Body Snatched

I don’t know what this draft wants to be, but I am enjoying playing with it. Is it a story about aging? Is it speculative fiction? Is it just some fun playing with words and stuff? I have no idea.

Today I woke up and I stepped into someone else's body. Healthy and everything, but not my own. There are pains I don't remember, going from the center of my back (right in that spot where a man would place his hand to guide me through the ornate double doors at the opening night of the opera) down the side of my leg and crossing over the front of my shin. If I stitched the pattern of this pain into a garment it would be a lovely, unusual accent, possibly from another country, another world, a message from a different civilization. It is, in fact, a message from a different world. This body I woke up in is not the world I inhabit. I used to inhabit. This body is cautious, anxious, slow-moving. The legs hesitate at the top of the stairs and the arms reach for railings to steady the torso that sways a little every time I shift my weight. I tried to check the mirror, but the eyes in this body are distorted and they make everything look like it's under running water. And that is where I will put this body. Under running water, hot as I can stand it, hoping that some kind of knowing washes on with soap and water.