsed. The effects of gravity had already started to hint at its purpose as her legs seemed to be slightly longer than they had been before she was partially submerged. The doctor had used the liquid many times before and knew that it would render her flesh as soft and malleable as clay, allowing him to reshape her in the manner required for his part of the operation.

He worked quickly but diligently as soon as she was free of the bath, beginning with her thighs and moulding them into a thinner shape while pressing much of their mass backwards into her buttocks. His aim was to use as much of her natural flesh as possible to become a bridge between her and the equine body that had been grown for her. Annie's legs would retain most of their muscle and perhaps some of their human shape, but in the end they would pass for the legs of a horse in most ways possible.

Beneath the knee, Pickford again thinned Annie's calves in order to walk the line between horse and human. He was sure that the measurements he had taken would fool the eye into believing that her legs looked like those of a horse and yet retained much of the shape and musculature of a human being.

Only when he came to her feet did he make radical changes.

Pickford plucked Annie's toenails from her feet one at a time and dropped them onto a tray held by an assistant. Next he simply rolled them together and obliterated all trace of them, toes and all as he spread them into blunt wedges ready to be married to the hooves that awaited her in the next stage of the operation.

Finally he took a delicate tool in one hand and smoothed over Annie's genitals, making her groin totally smooth. When she was fully attached to her new body, they would be made redundant and she would rely upon almost exact copies located in regions more suitable for a centaur. There was no need to remove these organs like he had done with her toes, medication would render them dormant and they would remain for the day when Annie once more entered the human race.

His work done, Pickford signalled to Ward and passed the patient over to his care as the two doctors swapped positions.

Now it was Pickford's turn to watch and Ward's turn to operate.

Where Pickford had worked his part of the operation in a manner akin to a potter working clay, Ward performed his own tasks with the attention to detail and concentration of an expert engaged in the task of disarming a bomb. He directed Annie to be placed in another tank that had been wheeled into the theatre as he assumed responsibility for the operation. Unlike the last, this one was huge and swallowed her whole, breathing apparatus being attached to keep her alive as she was submerged.

The new tank was far from empty as most of it held the equine portion of the centaur that was being created from Annie's body and the efforts of the doctors' work. Roughly three quarters of a horse floated in the sterile liquid, starting from just behind the point where Annie's own front legs would become the forelegs of the centaur. The cross-section of the equine chest was open to the water and the detail of the organs could be seen like a specimen in formaldehyde, the flaps of skin that would cover the lower half of her body floating gently with the hooves upon the end like the sleeves of a shirt.

Ward operated using a combination of sturdy gloves built into the side of the tank and a number of small drones that he could control from a computer outside the tank. The liquid itself was a solution that functioned to keep the organic matter suspended in it both sterile and oxygenated while also holding it in a state similar to that of an anaesthetic. It was Ward's own invention and something of which he was fiercely proud and very protective.

In concert with his drones, Ward took hours of minute surgery to open up the region of Annie's body that had once been her backside and link every system of her body to the new flesh of her equine portion. Nerves, veins, muscles and organs were all married with one another in accordance with a process so exact and painstaking that one tiny mistake could have resulted in an error that would later prove fatal for the subject of the operation.

Ward worked his way upwards and outwards until he was attaching the last of the muscles together and stretching the new skin across Annie's altered forelegs and abdomen. At the same time the drones were administering the stimulants that would induce the organs contained in Annie's new body to become active and start to work alongside those in her human torso. This was almost as delicate a part of the process as the attaching of the two parts of the body itself, a specific course of artificial chemicals being required alongside natural hormones to gel the anatomy of a centaur and allow it to function.

When he was done, Ward stepped back and felt no embarrassment in basking in the glory of his own work.

They had done it; between themselves they had taken Annie's body and made her into a creature of legend. Below the line of her waist and where her human skin ended, she was a graceful equine in the same grey with delicate white spots that she had chosen for herself. Her elegant legs ended in black hooves and her tail was a perfect match for the thick black hair that covered her head.

"Dr Ward," Pickford placed a hand on his colleague's shoulder, "you may be an arsehole, but you are certainly one hell of a surgeon."

"Dr Pickford," Ward replied, "the mood I'm in right now, I would not argue either point."

Annie awoke to a rising sense of panic, realising that she was unable to move her body in any familiar way and terrified by the terrible sound of something hard clattering against metal as she struggled to understand what her confused sense were telling her. Though she was sure that her body was not paralysed on account of the fact she could cast her head from side to side and had a vague appreciation of motion elsewhere about her person, the fact that she had no idea what was keeping her from moving scared her greatly.

Her situation was not helped by the darkness in which she had found herself when she opened her eyes. Annie had no idea where she was, only that the sound of the incessant clattering seemed to be absorbed rather than bouncing back at her in an echo.

Trying to focus on that one piece of information, Annie calmed herself down and tried to think.

If there was no echo, then she was probably in a small space that was furnished in some way, the sound being swallowed up by the combination of wood and fabric that comprised such items. If there was furniture, she could assume that she was in a location that was frequented by people on a regular basis rather than a bare industrial space. And if she was in a place where there were other people, it seemed unlikely that she was being held against her will.

So why was she restrained?

Annie's speculation was brought to a halt by the unmistakable sound of a door opening nearby and the darkness of the room slowly being replaced by subtle artificial lighting that allowed some of the detail of her surroundings to be seen while keeping the finer details hidden.

She noted that she was being held upright in a harness of some kind, her head supported in a cradle and her arms strapped to her waist by means of a wide fabric belt. The material of the belt was soft and stretched when she tried to move her arms, but it was also deceptively strong and resisted any attempt she made to free them from the position in which they were held.

So she was restrained, but her bonds were far from painful or demeaning.

The only other reason that Annie could find for her predicament was a medical one. Perhaps she had been injured to such a degree that simply attempting to move would prove harmful or worsen her condition.

She noted absently that she was wearing a plain, sleeveless shirt that left her midriff exposed right down to the point where her smooth grey coat began, just below the waist. For some reason the fact that she was naked save for the shirt was not as worrying as the odd thought that kept nagging at her regarding the coat of grey hair some two inches below her navel.

Annie had the distinct feeling that it had not been there before.

"Good morning," Pickford stepped out of the gloom that masked the edges of the room with a tentative smile on his face, his eyes trying to both look Annie in the face and take in the details of her body that has thus far escaped her own.

"Doctor...Doctor Pickford?"

"That's right," he produced a small torch from his pocket and began to make a discreet examination of her reactions, gauging the reaction of her pupils to the beam and watching as she followed the motions he made with it. "Sounds as though things are a bit blurry for you at the moment, is that so?"

Annie nodded, blinking at the intensity of the light.

"Nothing to worry about really, but with the amount of drugs that have passed through your system in the last twenty four hours things are going to be bit foggy for you. That's why I thought it might be best if mine was the first face that you saw this morning, hoped that I could start to chase out the cobwebs and get you back up to speed."

She nodded, more on account of the fact that memories were actually starting to come back than from a conscious agreement with what he was saying. They came in fragments at first, like a dream recalled upon waking that seemed so real and yet was so fantastical that it could not have been true.

But of course this was different, this was real.

Annie recalled the events that had brought her to this point at the same time as she truly began to take in the sight of the body beneath her. She remembered the operating theatre, the sedation and the reason that she had crossed the Atlantic to hand herself over to the attention of the doctor who was standing by her side.

The sight of the equine body that began below her waist was made all the more bizarre and unnerving by the sensation of every muscle and tendon that it was composed of registering in her mind as much as her familiar and still human portion continued to do. Now she knew that the clattering sound in the room had been the sound of her own hooves as they made contact with the sides of the contraption of metal and taught fabric that held the weight of her enlarged body off the floor.

She glanced desperately up at Pickford, the panic once again evident in her eyes as she pleaded silently for him to do something that would make it all go away. Right there and then the whole realisation that she had been transformed into a creature of ancient myth was too much for her to bear and all she wanted was to run as far away as she was able.

Driven by instinct and with no experience of controlling the new body that she had awoken to, Annie began to thrash violently within her harness. Her equine legs pounded and flailed against the metal frame, threatening to buckle the entire thing with blows from her hooves. At the same time her human torso lurched back and forth as he arms fought with the restraints and her head shook in pure fear.

Pickford seemed shocked by the violence of her outburst and the strength of the blows that she was delivering. At first he seemed to have no idea how to react, but then he visibly steeled himself and stepped as close as he could manage to the panicked centaur and slowly reached out a hand towards her.

In her state of confusion, Annie's first instinct was to pull as far back as she could from the man, staring at him with wide eyes.

In the chaos, one of her hooves lashed out and caught him in the side with a vicious blow that came so quickly that he had no time in which to react. There was a muffled crack and Pickford's face contorted in pain, but kept moving towards her despite the obvious damage that had been done to his ribs. Once he was close enough, he placed his hand on the side of her face, following her desperate efforts to avoid his touch and simply stroked her cheek. All the time he said nothing and tried to hold her gaze as best he could.

Pickford had never found himself in a situation as strange and the one he faced at that moment, even in the line of medicine that he practiced, and he had been forced to fall back on the few scraps of knowledge he still recalled from his youth spent working in his father's veterinary practice. He was well aware of the fact that this was no dumb animal spooked and trying to flee, but there seemed to be nothing else he could do.

The feeling of a gentle hand on her skin and the effort that it required for Annie to keep her eyes on his was enough to break through the barrier of panic that had seized her. She found that very slowly she was able to regain control of her emotions and almost with every breath her movements became less and less erratic until she was able to still her body entirely.

"Annie?" Pickford spoke in a low voice, testing the ground before he went any further.

"No," she shook her head, "that's not right."

"How so?"

"Annie was a human being," she had a look in her eye that moved Pickford to sympathy. "I'm not a human being, so how can I be her?"

"Okay," he chose his words as carefully as he was able, "what should I call you?"

"Call me...Daisy-Anne."

It seemed so simple to her, the idea of slipping back into the identity that she had crafted to play the part required of her on the island and become someone else. Almost as soon as she had made the decision, her mood lightened and her face broke into a smile as the strangeness of the situation was explained away. Annie may have been a human being with one pair of legs, but Daisy-Anne was now a totally different entity and the fact that she was a centaur was simply a detail that had been overlooked until now.

In the past, she had been able to maintain the juggling of personas and identities while simply using the concept that she had created in order to liberate herself as she worked. But now the strain that had been placed upon her mind seemed to be too much for her to handle and in reaching out to save herself, she had grasped the persona of Daisy-Anne and buried herself within it. The human being who had been known as Annie was hidden away for fear that the reality of what she had become would drive her over the edge.

Daisy-Anne represented a safe identity and a blank canvas on which the idea of her actually being a living and breathing centaur could be painted. In fact, the more she dwelled on the sight of her altered body as her mind eased into the role, the more she became enamoured of the body that she had awoken to.

She smiled again and cast her eyes at Pickford's hand, still placed against her cheek.

"If you let me out of this thing," she spoke in a warm and friendly voice that suited the character of Daisy-Anne, a young and playful centaur, "I promise I'll behave."

The days that followed were hard on Daisy-Anne, both physically and mentally as she adjusted to the realities of life as a centaur. She was helped as much as possible by the staff of the clinic, which provided everything that she needed and endeavoured to make her as comfortable as possible on an estate that had been built for the use of human beings. After all, who could have predicted the needs and wants of a mythical creature when drawing up their plans?

The room in which she had woken was the room that she had been promised on the day she had checked in. Located on the ground floor and with French windows that opened directly onto the grounds of the buildings that housed the clinic, the room was spacious and furnished in a minimal style in order to minimise the potential of accidents involving her newly enlarged body.

At first she found that it was the small things that bothered her most, niggling points that made her life different from that of a human being and had to become part of her daily routine. Using the toilet was a drama in of itself and she vowed to devote an entire chapter of her memoires to the subject just to remind those with two legs how lucky they were in that respect. Sleeping was another as she was too heavy in the body to lay in a conventional bed, instead the harness in which she had found herself on that first morning was where she spent the night.

There had been talk of her learning to sleep standing up, but Pickford had suggested that a compromise might be the best choice. He guessed that the similarity to a hammock of the cradle for her equine body might be a comfort to her and said so in front of his colleagues, though later and in private he confided in her that some of them were under the impression that she would be living in a stable like a common horse.

It was that way for most of the time in her recovery and adjustment, her own effort and perseverance making the progress and the constant support of Pickford as he ensured that she was supported all the while. Every step that she made on her hooves, he was there to offer encouragement and advice as well as shooing other, less dedicated members of staff away from his patient when they failed to meet his standards and see things from his perspective.

Not a cross word was exchanged between the two of them until one day, while they were going through the exercises that Daisy-Anne performed every day to practise her control of all four of her legs.

"You did well today," Pickford shielded his eyes from the sun as he tried to make sure that she could see his face. "But on the way back to your room, I want to take a slower pace and watch how you manage at a canter. So you just set off when you're ready, I'll be right behind you if you need me...which you really won't."

"But," Daisy-Anne fingered the complicated halter of leather straps that she had become used to wearing whilst she exercised, "I feel so much better if there's someone holding onto this."

Pickford's expression became furrowed as he watched her hands playing with the halter in a manner that laid her thoughts open far more clearly than her words ever could. At first it had been necessary for her to wear the contraption for her own safety and that of the people working on her physical rehabilitation. Daisy-Anne may not have been the size of a draught horse, but she was still considerably larger than the average human being and her weight was far greater. With the halter she could be led through exercises and follow a person's instructions from a safe distance of a few feet and at the same time the helping hand had given her a confidence that had made the therapy move faster than anticipated.

Had his second qualification not been in psychiatry, Pickford suspected that he would have had no issue with the halter whatsoever. As it was, he had kept his reservations to himself for months and tried to believe that he was simply reacting to seeing a sentient being led around like an animal. But recent events had convinced him that his doubts were well founded and Daisy-Anne was becoming far too dependent on them for it to be healthy in the long term.