Three Mistakes and a New Fate
Where we end up in life is not always determined by one individual choice, no matter how consequential. Sometimes our fate is decided by several poorly thought out actions that compound on top of one another.
For Preston Arden, there were three direct mistakes that led to an unwelcome change to his destiny. Of course one could question if these were the only three mistakes the man ever made. Few of them are made in a vacuum, but for simplicity sake it seems more sensible to focus on those that directly impacted him.
The day had started off well for the young heir, as most days did for him. He finished his classes in the early afternoon and was free for the rest of the day. He was a legacy admission at a very prestigious university, so little was actually expected of him. He'd already paid some scholarship students to write his papers for him, so he hardly even had to show up. But it was nice to put in an appearance now and then. Father called it networking.
Now he could relax. He decided to go shopping downtime; he could always use some new clothes. Preston didn't quite think of himself as metrosexual but he knew he was damn hot. His features were classic pretty boy, and he could easily have been a model had he any desire at all to work. His striking blue eyes, golden blonde hair, and aristocratic features all made it clear he was part of the elite, the cream of the crop, and better than you. This was a fact of life Preston had long ago accepted; if people had a problem with it, they should blame fate for being so kind to him.
Young Preston's trip downtown took him past a construction site, and something made him slow and pay attention to it. Evidently another high rise was being put up, and his eyes widened with realization when he realized it was one of his father's new business ventures. Right,t here had been one being put up around here; there were so many he hardly paid attention.
His attention was captured by the sudden appearance of a worker in front of him. He looked to be around Preston age of 19, but that was where the similarities ended. The guy was covered in a dusty construction uniform, and his sun browned skin was caked with dirt that had seemed to take years to settle. He had a muscular body that was clearly built not by any gym but by hard physical work. Right now he was hauling a large length of lumber like it was nothing out of the back of a work truck, focused on his task.
Here Preston made the first mistake: feeling strangely philosophical, he laughed.
The other teen stopped in his tracks, turning his head in his direction. "You got a problem?" He asked, his voice thick with an accent.
Preston hadn't meant for his laughter to be heard, but he was also far too arrogant to care that it had been. He grinned in return and shook his head. "No problem at all. Just... amusing, I suppose."
"Oh?" The worker set the lumber down and swaggered over to the blonde. "Whatchu finding so funny, ese?"
"Your work. Really I'm amused by the circumstance." he added. "We're both the same age and we couldn't be more different. Look at you, sweating away, whereas my Father owns this building. Life is funny in how it decides winners and losers."
The worker crossed his muscular arms, his eyes narrowing. "And you think I'm a loser?"
"Hey dude, I never said that," Preston placed his hands up in a placating gesture. Had he stopped there that would have been the end of it. He'd have been the stupid pendejo gringo who'd have been bitched about over drinks, but nothing more would have come of it. But this is where Preston made his second mistake: he doubled down.
"I admire your dedication." He said, his smile dripping with condescension. "Its a hard job you people do. Physically, anyway, not so much mentally.But hey, some of us have to build the sites and some of us have to live in the penthouses. So you can be proud of yourself for that."
The man tightened his fists, his powerful muscles bulging. He looked enough like he wanted to punch Preston that the blonde took a step back, not that that would protect him now.
"You don't know shit about real life. I've been 'workin since I was thirteen, having to support my family. I bust my ass every day to survive. You don't know 'nothin about that."
"No, I don't. Maybe you should have paid more attention in school." Preston gave a final smirk.
There was a glint in the other teen's eyes then. "You don't know 'notin about that." he repeated. "But maybe its time you do. Maybe its time you learn what its like to live this sort of life, to be poor."
"I can't even imagine," Preston replied, smirk still present on his face. But he soon would.
A wave of pain hit him, causing him to double over. For a moment he thought he'd been punched, but the worker was just standing there, arms crossed and looking at him intently.
His shirt changed first. Before his eyes the bright white color began to shimmer and lose its luster, becoming a very dull gray. Dirt appeared from the area around him and stuck to the shirt like glitter as the soft fabric morphed into a very coarse and scratchy cotton. Buttons popped off as its sleeves disappeared in on themselves, leaving his pale, barely muscled arms on full display. An equally dirty hi-ves vest unfolded over his shirt.
"Shhh. We just starting, rich boy. Get comfy."
His designer pants also reformed, the fabric shifting and gaining weight as they became a pair of well worn work pants that no longer perfectly fit his lean hips. His $800 loafers? They became budget friendly Ecetana's as the soles thickened and the leather warped until they were the perfect cheap work boots, they too becoming scuffed as though they'd seen months if not years of labor.
"No...I'm becoming like you!" And it wasn't until that moment that Preston realized just how true that was. Because the voice that came out of his mouth was not the voice he was used to speaking with. The voice that emerged was deeper, lower, rougher. A musical lift now filled his words, his tongue moving in different ways as he formed them. His speech now carried the traces of an accent that told the world English was no longer his first language.
"Yo, this ain't funny man!" He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in horror. Not just an accent, but a street accent. His words were coming out more aggressive and slang filled.
"How I gonna sound like this looking like this?" he asked.
"Oh, there won't be a contradiction there for long, homie."
Horror hit Preston at that realization, but he had little time to dwell on it. Because the most intense pain he ever felt exploded into him.
His skin felt like every bit of it was submerged into molten hot lava as he screamed. All traces of paleness were flushed out of him as his skin changed to a dark, golden, bronze. His perfectly stylized hair wasn't perfectly styled or blonde anymore. Dark inky black engulfed the blonde, leaving no trace of it as his hair grew thicker, coarser, and grew longer and uneven, not stylized at all.
Those ocean blue eyes of his changed too, the ocean drying up as they became dark brown, and his perfectly shaped eyebrows jutted out. The rest of his face wanted in on the action too; his ears jutted out, his lips grew fuller, and not to be outdone, his nose felt like it broke and reset, expanding and broadening to double its former size. Hairs emerged on his former baby face, leaving it itchy.
"Yo, you might actually like this next part." The other teen sounded amused. "Don't say I didn't give you nothin."
Preston screamed in agony as his muscles began to stretch like they were doing the world's least fun yoga routine. His thin arms and legs exploded in size, and his chest packed on pound after pound after pound of raw muscle, raw physical muscle that wasn't earned in any gym. Preston wasn't interested in getting jacked, and he especially wasn't into it when it felt this painful. The pure torture lasted for maybe a minute before it stopped, leaving the young man panting for breath.
He looked down at himself, hands trembling as he examined them. "Yo, what the fuck?" He muttered, unable to believe his own eyes. They widened in horror at the sight.
The hands in front of him had never known moisturizer. They were hard and cracked, the hands of a blue collar worker, one well on his way to arthritis. His skin was brown, veins nice and clear on his newly muscular arms.
"How you like it?" The other teen's voice forced his attention back on him. It didn't sound amused, or even angry. It sounded like a genuine question. "How you like seeing how the people workin on your daddy's project live?"
Preston looked up, panicked. "Change me back, holmes!"
"You learn your lesson, eh?" Juan looked more smug now, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
Remember that part where Preston made three mistakes? This one was the most important. Had he said the right thing, he'd have been changed back and would have learned a lesson. He might have suffered some identity trauma, and the change back would have been painful too, but he'd have kept his future and destiny.
But the one moment where he had to say the right thing, he didn't. And this wasn't due to the transformation at all; it was all him.So he opened his mouth, and unleashed mistake number 3: his dumb ass did not think things through, and he only managed to make the situation worse.
"Please bro," he lunged at Juan, clinging onto his own vest. "Change me back, ese. I don't belong like this. I'm meant to be someone."
Juan's face darkened. In his panic, Preston failed to notice it. "You don't belong like what?"
"A fucking hood rat, man! I'm meant to run companies, not be 'bustin out here on the streets 'sweatin like a hog to build em! I'm meant to have a future, be important! Be somebody! Please!" He BEGGED, "I'll give you some Franklins, güey. More than your ass ever'd see otherwise."
It wasn't until he finished speaking that he realized Juan was pissed. The amusement was gone, replaced by something dangerous.
"You think our lives out here got no value?"
"That's what you said." Juan shook his head. "Fuck, I don't use these powers much, but I thought I could give ya a taste of the struggle and you'd learn something, stop being such an entitled pendejo. But I see now you be needin more than a taste. You need the whole package, holmes.
Preston held up his hands. "No, hold up!"
"This ain't temporary anymore. This your life now. Forever."
Pain hit Preston again, wrapping around him like a chain as a new reality sunk into his bones, his DNA, and went deeper still. His very soul found itself now bonded to a new fate, one widely different from his original destiny. But fate was ambivalent, and accepted the changes without complaint.
"Yeah, you feelin it, huh?" Juan's eyes gleamed. "Feelin the truth of who you is now."
Preston-- no, not Preston. The name no longer fit him, felt like a shirt that he couldn't get onto his frame, a bent key that would never slide into a lock. Preston Arden the billionaire, Preston the college boy, Preston the white elite who would never know what it was like to sweat... that had been him, but there was a falseness to it now that made it clear it never would be again.
Now a new name came to his mind, sliding into place with ease.
Mateo Alvarez. Yeah, that was him now, as much as he hated it. To deny that was to deny the sun would rise tomorrow; it was a self evident fact.
Mateo, who'd been working construction under the table since he was a young teen. Mateo, who'd grown up nowhere near a mansion but in a shitty apartment in the worst part of the city, dodging bullets and cops. Mateo, who'd never owned a sports car and never would, who'd learned to be happy when the bus came on time.
Memories from his time as Preston grew indistinct. He remembered the broad strokes such as relaxing by the pool or enjoying world class cuisine, but only like one would recall an experience from watching it in a movie. The exact details faded away. He no longer had a clue how to tie a Windsor knot, or what fork to use at a dinner party. Now, a dinner party for him was street cart tacos and warm beer 'chillin with his boys.
He collapsed to the ground, his powerful form utterly broken as he began to sob.
Juan leaned down, his voice almost tender. "I left you enough so you'll always remember the life you had. Some days you'll almost remember 'feelin the soft pillow under you, or the warmth of your fancy ass hot tub. But you'll never fully feel it, and I promise you that you ain't ever gonna feel something like that ever again. From now on your life is sweat and bustin your ass. Just like the rest of us. Every. Single. Day."
"You ruined my life." Mateo's tone was broken.
"Nah, all you baby. You had plenty of chances. Now? All them consequences came due. And you'll have a long ass time of paying them off to look forward to."
"Change me back," Mateo begged, but his tone was blank. He somehow knew there was no way Juan could.
"Can't do that. Even my magic has limits, and when I made it permanent? Well, it sticks. This your life now, homie! Still, not to worry güero. Ah, former güero, sorry." His tone was mocking. "I'mma take care of you. You can room with me; though no way you gettin the bed, though, so enjoy the hard ass floor. And this should help get you up to speed."
New knowledge filled Mateo's mind, replacing Preston's. Because Mateo had never gone to college, had never even made it to high school. Not because he wasn't smart, but because he'd never had a chance. He had to work early, and school had never been a priority. Had never been able to be a priority for him.
Academic knowledge was replaced with more important things for his new life. Mateo may not have known Shakespeare, but he sure as fuck knew what streets to avoid. He knew how to mix cement and use a jackhammer like a boss. How to put up scaffolding and how to dig a trench.
"Some of us have to build the sites and some of us have to live in the penthouses." Juan echoed his words back to him. "You won't ever be settin foot in one of them again, but you'll be building em. So you can be proud of yourself for that."
Another tear fell from Mateo's face.
"Now quit your bitchin, that old life is gone. We got work, and I know you can't be losing this job. You know it too, don't you?"
The scary part was Mateo did. He needed this job to eat.
"Get on up. Oh wait, one more thing." Mateo felt a helmet placed firmly on his head. It landed there with a thud, fitting perfectly as it had hundreds of times before. He stared blankly ahead as Juan grinned.
"Yeah, there we go. Fits you perfectly, ese. The transformation is complete." He clapped him hard on the arm, bare hand hitting bare skin as he did so.
"Welcome to the crew, Hermano." His tone was a mix of mocking and warmth.
Then Juan got up, put his own hard hat on, and lifted his lumber again. "Grab the rest from the truck, would ya? Make up the delay you caused me."
Mateo gave one last sob. Then he wiped his tears away with his arm, rose to his feet, and headed to the truck. The lumber came up like it weighed nothing, his new body used to it in a way his old one never would have been. Used to the grind of hard work, and knowing how little good it did to bitch.
He fell in step besides Juan and got to work, already knowing that he'd have a long day--and life-- of struggle ahead of him.
Lesson learned.
FIN
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this one, another one that got a bit out of hand. Feels a little meaner than what I usually write, but also oddly satisfying lol.
