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    Full Body Replacement: fantasy romance
    Full Body Replacement: fantasy romance
    Full Body Replacement: fantasy romance
    Ebook128 pages1 hour

    Full Body Replacement: fantasy romance

    By John Blandly

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The manager of a monorail system is surprised to find that his wife has switched bodies with another woman. The new her has a lovely figure, bleach blond hair, and a few tattoos. Then the husband of the woman she switched bodies with comes around, asking questions, and looking for the money his wife got for switching bodies.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAvantLifeGuard Books
    Release dateJun 11, 2018
    ISBN9781386113508
    Full Body Replacement: fantasy romance
    Author

    John Blandly

    John Blandly is an artist, actor, songwriter and filmmaker from upstate New York.

    Read more from John Blandly

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    Reviews for Full Body Replacement

    3.5/5

    3 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Science fiction romance--magic realism--romantic comedy--you'd never think switching bodies would cause so many twists and turns. Recommended.
    • 5/5
      switching bodies is not unknown in science fiction, but in Blandly's hands, it gets a fresh, unexpected look

      2 people found this helpful

    Book preview

    Full Body Replacement - John Blandly

    Table of Contents

    Full Body Replacement | By John Blandly

    Sign up for John Blandly's Mailing List

    About the Author

    Full Body Replacement

    By John Blandly

    Copyright © MMXXII by J. J. Brearton

    All Rights Reserved

    AvantLifeGuard Books

    1

    While I love my wife and children more than anything, I must say that my days at the monastery were some of the happiest of my life. Outside of college (the draft of my confession still incomplete), I can recall no more peaceful times.

    I stumbled upon the monastery in this way: I was returning from a scouting mission to the Williamstown area, looking for a good location for my dreamed of law office/art studio, when I passed the sign for the San Franciscan Fathers. Next to it was a crudely painted advertisement that said, Dandelion Wine. Could the San Franciscan Fathers be bottling Dandelion wine? That was my thought. At one time I had made Dandelion wine. It was the most successful vintage I ever attempted.

    I turned onto the half paved, half dirt road. I was reminded of those of years past in Rensselaer County near Glass lake, where the Town would spray tar or oil over the road, as a crude form of pavement.

    I could see a gray dust kicked up by my tires in the rear view mirror. I had gone about a half a mile, wondering whether I should have gone this far-thinking I must have missed a turn-yet, I didn't recall passing any other road to turn off on. Then, suddenly looming on the right, was the barn, and next to it, a shed, both of them painted, long ago, some tint of red now well peeled off, showing the gray and brown boards underneath, with traces of rust here and there.

    Just as I passed the barn I caught a glimpse of someone, feet up on a table, being startled by my approach, falling from a chair. I stopped the car, and walking slowly over, saw a thin, middle aged woman in tattered dungaree shorts, a white tee shirt and light yellow sweater vest, getting up from behind the table, adjusting her straw hat.

    Whew, she said. I must have dozed off!

    I saw a basket of summer squash on the table. I came for the Dandelion wine, I said.

    You did? That's fine. Mr. Cooper just went to get another case.

    She sat back down and looked over at a pile of books next to her chair. Some were romances, a few young adult, and among them, a small copy of the New Testament.

    She saw me looking at the books. Just catching up on my reading. Taking my turn here-lot of time to kill-you know how it is.

    Sure, I said. Sure I do.

    She had light chocolate colored skin. Perhaps she was from India. Will he be back soon? I said.

    Soon? she said in reply.

    I mean, when do you think he'll get back? For some reason, it seemed the question needed clarification.

    She walked from back around the table and looked down the road from where I'd come. She glanced at her watch.

    I guess I had a little nap there, so I don't know how long he's been gone. Wait, there he is-that might be him.

    In a few moments an old pick up truck pulled up. I guessed it was about fifty years old-rusted out, tarnished and dented.

    The driver parked the truck on the grass and got out. Slamming the door, he said, Bernadette! Looks like you got a customer.

    Mr. Cooper, she said, do you have the dandelion wine?

    The dandelion wine?

    Yes. Remember, you went to get another case.

    Holy mackerel, he said. I clean forgot.

    So, where's the wine? I said.

    Back at the monastery, he replied.

    A hawk flew by and Mr. Cooper followed its flight. I watched it also, and saw its red tail.

    Red tailed hawk, Bernadette said.

    That it is, Mr. Cooper concurred.

    I had some time on my hands, and, still wondering how long it would take for him to go back to the monastery to get the wine, I said, So, is the monastery far from here?

    Not far, he said.

    Can I ride over with you? You know, just to see the place.

    Sure. We'll be back in a few, Bernadette. You'll be okay?

    Yeah, I'm fine, she said.

    He got back in the truck and kicked open the passenger side door.

    As I sat down, I put out my hand to shake his, Jim Brearton, I said.

    He shook my hand, and then put the contraption in reverse. We headed back down the road. Call me Charlie, he said.

    So, is it far? I said.

    He was fiddling with the knob of the radio. The car had been built before the days of buttons. We got the scratchy report of a baseball game.

    The Mets. Comes in good here. He slowed a bit, and listened for a second. He then looked over at me and said, Well, better get going.

    I didn't object, although I was a Mets fan. I just thought it might be weird, parked on a dirt road with a guy listening to a Mets game. The whole thing seemed sketchy to me.

    Are you a monk? Or, one of the San Franciscan Fathers?

    I'm not a San Franciscan Father, he said.

    There was a pregnant pause.

    So, I said. You're a monk?

    Maybe yes, maybe no. We're looking into it now—as soon as we get a chance. Some of the guys think we should look into it, but generally, we basically decided to forgo all that.

    You've taken orders, right?

    That has been discussed. Hey, wait a minute, I almost forgot.

    He now pulled back the visor, and a notebook fell down. The truck swerved as he tried to locate it. Grabbing it, he got the truck back under control. We had just reached the Williamstown village green. Instead of turning right, he veered left, towards Pownal.

    Got to stop at the Historic Ruins to pick up some things, he said.

    In a few moments we had pulled in front of a small wooden building. A sign over the door said, Historic Ruins Pizza Parlor, Bookstore and Art Gallery.

    He got out of the truck and went inside.

    2

    Someone is here to pick you up, Charlie said.

    To pick me up? I said. Who?

    Lucy, She said her name was Lucy.

    I couldn't figure that out, since she didn't even know I was there.

    He pointed way down the hill to the parking lot, a few hundred feet away, where I saw a woman talking to Sister Attachia. I recognized Lucy's red knit hat. She looked a bit different though.

    I figured, what, did she get her hair done?

    The small tattoos were the first clue, but as we sped down the dirt road away from the monastery, I was too busy getting my seat belt on, to take a close look at her.

    Lucy's new Focus had a handy strap that you could grab onto, attached to the roof. I took hold of it as we swerved from side to side, down the rutted road, then spit out onto the main road, fishtailing.

    Hey, I said. Slow down!

    I was none too confident of Lucy's road management, having had to deal with several of her absent-minded collisions with parked cars in the past.

    As she floored it, I looked over at her in alarm. Her eyes were glued for the moment to the rear view mirror.

    Here he comes, she said.

    I turned to see the pickup truck swerving onto the main road behind us, heading our way.

    Why's he chasing us? I said.

    It was then I saw Lucy's hands gripping the wheel. On the fingers of her right hand was tattooed, W-E-S-T.

    Now I noticed a dagger and the name Corky on her right arm.

    Puzzled, wondering if I had wandered into an alternate universe, I stared slack-jawed at her face. She turned to me and said, What?

    I turned my sight briefly to the road, as the car drifted to the shoulder. I pushed the wheel and yelled, Watch out!

    She swung the car back on the road and sped towards Route 2. She took the right turn there at top speed and headed up from the valley, to New York. I looked back, and saw the pick up close behind us. What's he got under the hood? I said.

    We passed the sign for the San Franciscan Fathers on the left. The other sign, advertising dandelion wine, was gone now.

    In a few minutes we crested the mountain at Petersburg Pass, and I turned around to see the pick up truck gaining on us.

    All this was happening so quickly, I

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