I never would have believed that this would happen to me. That one ordinary afternoon would turn into a nightmare from which I would never wake up. But it did. And it all started so innocently.

  I met Klara on the street corner. We hugged, laughed, and then just wandered around the shops. It was cold, that kind of autumn dampness that gets under your coat. We tried on coats and scarves and laughed at the ridiculous prices. Everything was normal. Human.

  When we left the last store, Klara pointed across the street. "Look, a theater. There's a magic show today. What do you think?"

  "Why not," I shrugged. "At least we'll warm up."

  We bought tickets and sat down in the third row. The auditorium was half empty, but pleasant. We laughed when the magician pulled pigeons out of his hat and made cards levitate. Then the lights went out.

  "And now, ladies and gentlemen," said the magician, "something you've never seen before."

  He waved his wand. A cow emerged from the ground. Huge, black and white, calm. Then it stood up on its hind legs. Another wave of the wand — its head separated and fell onto the table.

  The body remained. But it began to shrink. The torso disappeared, then the front legs, until only the hind legs, tail, udder, and rear remained. And yet it moved. It turned toward us. Just like the head on the table.

  I froze. So did Klara. "Is that... is that really just a trick?" she whispered.

  "I don't know," I replied. "But it looks... real."

  The magician looked around. "I need a volunteer. Miss... you!" He pointed at me.

  "Me?" I gasped. Klara nudged me. "Go on, it'll be fun."

  I climbed onto the stage. I was standing just a few steps away from that strange thing. Its udder was swaying, its tail was twitching. I swallowed.

  "Don't be afraid," said the magician, placing his hands on my chest. "It's just a little trick."

  He lifted me up. I screamed. Then something happened. He split me in half. I felt my body disconnect at the waist. The upper part remained in his hands, the lower part remained where it was. Then he put me on cow legs.

  I froze. I felt hard hooves under my feet. My knees were higher than I was used to. It was like standing on tiptoes. Between my legs... a udder. Heavy, swinging, sensitive.

  "What... what is this?" I started screaming. "What have you done to me?!"

  The magician smiled. "Calm down. I'll put it back in a minute. Just try it out."

  Then he put a cow's head on my neck.

  I expected darkness. But none came. I could see. Even better than before. A wide angle of vision, sharp colors. And in front of me—a cow's snout.

  "This... this isn't a mask," I thought. "This is my head."

  I grabbed it. I felt the touch. I felt myself pulling my own ears. "This isn't possible!"

  I wanted to scream, but all that came out of my throat was, "Moooo!"

  I froze. I tried again. "Help!" But again, only "Moooo!"

  The magician smiled. "See? It works. Now take a few steps."

  I tried to move. My hooves clattered on the wooden floor. My udder swung between my legs, bumping against my thighs. Every step felt strange.

  Then the magician froze. He clutched his heart. "No... no..." he croaked and collapsed.

  I stood there. "No... no, no, no!" I wanted to scream, but again, only a moo came out.

  The doctors rushed over and laid him on a stretcher. "Don't worry," croaked the magician. "I'll bring you back... as soon as... they heal me..."

  And he disappeared behind the curtain.

  I was left alone. I stood on the stage, naked from the waist down, with a cow's rear end, tail, udder, and hooves. The auditorium was silent. Then a scream rang out. Klara was pushing her way through the seats.

  "Tereza!" she cried. "My God... what did he do to you?"

  Klara held my hand. Tightly. As if she was afraid I would fall apart. Maybe she was right. Every step on those strange legs was like walking on stilts. My hooves clattered on the floor, my udder swung between my thighs and bumped into them. I couldn't put my legs together. I couldn't walk normally. Every step was a reminder that this body wasn't mine. And yet I could feel it. Every touch, every movement.

  It was already dark outside. The city was buzzing, cars were driving by. I raised my hand and wanted to hail a taxi. "Taxi!" But all that came out of my throat was, "Moooo!"

  I froze. Klara too. But then, as if by miracle, a car stopped. Klara opened the door and helped me get in. But my horns... they kept hitting the door frame. I had to crouch down, turn my head, and squeeze myself inside. I could feel my horns rubbing against the ceiling of the car.

  I sat next to Klara. She was crying. So was I. I touched my horns. Hard, cold, rooted in my skull. They were mine. And that scared me the most.

  Klara hugged me. She was silent. I just stared ahead. I looked at my knees—or rather, what had replaced them. Cow legs. Hooves. An udder between them. I could feel my teats trembling. My udder stretching.

  At home, Klara helped me down the stairs to my basement apartment. Every step was a struggle. My hooves slipped, my udder got in the way. When we finally got inside, I hung my coat on the coat rack. We both started crying. We hugged each other. I could feel my udder pressing against her side. It was awkward. But she didn't say anything.

  We sat on the couch. I massaged my udder. It was sensitive, swollen. It hurt. It looked bigger than before. The news was on TV. "Magician dies in hospital of cardiac arrest."

  I froze. Klara too.

  "No..." Klara cried out. "No... He was supposed to... he was supposed to bring you back!"

  I wanted to say something. Anything. But again, only: "Moooo!"

  "We have to go to the doctor," she suggested. "They'll definitely help you. They have to."

  In the morning, I tried to get dressed. My pants wouldn't fit. I couldn't pull them over my udder, let alone button them. I opted for a skirt. But even then, my udder stuck out from under it. I felt like a show animal. I still had vivid memories of riding home with a bare cow's rear end. It was terribly embarrassing.

  At the hospital, Klara led me by the hand. I scurried along on my hooves. People turned around. Some took pictures of me. Others just stared. I wanted to sink into the ground.

  The doctor was an older man. He was silent when he saw me. He just sent me for an X-ray. When the image appeared on the monitor, I froze.

  A cow's skull. No human structure. Just bone, horns, jaws. Nothing resembling a human being.

  I panicked. I tried to take off that damn head again and again. I pulled on the horns, the ears, the snout. It hurt. Klara hugged me. She cried.

  The doctor explained to me: "Your body is fully functional. You have cow stomachs. You must eat only plant-based foods. Your food may come back up for you to chew again. And the udder... you must empty it daily. Otherwise, there is a risk of inflammation."

  I wanted to scream. But I couldn't. I just mooed. And my head was buzzing: "This is forever. This is forever. This is forever..."

  Klara took me home. She stopped at the doorstep. "If you need anything... text me. I... I'll come."

  I stayed at home. Alone. Klara left, promising to text me. I couldn't answer her except by mooing, so we agreed that I would text her. But now she wasn't here. And I was alone. Alone with my body.

  My udder throbbed between my thighs, I felt its weight, its pain. I touched it. Every touch was like a caress on my own skin. But it wasn't human skin. It was cow skin. Soft, warm, sensitive. And mine.

  Then I touched my horns. Hard, firm, rooted in my skull. I tried to tear them off. But it hurt. As if I were tearing my own skull apart. I tried again. And again. But it didn't work.

  I touched my snout. The wide, wet cow's nose. I felt its coolness, its sensitivity. Then I touched my teeth. Wide, flat, designed to crush grass. My tongue moved differently. My jaws worked differently. I chewed. Unintentionally. Automatically.

  Then I touched my ears. I pulled on them. It hurt. They were mine. I could feel it. I could feel them shaking. Curling back. Trembling.

  I grabbed my mouth. I started crying. "This is my head... my body..." I repeated to myself. "How am I supposed to live like this?"

  I got up. I walked through the living room to the bedroom. I lay down on the bed. But I couldn't sleep. My udder was in the way between my legs. My cow legs pressed against it, squeezing it between them. I couldn't lie on my back—my tail was pressing against me. I couldn't lie on my side either—my horns prevented me from turning my head. Every position was wrong. My udder hurt more and more. "I guess I really have to milk myself. No, I'm not going. I'm not going to milk myself. Like a cow. God, I'm a cow."

  Finally, I got up. I had to, I couldn't stand it anymore. I went to the kitchen. I found a large pot. I stood over it, spread my legs, and grabbed my teats. I pulled on them. Milk flowed. The pot filled up. I felt relief. Enormous relief.

  "This is going to be my life..." I thought. "Milking every day... chewing the cud... being a cow..."

  I needed to go to the bathroom. I hadn't been since the performance. I walked down the hallway to the bathroom, thinking about how I was doing. I saw myself in the large mirror. I stopped. I looked. A cow stood opposite me on its hind legs. Only the torso and arms were human. I grabbed my head in despair. "This isn't me..." I whispered. "This isn't me!"

  I sat down on the toilet. My udder was in the way. My tail almost fell into the bowl. I had to turn sideways, crouch down, and find a position. In the end, it worked somehow. But it was humiliating. My private parts were almost inaccessible. My udder covered my entire womb. I felt like a prisoner in my own body.

  Time passed, a year went by, maybe several. I adapted. I learned to walk on wobbly hooves, I learned to live in a cow's body. I knew that when I had to go somewhere, I had to milk myself first so I wouldn't have to go outside. All that daily cow routine.

  Klara stayed. She didn't leave me. We learned sign language. First we wrote on pieces of paper, then on our cell phones. But that was slow. So we learned. Every evening, for an hour or two. Now we talk with our hands. Well, I talk with my hands, I'm not deaf. Quickly. Naturally. Sometimes we even laugh.

  People got used to it. The story spread. Everyone who was in the theater at the time told others about it. It was impossible to keep it a secret. At first, they took pictures of me, filmed me, some laughed, others cried. But over time... they got used to it. Now no one points at me anymore. They just look. Quietly. With respect. Or with pity. I don't know which is worse.

  Klara was supposed to come today. We're going into town to have fun like we used to. I won't let this body limit me.

  I milked myself. My udder was full, heavy. The pot filled with milk. I felt relief. I made myself a salad. Only plant-based food. I sat at the table, eating with a fork. I chewed. Like a cow. My tongue moved differently. My jaws worked differently. I felt the food coming back up from my stomach into my mouth. I chewed. I've gotten used to it.

  In the bathtub, I filed my hooves and then my nails. My hooves stuck out of the water, my udder floated like a strange balloon. My cow's head was reflected in the mirror above the sink. I brushed my teeth. Cow teeth. Wide, flat, designed to grind grass. If I look like an animal, I mustn't smell like one. I am human!

  I put on a dress. By then I had discovered that I couldn't wear pants—not even tailor-made ones. The udder had to remain free. I couldn't bear anything on it. Everything was like a woolen sweater on my bare skin. The dress wasn't long enough to cover it completely. They couldn't be, because if they touched my teats, it would be uncomfortable. But that didn't bother me so much anymore. These were minor details.

  The doorbell rang. I ran to open it. My udder slapped between my thighs. I don't even notice it anymore. Klara stood in the doorway. She smiled. "Are you ready?"

  I nodded. We set off. We walked through the city. People turned to look, but no longer with ridicule. No longer with shock. Just with quiet interest. The story had spread. Everyone knew.

  We walked past the theater. The poster read: "Magic show – tonight."

  We stopped. We looked at each other. Meaningfully. Then we went inside. We sat down in the third row. I—a woman with a cow's head, udders, tail, legs, and hooves—sat next to Klara. We laughed. We had fun.

  And yet... somewhere deep inside, it still hurt. Not physically. But like a crack that would never heal. Like an empty space where something human once was. My face. My voice. My body.

  There is no other magician like the one who transformed me. No one like that. No one who could bring it back. No one who could rid me of this body.

  But a cow's life can be lived too.

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  You can find a video of the whole story on my website (link on my profile - house icon).