Sumopeachy

(Please forgive the dialogue inconsistencies)

Gregory had always known he was hot shit; that comes with the territory of your family owning their own island (or four.) He was used to people acting deferential to him, and had never been taught to apologize. In retrospect, if his parents had raised him with even slightly better manners karma would not have come calling for him. But unfortunately for them-- and him (mostly him) they did not.

So on the day he was busy looking at his phone instead of watching where he was going, he walked right into another guy his age. He looked up, already outraged, and this outrage only grew when he saw the guy in front of him. His clothes and appearance told everything Gregory needed to know about him. The guy was brown-- probably couldn't even speak English-- and from the slums. He was dressed like a thug and certainly in a gang. Gregory felt fortunate it was daylight out or he'd fear being mugged. He expected an apology.

He got one. The other guy instantly looked apologetic. "Damn, sorry bro. My bad." It hadn't been his fault, though Gregory didn't see fit to care. He was just pissed that someone like this had dared touch him.

"Watch where you're going. Try walking in a straight line without all that 'swagger.'

An offended look crossed the other's eyes. "Yo man, what you just say to me?"

"Do you need me to dumb it down for you? I doubt you ever went pass the sixth grade." He looked the guy up and down, unimpressed with what he saw. "Stupid hood rat."

"Hood rat, huh?" the young man's eyes narrowed, his tone turning dangerous. Gregory had just enough sense to realize he had gone too far. For a second he feared the thug was going to assault him, but he turned out to have other plans.

"Why don't you try walking a mile in my shoes, rich boy? See how life's like on the other side of the tracks."

Gregory didn't know what to say to this. He was about to laugh when a warm tingling started. Then he felt his clothes begin to change. His tailored jacket dissolved in on itself, and his dress shirt morphed into a cheap white tank top that exposed his slender frame. Gregory opened his mouth in shock, and it soon opened even wider as his slacks morphed into a very baggy pair of faded jeans that showed off his underwear, which quickly morphed from Gucci to a hard pair bought off the dollar rack. In bulk. His loafers turned into counterfeit Nikes, and a very cheap gold chain appeared around his neck.

Then the pain started. Gregory let out a cry as his skin began to burn, all traces of pale whiteness washed away from him as it took on a dark hue. (A hue very much like the man standing across from him, as a matter of fact.) His blonde hair turned black and curly, nice and dry. His ocean blue eyes? They changed up too, turning deep brown.Thin lips became thicker, and his delicate nose painfully exploded into a broader shape, his nostrils widening. A goatee formed on a face that up until now had never been able to grow one, but he wouldn't have that problem anymore.

"Da fuck?" Gregory intelligently remarked. And it was then that he realized that his voice had changed as well. His refined way of speaking was now replaced with a slight accent and a coarser and more confrontational style. Years of first rate education began to leak out of him, replaced by...nothing. Because Guillermo (and somehow he knew that name was his now, somehow it felt right in a way Gregory no longer did) had never had those opportunities. After all, he was just a "stupid hood rat."

Guillermo stood there, dazed by the transformation. He still knew who he had been, still knew what had just happened to him, but he was in no real state to do much about it; so much of who he had been until a few minutes ago was gone, vanished into the wind.

"Fuck bro, I'm sorry, aight? Change me back, yo!"

The other guy had his arms crossed, looking very satisfied. "Why would I go and do that?" He shook his head and gave a wicked grin. "Naw man, this suits you much better. Enjoy your new life homie. Its permanent." As if the words held as much power as the earlier ones had, Guillermo felt a power swirl around him, and he instantly knew that that declaration had forever sealed his fate; nothing could change him back now. He would spend the rest of his days as a poor kid from the hood.

Guillermo wanted to cry, but he also knew he couldn't be out here 'cryin like a little bitch. He stood there, indecisive.

"Yo, Pendejo! You comin or what?"

Guillermo looked up to see the other guy (Enrique, his mind helpfully provided him) waiting for him impatiently. "C'mon, move your ass, before I decide you ain't worth the pity."

Somehow, Guillermo realized that Enrique was offering to let him run with him. He had lost everything else; his name, his wealth, his education, his race. But he was still being offered a chance not to be alone in this new life he'd be living. A crew.

Defeated, he fell into step beside the other.

"Thanks, Quique." He muttered in his new voice, his tone quiet, miserable, and stripped of any sense of anything approaching superiority. After all, he was just another dude from the barrio. There was no more university, no more familial wealth to inherit, no more company to one day run. Just the struggle, the streets, and the swagger, every day for the rest of his life.

Enrique roughly slung an arm around his shoulder and laughed. "Hey fam, knew we'd be gettin some manners into yo dumb ass!"

After all, manners make the man. And in this case a lack of them had utterly remade him.

Fin