Disclaimer:…. I obviously do not own Ninja Turtles. Peter Lair and Kevin Eastman do.


One glorious morning in New York, a teenage girl was awakening from her slumber…. Let's forget the fact that mornings in New York are not glorious because there is always the constant profaninty of bad drivers yelling at other bad drivers, and a bunch of rude street punks beating up their classmates for lunch money, and the drug deals in the corners of slums…. Let's also forget the fact that teenagers tend to not wake up in the morning because they stay up to about two o'clock in the morning watching TV or trolling on the internet because their parents stopped giving a damn when they were in their preteens.

But, anyways on this particular morning, a teenager woke up with a yawn, and rubbed the eye-crust from her eyes – she was, of course surprised when she found there was no gross sleep-induced crust in her eyes, she was also surprised by the lack of dried drool. So said girl opened her uncrusted eyes…

And closed them again, then opened them again and closed them – she rubbed her eyes a second time for safe measure and opened them.

She was not in her bedroom.

There was no TV in the corner, there was no desk propped up against the wall with a dirty trench-coat on it and a laptop, there were no crayon-marks from her baby brothers scribbling on her walls every time they found a marking tool of any kind, there was no white scratched-up dresser with a mismatched nightstand and there was definitely no mess on the wooden floor. This room was clean and white, with a matching clean and white carpet that lacked stains – in fact, it was so clean and white it actually sparkled. There were two oak-wood grand dressers and a big walk-in closet. Everything was organized and not messy.

The bed she was sleeping in was not right either – her actual bed didn't even have a frame, it was just one mattress atop another mattress, and it was twin-sized while this bed was queen-sized. This blanket was soft, thick and velvet and had some kind of royal design of orange, red, blue and purple even though those four colors together made a terrible mixture because they didn't go together, her actual blanket was a sleeping bag that wasn't zipped up, the sheets on this bed were peal-white but her actual sheets were plaid, and the pillows on this bed were white and clean like this rest of this room that lacked personality, her actual pillows had mixed-matched cases and has several drool stains.

"The hell?" She wondered allowed and got up, freaked out; she was surprised that she didn't feel as yucky as any other teenage girl would feel in the morning. Still freaked out, she headed towards the window – she was surprised to find that instead of staring at her backyard, she was staring at the still-sleepy New York…. Even though as a big city, New York was always awake.

She backed away slowly until her back hit the wall; she turned around and faced a mirror she didn't recall being there before; another girl stared back at her…. She blinked and the other girl blinked, she gasped in surprise and the other girl did soundlessly.

She was staring at herself… But she wasn't.

The girl in the mirror had long, silky and straight dark hair – even though her hair was short and wild and somehow she lacked the inevitable bed-head. The girl in the mirror had dark-rimmed as though she had been wearing eyeliner while she was sleeping, sparkly brown eyes that were almond-shaped, even though her actual eyes were almost black and really large and the right eye was supposed the be wrinkled on the bottom eyelid. The girl in the mirror was wearing silk pajama's even though she normally wore her dads huge shirt and nurses scrub-pants as p.j's. The girl in the mirror was skinny enough to be anorexic, tall and somehow slightly musclular despite being so thing, even though she was supposed the be short and heavily built. This girls face was angular despite the fact hers was suppose to be broad and there was the fact that even though she was a teenager this girl in the mirror had a flawless face and wasn't marred by pimples, or the small marks teenagers get when they pop pimples. And she had a huge rack, even though as a middle school student hers were supposed to be undeveloped.

The girl in the mirror was somehow her.

Flabbergasted, she did a series of different, and often silly movements to prove she was looking at herself; then she looked at her hands; her small, calloused hands with short chewed-up nails were now long and slender with soft skin, her nails were long and perfect as if she spent several hours everyday perfecting them.

She was not in her body – she was not in her boyish-looking body with ragged hair that made several people mistake her for a guy, she was in the body of an eighteen-year old Asian premodana!

"AHHHHHHHH! WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE FUCK! HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE ASS-FUCKING QUEER!" Being a teenager, she was quite melodramatic; she waited a couple seconds for her dad to be awoken by her obscenities, rumble down the hall, come in to her room, say something offensive yet funny, and then answer all of her questions before telling her to make him a fried-egg sandwich.

Her unbelievably sparkly brown eyes widened when the door opened and a red-haired woman's head popped in. "Oh, good morning beloved niece of mine!" She chirped, as if she had not just screamed out curses loud enough to be heard across the street.

"Uhh…" Her eye twitched again; niece? Last time she checked, her aunt had grayish-dirtly blonde hair and hazel eyes with glasses – and her other aunt was way out in her mothers Native island of Marshal Islands and was completely Asian. In reterospect; this was in no way, shape of form her aunt. "Who the fuck are you?"

The red-haired woman stupidly batted her eyelashes and came into the room "Are you sick?" She asked sweetly in concern "It's me – your Aunt April, you are the daughter of my long-lost sister who abused you and looked down on you because you were more beautiful than she was. So you ran away to live with us to get away from the abuse and rape. Your father is your uncle Casey's long-lost brother who abused and raped you on a daily basis and sold you on the streets as a prostitute."

She was horrified – beyond horrified; those were not her parents. "Who the hell do you think you are, saying those lies about my parents like that?" She growled – she found that she was suddenly more intimidating and a dark aura surrounded her even though it was physically impossible.

April's green eyes softened, she ignored the apparently existent foreboding aura that surrounded her 'niece' and approached her to pull her in for a hug "I know you're in denial, sweetie; but your parents never cared about you so you shouldn't care about them."

She felt like punching her – but she was obviously weaker in this extremely girly body. She gave April a rather sissy shove and walked away "O-Okay…" She stuttered, surprised she was so shy and soft-spoke all of a sudden. "I'm going to get dressed." She growled, her demeanor suddenly shifted to where she was all tough. She went to her closet and opened the door.

Her jaw dropped to the floor.

All of the clothes…. All of them, were completely black and kind of trampy; her clothes were supposed to be loose and over-sized and concealing, sure a lot of them were black but not all of them – a lot of them were brightly colored and had humorous messages on them. "No fucking away am I wearing those!" She shouted and took a step back.

April rolled her eyes "Girls your age; always dressing so inappropriately."

Her eyes twitched again, this was all to disturbing "B-But I just said I didn't want to wear them." She stuttered. April rolled her eyes again and threw her hands up for exasperation.

"Fine, you want to dress like that, go ahead." April said before leaving the perfectly clean white room.

Silence.

"What the FUCK!" She shouted again, she briefly wondered if all of those stressful nights of her baby brothers crying and wreaking havoc were finally getting to her. Because clearing she was not in Kansas anymore… Well, not in California anymore.


And the crack-fic begins! A friend of mine said I should do a humorous story.

So yeah, I guess I am 'She/her'. Sometimes you have to ask yourself "What would happen if I got stuck in a bad tmnt fanfic?"