hello, can you write me a pure body horror story of a person who gets in a severe car crash, and is in a coma and they put the persosn onciousness into an animals body to survive and the body horror

**Title: Transference** Evan Thompson's life was once a tapestry of laughter and ambition, interwoven with dreams of becoming a wildlife photographer. Each click of the shutter captured not just the beauty of the world, but his place within it. That was until the night of the rain-slicked road, when a speeding car crashed into him, shattering the narrative of his life. Awakening in the dark void of a coma, Evan floated through a haze of memories and muffled voices, unaware of what had happened. Days turned into weeks, his body lying motionless in a sterile hospital bed, while outside the world carried on—uninformed and indifferent. Doctors and nurses whispered of 'brain activity' and 'hopes for recovery,' yet all he felt was an aching loneliness, but he was powerless to respond. Then, one evening, something shifted. Evan sensed a surge of raw energy, a flicker of consciousness, but it came from nowhere he could pinpoint. It was as if a great machine had whirred to life deep within him, an engine of instinct ignited in a new and surprising way. He felt the presence of something else, something primal and untamed. That fateful day in the hospital, a team of experimental neurologists convened. They had been researching ways to preserve consciousness in cases deemed hopeless, aiming to transmute human mind and spirit into another vessel. They opined that the animal kingdom could serve as a vessel for those deemed 'lost': a desperate measure for preserving the essence of a life. And so, Evan was unwittingly chosen. Awareness resurfaced like bubbles in a murky pool. He was suffocated by dark warmth, pressed into the shape of something small and alive. A clash of instincts rushed through him, full of confusion and simplicity. He soon discovered it was not a human form that housed his essence but rather that of a raccoon. The weight of the world pressed against his new body—a strange amalgamation of fur and flesh, limitations and instincts colliding with his memories of humanity. The first reflection that met Evan in a puddle revealed a distorted truth: beady eyes—bright but haunted—sat above a snout like his old nose, though covered in patchy fur. His limbs were squat and unfamiliar; the constraints of his new reality were magnified by the horror of recognition. He was not merely a man; he was a creature scuttling through the detritus of a city that had, until now, seemed so bright and full of possibility. The first night was disorienting. Evan found himself rummaging through the trash, a shrill scream echoing in the distance—a reminder that as flesh molded into the instinctual dance of survival, he could no longer communicate with human words. His hands, now paws, struggled to grasp the concept of a human life. Shadows played tricks as he navigated the human world reduced to smells, tastes, and sounds, rewriting his understanding of existence. But horror seeped in deeper than the mere physical; as days morphed into weeks, so too did his yearning for his former self. Contorted by animality, he witnessed other animals gleefully frolic in their untamed bodies. They embraced their feral nature, and yet... he felt a lingering ache, a deep-seated grief that festered in his core, whispering to him about dreams left unfulfilled. Then came the moment of profound realization: the existence of his humanity began to erode. Voices of friends, family, and whispered hopes faded into the ungraspable ether of memory. They were like distant stars—familiar yet relentlessly unreachable. In moments of solitude, Evan would claw at the earth, digging in futile anger and despair. With each passing day, the boundary between man and beast blurred, tearing at the very seams of his identity. Even the simple act of catching food shifted to a cacophony of instincts and primal need. Gnawing teeth sank into scraps with a ferocious urgency, a stark contrast to the subtle artistry with which he once clicked photos of nature. The horror deepened. As he lost himself to the wild instincts of his new body, fleeting memories of light—of colors, shapes, and human connection—faded like forgotten dreams. Echoes of laughter and warmth eroded, replaced by a gnawing hunger and the instinctive need to scavenge for survival. Eventually, Evan crossed paths with a fellow raccoon—a mate. In the throes of attraction and the primal force of instinct, he was beckoned to explore the raw need to connect. Throwing aside the tormented humanity inside, he surrendered to the embrace of nature. The moment melded into a grotesque celebration of flesh, yet the horror rooted in Evan's mind—an endless loop of loss and longing—existed at the core of an identity trapped within a creature's body. His dreams now twisted into feverish nightmares filled with faces that were never to be—of loved ones moving on without him. Their laughter grew louder, echoing through the caverns of his fading memory, and yet the bittersweet pang of recognition would soon fade to silence, just like every fleeting moment that once mattered. As the seasons turned, Evan’ s existence evolved into a living horror tale—a tale not of escape from the desperate grip of the reaper but of accepting the inescapable truth: in this chaotic dance of life and death, he was both the observer and the observed, forever trapped in the transient body of a raccoon, an intimate witness to the world he once belonged to—a phantom caught in the conglomerate web of humanity and the primal wild. Through the fractured lens of his new existence, he realized he was neither wholly man nor beast—a tumultuous blending of both tragic and beautiful, living in the space where horror and survival harmonized, but forever craving the echo of what will never be again.