Her fingers seared down the side of her face as she looked up at his skinny frame. She bit her lips, wincing at the lacerations she saw clawing down both his cheeks. This was goodbye. He could still muster a faint smile though. But it was a fool’s smile. His face was pressed close against the train car window. Tears masking a grin. Her eyes never left his. She could still see a semblance of strength. The embers of a dying flame. She tried her best to keep a beaming smile for him to take on his journey. But as the train began to move, she couldn’t help but cry too.

Kao was running down the street as fast as she could. Her leg trembled as she tumbled and picked herself up time and time again. Behind her she could see drops of her blood as it hit the concrete. Her face was bruised and swollen. She was almost there now. The nosebleed had stopped, but the pain persisted. She was used to this. It was nothing she couldn’t bear.

She stopped to catch her breath when she got to the house with the rooster weathervane, where she crouched down to her knees by the road to recover. As she breathed in heavily, she sat herself down with a sense of relief and began to weep. It was a quiet sob. No one was going to find her now. Above her she saw the twinkle of stars in a blanket of darkness.

There was a shuffle within the alley by the house. Kao saw his shadow lingering by the side of the dumpster. He lurched forwards slowly as he drew towards him. There was a humming clicking noise as he appeared in the moonlight.

When he walked out under the light, Kao saw his ragged clothes and the scars that embellished his arms. He walked with the aid of a crude wooden stake. Kao had remembered the first time she had met him, how she almost screamed in terror. He looked as if he was maybe thirteen or fifteen years old. A crippled homeless child. He slowly inched himself closer until he sat down too in front of her. His legs sprawled on the ground as he gave her a knowing look.

“Again?” Fae said softly.

She nodded. Kao was embarrassed. She knew he pitied her.

“What will you do this time?” Fae continued. This wasn’t the first time he had asked these questions. Kao knew that it was unlikely to be the last time.

Kao had a teary grin as she examined his haunting expression. His face weary with the struggles of living on the streets. But, there was an innocence of youth about him. She saw him look down as she failed to answer. His head hung in helplessness. They both knew that the answer is always the same. After some silence, he reached out his hand. In his hand he held a small red ribbon.

“A leftover cake,” he muttered.

Kao looked at him with an exasperated look. It was so childish, but it also touched her. She wondered what it was like to grow up alone. She also wondered which one of them was worse off. She reached out her hand as he gently tied it to her ring finger. Taking the form of a butterfly ribbon. She had stopped crying by now. Fae took out a pack of tissues from his bindle and started to wipe her blood away.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop?” Kao asked. She winced as Fae swabbed her wounds. Fae looked at her but didn’t say anything.

“He’s still my father, Fae.”

Kao was suffering from a splitting headache when she went home in the early morning. She tried tiptoeing through the door, but failed spectacularly when she tripped face first onto the living room rug. Her head hit the edge of the table in the process, smashing a few empty beer glasses to the ground. When she tried to push herself up, she cut her arms from the shards on the ground.

She heard the footsteps approach her just before getting struck right between the forehead. There was no time for her to react as she slammed back to the ground. He looked up at her father as he struck her again. He was drunk again. She could smell the alcohol in his breath. The old man must have been drinking before bed. The second hit came harder than the first. She couldn’t feel the third hit as she collapsed to the ground, passing out cold.

When she woke up there was blood all over the room. On the couch she saw a body slumped over the living room table. For the first time, the bloodstains weren’t hers. The police had already arrived. They put a warm blanket over her as the lights flashed around her. Her father was dead. Blunt force trauma.

The police said they had a lead, but they questioned her anyway. There honestly wasn’t much to say other than what she’s already told them before. She spoke flatly. They’ve heard it so many times already. Every single time she had reported it, she was never taken seriously. It was different this time. The interrogation had no flair of fake sincerity. It was cold without restraint. She was a suspect now. But she could also feel relief.

That was until she left the interrogation room. Flanked by two officers, she saw Fae with handcuffs at his back. Her father’s blood was still smeared on his face. It was a fool’s murder. Beneath his expression of fear, she saw a faint smile appear as he looked up.

The steam roared as the train whistled for departure. Her eyes never left him. Never left his knowing smile. She showed him the ribbon on her finger. To remind him of the fateful night she asked him to walk her home. To remind herself that justice can only be one’s own hands. A ribbon she kept tied on her finger as she waited for this day. For the day of departure. Of the train to deathrow.

High noon. The sun blazed in the sky above. Men, women and children lined the streets as the two unlikely combatants faced off against one another. On one side, Blake Taggert: the meanest, roughest, orneriest gunslinger in the territory. Even with one eye shot completely away, he had better aim than anyone these people had ever seen. He didn’t even wear an eye patch to cover it up. He just kept his right eye shut all the time, putting people off with the hideous scar over half his face. Sometimes, if he really wanted to scare people, he’d open it and let them stare into the empty socket.

His fingers were twitching, which could mean only one thing: someone was about to die. When Blake’s fingers started twitching that way, it was a sure sign that they hadn’t pulled a trigger in a while. And the longer he went without pulling that trigger, the more likely it was to happen real soon. Blake didn’t like to let a month go by without killing anyone. He preferred just to shoot people and get the whole thing over with, but he was willing to submit to the formalities of a showdown if it meant keeping the law off his back.

Not that the law was much of a problem for Blake Taggert as any lawman brave or tenacious enough to actually take him out found himself dead shortly thereafter. Blake never called marshals, sheriffs or deputies by their right names. He just called them “Coward.” Because any lawman who was still alive when Blake Taggert was in town was either a coward or dead and anyone who took exception to Blake calling him the former would typically become the latter within about twenty-four hours.

Today’s gunfight was virtually no different than the many others Blake Taggert had fought since he set up in the town of Tumbleweed Ridge two years ago. A day no one in the small, Arizona township would ever forget. His reputation had preceded him, of course, and most of the townsfolk already knew of his rather dubious record. He gunned down Bert Smith in front of his three small children, beat Gabby Wolversteen to death with a broken bottle, strangled Mayor Preston, and beat Sheriff Davis, Doctor Sweets and Pastor Stewart in gunfights, drawing so fast not a one of them had a chance to go for their guns.

Not surprisingly, most of the people of Tumbleweed Ridge were smart and/or cowardly enough to keep their distance, though even this wasn’t enough to save them from his wrath if they inadvertently bumped into him at the saloon and caused a fraction of a drop of whisky to spill on his sleeve or talked too loud in his presence or stepped on his shadow without permission or any of the other flimsy excuses he gave for hurting people.

No, as I say, today’s fight was almost entirely the same as the others. There was really only one major difference between today’s bout and the one from two days ago and that was Blake’s opponent.

The unfortunate person who Blake had in his sights on this day had come to town only a year and a half ago, but in that time had become somewhat beloved by the populace for being kind, gentle, clever, pretty, sweet, innocent and, incredibly for a girl her age, unmarried.

Her name was Becky Mills and no one could believe that this was really happening to her.

Shortly after coming to town, this poor, eighteen-year-old girl had won the hearts of the townspeople with a story of bandits taking her family farm and killing her father and brothers, leaving her completely alone. The owner of the local saloon, Abel Johnson, took pity on her and gave her a job as a waitress…and just a waitress! There were, of course, women working in the saloon in a different capacity, but if one man lay a hand on Becky, Abel himself would cut it off. He looked on her sort of as a daughter.

Indeed Becky had endeared herself to everyone. The fact that she was young and pretty didn’t hurt any but, there again, there was a feeling of her being part of the family like a niece or a baby sister, so she didn’t have many suitors and the ones she did have never lasted long. The blacksmith’s son, Alvin, had taken a shine to her and they’d gone to a few barn dances together, but nothing ever came of it. Then it looked like the rancher, Edward, might have a chance, but Becky still wasn’t interested. Many assumed that her failure to get a husband was because the men of Tumbleweed Ridge were too rough for such a frail desert flower. Maybe someday a school teacher or something like that would come to town and she’d finally find a man meek enough for her delicate sensibilities.

Blake Taggert, of course, was immune to her charms. Not being interested much in women, or, indeed, anything other than beans, whiskey and gun fighting, he had never paid her much heed. He grunted at her when she brought him drinks at the saloon, but that was about it. It seemed incredible to anyone that someone so sweet and innocent could even be capable of doing something to anger even someone as easy to annoy as Taggert.

And yet, here they were. Standing along the main thoroughfare of Tumbleweed Ridge as Blake Taggert stood, fingers twitching all-too-eagerly around the pearl handles of his favorite revolvers, glaring with his one good eye at the pretty little girl who had, just the night before, tripped over a rug in the saloon and upended an entire tray of beers over Taggert’s head.

For a few seconds, there had been complete silence and stillness in the saloon, apart from the beer dripping off Taggert. No one had any idea what was going to happen next. And none of them were prepared for Taggert’s next words:

“Tomorrow…high noon…don’t be late.” And he stomped off to change into some dryer clothes.

Of course, if it had been a man accidentally spilling beer on him, the people of Tumbleweed Ridge would have expected a challenge like this. But a girl? Surely, even a savage like Blake Taggert must have his limits. Who in their right mind would challenge a girl to a gunfight? Most women in Tumbleweed Ridge had never even touched a gun, much less knew how to fire one. And certainly not with the accuracy it would take to win a gunfight against Taggert. And even if you were low and heartless enough to challenge a girl to a gunfight, how could it possibly be someone as delicate and innocent as Becky Mills?

Some of the men got together and talked about whether they should go to Blake and ask him to call the whole thing off. Fear convinced them not to, so they focused their efforts on Becky instead. Get out of town, they had said. They offered her money, horses, anything to get her to not show up at noon the following day. They practically got down on their knees and begged the girl to ride away and never come back.

“No,” she said, to the surprise of everyone. “I don’t expect you all to understand, but I figure if I run away now, I’ll be running for the rest of my life. No, facing Blake Taggert is just something I’m gonna have to do, whatever the consequences might be.”

So, under the blazing hot noonday sun, with anxious spectators all around, Becky Mills, wearing her favorite dress and a pair of pistols she had borrowed from Abel Johnson for the occasion, stood her ground against the villain, Blake Taggert. She was trembling slightly, but only slightly. If nothing else, the people of Tumbleweed Ridge admired her guts.

“Surprised you showed up, girly,” said Taggert.

“You said not to be late,” said Becky, trying to sound casual. “What kind of lady would I be if I disappointed a gentleman?”

“Don’t matter. You’ll be dead in a few seconds either way. Ready?”

“Are you?”

Taggert laughed. “I’m always ready to kill, little missy.”

“I’m sure you are…I meant are you ready to die?”

Taggert didn’t laugh. No one did. For a while no one said anything. Finally, Taggert called out. “Marshall Coward! You count three…then we draw.”

“Y-y-y-yes sir, Taggert,” said the Marshall who was living up to his name. “One…two…three…”

“DRAW!” said Becky and she drew her guns so fast no one even saw it happen.

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

She fired ten shots at Taggert. The first at his right hand, causing him to drop his gun. The second at his left, he dropped the other. Then to his shoulders, arms, legs, hips and every part of him except his heart or his head or any other vital organ. In less time than it takes to tell, Blake Taggert was on his knees, riddled with bullets and oozing blood from ten different wounds…but still breathing. And laughing.

“You’re quick, girly,” he said, struggling with every word. “But you ain’t much of a shot. You ain’t killed me!”

“No, not yet,” said Becky. But she didn’t sound like Becky. The woman who was speaking now, walking confidently down the main street of Tumbleweed Ridge with both guns, each containing one bullet each, pointing at the most dangerous gunman anyone had ever seen, was not the frail, fragile girl the people had come to know over the past eighteen months. This was someone else entirely. “If I’d shot you in the head or heart you’d have died too quick and you’d never know who it was that finally killed you.

“In the first place, my name ain’t Mills. It’s Smith. My daddy was Bert Smith, the man you gunned down right in front of me and my big brothers. I was six years old when I watched my daddy die. He was just another notch on your gun handle, but he was my whole world. So I learned how to shoot. I learned to be fast and accurate and I ain’t missed in four years. When I was sure I was ready, I asked around, found out you had set up here in Tumbleweed Ridge so I followed you here.

“Pretending to be weak and fragile all this time wasn’t easy, but it worked. Nobody here had any idea what I was capable of. You never even saw me, even when I brought you your food and drink over at the saloon. It ain’t been easy waiting all this time, but one of the first rules of marksmanship is patience. Waiting for exactly the right time to strike. And when I knew that time had come, I dumped those beers over your head. Knew you’d challenge me and I knew you’d think I was an easy target so you wouldn’t be on your guard.

“So, here you are. Bleeding to death in front of all the people you terrorized all these years because someone was finally man enough to stand up to you. Just so happens it was a nineteen-year-old girl. Now, I couldn’t let you die without knowing that, could I? But, now that you know…”

BLAM!

BLAM!

The first shot went through Taggert’s heart, the second through his one good eye. And he was dead.

Nobody said anything or moved an inch. They simply couldn’t believe what they had seen. They also couldn’t believe it when Becky Smith started digging through Taggert’s pockets till she had a handful of money in her hand. Taking this, she strolled up to a Mr. Thackery and thrust about half the cash into his hand. “Like to buy your horse,” she said with a smile. “Time I was moving on.”

Thackery couldn’t speak, so he just nodded. Becky returned the guns to Abel Johnson saying she’d buy her own when she hit a new town, then mounted her new horse.

“So long, folks!” she said to the perplexed people of Tumbleweed Ridge. As she started to ride away, she passed Alvin and Edward, standing together outside the saloon. “Sorry things didn’t work out with us, boys…y’all weren’t quite rough enough for me.”

She spurred her horse and rode away from Tumbleweed Ridge, never to return.

The contacts irritated his eyes, but naturally, he couldn't remove them. If he did, the augmented reality phone call he was having with his mom wouldn't be seen anymore.

"So yeah, I decided to not go to university because of that."

"Yes, that sounds quite reasonable to me my son... hahaha. Sorry, that whole conversation was too formal for us, wasn't it! Honestly, it has been so long since I last saw you in person!"

"Yeah, something like 12 to 13 years, right? Well, I had to move out at some point, you know this..."

"But that doesn't mean leaving forever!"

"We're talking right now, aren't we? As long as you ignore all the adverts, this augmented reality is a definite improvement to normal reality!"

"But we can't hug each other, like parent and child..."

"Don't worry Mom, I will be coming up to your place before the year ends! We can hug all you like at that time! I promise!"

My mom looks a little happier, so I decide to disconnect from the call and go get a pie from the local store. Good thing it was a nice and sunny today, with clear blue skies.

After getting outside, and walking to Braunston Street, where all the local cafes are located, I can easily see people sitting at tables eating different snacks. They ate their snacks scrumptiously eating made me even hungrier, so I sped up my pace to get at that pie all the sooner. Most of the mwere eating pies for some reason, but damn did they look good.

Upon entering the store, the normal sights of floating adverts over what could be bought were seen by me. I quickly selected a pie, before seeing a good friend of mine at another table.

"Yo Geurge! What are you up to my dude!"

"Oh, just getting a pie. Quite hungry!"

Chatting as we always do, I go to touch his shoulder, but he moves away as he always does. There are a lot of always with Geurge. He always acts in a pretty predictable manner. For instance: He always buys pies, he never lets anyone touch him, and whenever someone he isn't wearing contacts comes close, he walks to the other side of me, away from them.

Geurge then proceeds to say he wants to go for a walk outside for a bit, but I decide to stay as I am a bit too tired. After he leaves, an old man with greying hair and sharp blue eyes comes up to me and asks; "So, how was your video chat? I haven't used one of those in years, but it looked like it was fun!"

"What video chat?" I reply, confused. I then notice he isn't wearing any contacts, so maybe he just got confused. Yeah, probably that...

"I was just talking with my friend, he left. You can see him over there!" I wave to Geurge. He waves back, then walks out the door.

"Oh... young one, I think you might be seeing things... I can't see anyone over there..."

worryingly says the old man, concerned for my well being.

"Eh? What are you talking about, I can see fine. There are families all about us, all enjoying a different pie, and, oh yeah, that dude over there with the spiky blond hair! Hard to miss him! Damn his pie looks good, I hope mine is ready soon."

"Young one... there are no families in this shop, and the 'dude' over there is an obvious woman with long red hair, and she is eating a burrito... Are you sure you are alright?"

"Yes. YES. YES, OF COURSE I AM FINE." I frantically yell, scared I might be going insane.

I begin rubbing my eyes, to try and see straight, and accidentally loosened one of the contacts. Only to discover the most horrifying scene I will ever see.

The old man was right, but also wrong. It wasn't that I was seeing things, no, it was the contacts that were seeing things. The families, the pies, my friend. None of it was real. A disjointed 'friend' walks back in, blurring in and out of existence. My left eye can see him fine, but my right... it sees nothing.

"What... what the hell am I supposed to now...?" I stammer out, confused and scared.

I thank the old man, and begin leaving, of course after taking out both contacts. I then proceed to grab my pie, and begin walking once again. I look up, and see the dark, cloudy skies, that stretch off into the distance.

I break down and cry.

#shortstory

#pie

#dystopia

"Oh Henry, such a charmer, you are."

Henry looked back at his Irish plaything. Her curly red locks hid a youthful face. He had seen her wandering around the village before sunset and again here in the tavern.

Henry smiled. He felt the anxiety building within his bones: a low rumble, a war drum thundering in the distance. "The charm is all you, sweet Siobhan." He couldn't wait anymore. Henry leaned in closer, nearly knocking their flagon onto the wooden tabletop. He whispered into Siobhan's ear as his stomach began to turn over in anticipation.

Siobhan let slip an embarrassed giggled. Her eyes widened in excitement until Henry could see his own reflection within the emerald iris. With modestly pursed lips, Siobhan nodded. She hoisted her cloth gown and fell from her stool onto the dirt floor.

Siobhan skipped out of the tavern with an arm linked around Henry’s, an electric buzz flowing between them. The pale full moon reflected off the stream as they crossed a bridge leading out of the village. They weaved through a wheat field until neither one could hold in their excitement.

Siobhan let go of Henry's arm and pirouetted in front of him. The starry night sky revealed her joy as she tugged the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Henry stood paralyzed as he watched Siobhan's clothes crumple into a pile at her feet. The drums that were beating within him had doubled in speed, now echoing within his head with overbearing force as the Irish nymph walked towards him, her naked, nubile body taunting Henry's urges ever closer to the surface. As she craned her neck to taste his lips, Henry closed his eyes and lowered his head to meet hers.

The salty flavor of Siobhan's lips quickly turned metallic as a black liquid rushed from her mouth; Henry's heartbeat had finally quieted. A quick plunge of the dagger he brought quieted the urges within him. Pleasure shivers traveled down his spine as the young woman stood still, gurgling on the blood pooling in her throat.

As Siobhan collapsed, she coughed out enough blood to mutter a curse at Henry. "Siúlóid i fearg mo athar."

Henry knelt by Siobhan as the ground beneath her turned to mud. He nestled her head within the crook of his arm and watched the life drain from her face. When the last ounce of life left her, Henry closed his eyes and breathed deep, soaking in the intoxicating aroma of the blood soaked field.

Henry awoke the next morning groggy. Attempting to lift himself out of bed, he felt a bone in his arm snap. A piercing cry leapt from his mouth. Searing pain cascaded across his skin as the smell of burnt coal infected his nose.

The door to his rented room burst open. "Oi," exclaimed the tavern owner. "A curse," he muttered in horror.

Henry felt his skin begin to peel away from what was left of the fleshy meat holding it to his decaying bones. A skeletal hand lifted towards the tavern owner. The door slammed shut, leaving Henry to succumb to the curse alone, terrified. A few agonizing moments later, Henry passed out from sensory overload.

The blackness of eyelids slid away to the early moments of dawn. A blue sky with dotted clouds swept the fresh, chilled air into his nostrils. Henry found himself instantly alert as he detected a strange sensation throughout his body. Pushing himself up, the source of the discomforting sensation revealed itself to Henry.

Henry looked down upon his own naked breasts as he stood up from the leather bedroll. His mind raced in an attempt to remember what last happened.

"Astrid, you dumb girl," a burly, bellowing voice called out. "Put on your tunic. We hunt."

Henry looked at the towering viking that had yelled at him. Astrid, he had said.

"Viking women are not weak, like these Briton wenches," the man said as he walked towards Astrid. "My daughter'll be no different."

"Daughter?" Henry thought as he exhaled. "The mountainous man is this Astrid's father."

It hadn't sunk in yet that Henry was now Astrid.

"What did I say?" the father yelled. "Tunic. We hunt."

Henry shook himself out of the shock that paralyzed him and grabbed the animal skin next to the bedroll. As he dressed, Henry noticed a natural grace to his movements he had never experienced in his own body. He found himself reminded of the last woman he had been with, Siobhan.

"Fuck," Astrid muttered.

Henry remembered the night with the Irish woman and the horrific pain he had endured the next morning.

"Is that an English word you picked up Astrid?"

Henry was still stuck on his thoughts of Siobhan and the supposed curse she had cast on him as she lay dying in his old hands. "Could this be the result of the curse?" he pondered, oblivious of the father walking towards him.

"Grab a spear," the large man grunted.

"I am Astrid," Henry thought. "I am this young girl, for now."

Astrid looked up to her father and offered a diplomatic smile. "Yes father," she replied. As her father walked passed, Astrid craned her neck to look at him, not as family, but prey. She had no intention of learning to hunt again, a skill she had been taught in her previous life. Astrid saw the spear stand with sharpened sticks made in haste out of fallen branches. While the spears would never be thrown, the snaking weapons would do well enough to protect her until she found better tools.

Astrid followed behind her father and grabbed a spear. Uninterested in a lecture or confrontation, she pointed the weapon at the large Dane and thrust the tip into the side of his belly. Despite her past proclivity for murder, she had no urge to see harm fall to this man. Astrid’s father yelped and clutched his side as he collapsed to his knees.

"Sorry father," muttered Astrid.

The bewildered man turned to see his daughter running away, clutching the reddened spear in one hand.

Astrid had been running for an hour before she came upon an unknown village. She didn't recognize the country she had been traveling through, but knew it had to be upper England. With the stone and mud buildings still a good distance away, Astrid walked to a nearby stream. She wasn't used to a body that was in such good shape, for her previous one had begun to get old and slow and flabby.

The clear water provided necessary refreshment and an opportunity to clean the blood from her spear. Before she turned away, Astrid caught her reflection in the water. Staring back at her wasn't the chiseled chin filled with a days old beard nor the ratty, brown hair fallen to her shoulders that she was accustomed to. The youthful, blonde hair barely reached her thin neck. Blue eyes shone back at her, little sapphires buried in the bed of the stream. Astrid now looked like one of the girls she used to romance and murder in her previous life.

Astrid approached the village with the same saunter as her old self: a slow, deliberate walk befitting a lord or land owner. The shower of glares and disapproving looks she received confused Astrid; she was used to warm smiles. Despite the small number of standing structures, the village was swarmed with hustling Englishmen. One of the older men approached Astrid.

"We have no quarrel with the Danes," he stated loudly. "What are you here for?"

Astrid was taken by the curt tone. "What village is this?" she asked.

Several of the villagers had stopped to stare at the stranger. The old man narrowed his judgmental brow. "Where is your husband or father?"

Frustration simmered within her. She had never found it so difficult to gather information from local townsfolk. She swung the spear from behind her back up to the chin of the man showing her no respect. "I only ask for the name of this village." A different feeling began to churn in her stomach; it was not a yearning for bloodshed, but one of disgust, of betrayal.

The old man's disapproving glare turned into a full scowl. "We are small village just outside of Durham," he replied coarsely, pointing in the direction of the fort town.

"Durham?" asked Astrid. "In Northumbria?" The spear lowered from the old man's chin.

"Where do you think you are, girl?"

Astrid raised her eyes to glare at the old man. She raised the spear and smacked his cheek with a bulging edge. "For being uncivil," she scolded.

Gasps flowed through the gaping villagers like electric current. Astrid shot a menacing scowl at the lot of them as she headed off to the Northumbrian city.

In a few short minutes, Astrid crested a hill and found the giant, wooden barricades of Durham towering into the treetops. The doors to the large city were standing wide open, looming over anyone who dared enter. Guards patrolled the top of the wall with shortbows tucked close to their chest. Just beyond the walls, open sea reached towards the heavens, salting the air.

Astrid entered the city still clutching her spear behind her. She was bound to find a priest of the Lord within a city as large as Durham. She approached a friendly pair of gossiping shopkeepers, asking, "Where might I find the priest of this city?"

One of the men turned his scruffy face to look at the young woman. He sized Astrid up before finally nodding. "That way," he grumbled.

Astrid watched as the man returned to his conversation, observing his attitude brighten considerably. Butterflies were beginning to turn about in her stomach.

As Astrid made her way to the church, she weaved through the dirt roads past wooden and stone houses. Hundreds of people were about, performing their daily chores. Fresh aromas hung in the air as she walked past bakers and butchers and fruit stalls. With a polite nod, she dismissed a seamstress attempting to sell her a proper English dress.

Finally approaching the large stone church, Astrid hurried inside to find a priest. With the assistance of a nun, she was finally able to seek answers.

"Come my child, even Danes are welcome in God's house. I am Father Thomas."

"I need to undo a curse," Astrid blurted out.

The priest lifted his robed arms up to ponder the question. "My, my. Hasty are we? Lifting a curse?"

"Yes," Astrid nodded.

"Yes, come. We shall sit and you may explain me this curse." The priest guided Astrid to a rickety wooden table and they sat.

Astrid wasted no time. "It was because of this Irish whore."

"Child!" the priest explained. "Language, dear."

Astrid's eyes were wide with shock. "I apologise, father," she muttered, averting her gaze from the surprisingly authoritative holy man. "A few days ago, I was with an Irish woman. An attractive young thing."

Father Thomas interrupted again. "This is not a curse, but grave sin."

"No, it's not what it seems. I am," Astrid began. "Well, was, a man. I was not a very good man, but I was a man. I was with this Irish woman, and I killed her."

The priest closed his eyes as his head bowed. A heavy exhale betrayed base disgust.

"I stabbed her with a dagger."

Father Thomas responded cautiously. "As I said, this is a tale of sin. Continue."

"As she was dying, the Irish woman muttered a foreign tongue, of her home country, I believe." Astrid fixed her eyes on Thomas as she began to share the beginning of the curse. "When I awoke the next dawn, my bones broke and my skin boiled. Even as I screamed in pain, I smelled the stench of death upon me."

"Aye," muttered the priest. "Tis indeed a curse."

"And then I woke up this morning in this body, of a young viking woman." Astrid motioned to herself.

Father Thomas looked at Astrid for a brief moment of ponderance. "And you wish to end this curse?" he asked.

Astrid nodded. "Yes, father."

Thomas replied with a steady, deliberate pace. "It seems to me as if your former body would be no more. If this curse was to be reversed, where would the man inside go?"

Astrid's stare wandered across the walls of the room, eyes glazing over the greens and yellows of paintings hanging on the walls. She hadn't considered that her old body was not an option.

"However," Father Thomas stated, snapping Astrid's attention back to him, "it is more likely a curse of nightmares and insanity." Thomas pushed himself up from the table and began to walk towards the door leading to the prayer hall. "Return with your father, young one, and we shall sort out this curse of yours."

Astrid forced a smile. Inside, her stomach began to churn in a familiar way: the urge to kill had risen. She nodded and stalked out of the church in a controlled rage. She had barely made it down the stone steps of the building before letting out a small scream. "Return with your father?" she muttered to herself. "Everywhere I go, glares, rejection. I would never have rejected a creature so lovely as me." Astrid paced the streets, oblivious to the people aghast at her inner ramble projected to all. "Because I'm not escorted by a man?" She finally looked up enough to see a group of women gaping, their jaws hanging wide. "I am a man!" she shouted at the group.

The pack of women spooked and hurried away from Astrid, muttering amongst themselves about insanity.

Astrid stormed out of the city, scowl perched on her face. Her clomping sent vibrations up her legs and shivers throughout her bones. The spear, clutched tightly in her right hand, shook back and forth in sync with her simmering rage. As she passed into the outskirts of a forest, a group of six men approached. Astrid glared at them from the corner of her eye.

"Girl," one of the men called out.

Astrid stopped and turned her head halfway towards the men.

The same man opened his mouth to speak further. "You came from the fort?"

"Yes," Astrid replied curtly. She recognized the animal skin tunics the men were wearing as Danish clothing. Each man stood at least a head taller than young Astrid.

"And they let you in," the man stated. "You are Dane."

Astrid's mood began to lighten as the scowl on her face became expressionless. "I am."

"Then we would ask a favor of you, young sister," he said.

Astrid finally turned to face the group of men and slowly walked towards them.

"We would see the gate opened on this night," the man continued. As Astrid neared the group, she noticed that the other men were standing behind the one talking to her. "No English fort will allow a Viking inside with our weapons, and they will surely send us beyond the wall after dark. Yet we saw you leave with your spear in hand. The English believe Viking women to be weak."

Astrid snarled and raised her spear, pointing it to the sky. "I am not weak."

The men chuckled to themselves. "Yes, you are strong, as all women with Viking blood,” replied the leader.

One of the other men finally spoke up. "The English treat their women like sleep!" he shouted.

The group erupted in hearty laughter.

"Will you aid us?" asked the leader.

"Six men to attack an English stronghold?" Astrid questioned, her brows raised in disbelief.

"We have many more men," answered one of them.

Astrid looked over her shoulder in the direction of Durham as she pondered the Vikings' offer. "I shall need a sword," she demanded, turning back to the Danes.

"Hah," exclaimed the leader. "You must earn the right to wield a sword."

Astrid shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Indignation crept onto her face and into her voice as she replied. "Would you have me running around killing people with this spear?"

"Killing people?" questioned one of the men.

The leader added, "We need only an open gate."

"You are going to charge across the open field as they open the gate to let me in?" Astrid asked incredulously. Her voice had unwittingly raised an octave. "They'll close it before you ever reach the wall. I owe their priest a debt of pain. I will kill him and it will cause chaos within the city. The guards shall be disoriented and I shall open the gate for your men."

The men exchanged glances and mumbled words. "You will lift the draw bar yourself?" asked one of the men.

Astrid shot an annoyed look at the man who questioned her. "The English have tools inside. And I need only lift one edge of the bar."

"It is a good plan," announced the leader. "Hod, your knife." He took Hod's knife and handed it to Astrid. "We shall find you a proper spear as well."

The opportunity for revenge calmed Astrid for a moment. She inspected the seven inch blade and fixed it in her tunic. When she looked back up to the group, one of the men had disappeared.

A new rumbling in her belly overtook Astrid, this one a complaint for food. "It will be a long day," Astrid said, coyly. "I shall need sustenance."

Hod let out a large laugh. "We give you weapons and you still ask for more?"

Astrid glared at the giant man. He stood taller than the rest, with a shaved head and bushy beard accompanied by a scar just under his left eye. "Food and weapons seem a small price for a stronghold."

The leader beckoned and escorted Astrid through the forest and back to his camp. A few hundred men sat around the remains of campfires flanked by makeshift tents. Woven baskets of vegetables and charred meat sat in the shade beneath a canvas overhang. As Astrid made her way to the food tent, she noticed one of the men following her.

“Einar’s orders,” he grunted.

Returning a disapproving look, Astrid hurried to the baskets and grabbed food by the fistful.

The sky grew darker as dusk swiftly approached. It was time for Astrid to return to Durham; she gathered the knife and spear given to her by the Danes. "Einar," she called out.

The Viking leader turned away from the fire he was tending. "You are off?"

"I am," Astrid answered.

Einar shot a stern but confident look at Astrid. "Open that gate. We shall run through and surprise the English."

The vibrations of anticipation had reemerged within Astrid's stomach, filling her with a brash confidence she always carried when about to strike at her prey. "It is already done."

The two exchanged wide smiles as Astrid set off in the direction of the city.

Astrid walked through the dim forest for most of an hour before emerging near Durham. She approached the closed gates with her knife tucked away and the new spear she received from the Danes clutched in her hand behind her. She saw one of the armor-clad lookouts following her carefully.

"Open the gate," she shouted up at the guard.

"What business do you have in Durham?" the guard shouted back. "The gates are closed."

"I am here to see the priest, Father Thomas," responded Astrid. The faint red-orange glow of dusk provided too little light for her to read the face of the guard.

"For what reason?"

Astrid's face became tempered steel, containing her frustration over being questioned. "I visited him earlier this day about a curse. He instructed me to return at nightfall."

Silence loomed over the open field as Astrid awaited a response. She could only see the rough outline of the guard with which she had been conversing. Just as Astrid was about to open her mouth to yell at the guard, the noise of the draw bar being lifted escaped the fort city. Two guards with torches greeted her.

"We are to escort you to Father Thomas."

Astrid nodded and followed the men. They wove through the empty streets towards the church, casting ominous shadows with the burning torches. The lack of energy bustling throughout the heart of the city fueled Astrid's desires, her needs itching to break free of her self control. Durham now echoed what she saw inside herself: a hollow shell devoid of that which gives the spark of life.

Upon arriving at the church, Astrid laid her spear against the wall and cautioned the soldiers not to misplace it. She entered the church and spied the same nun who had assisted her earlier. Astrid approached the woman, asking, "Sister, where might I find Father Thomas?"

The nun obliged. "He is in his study. About to rest for the evening."

Astrid produced an unnerving smile. With her bones aching for the sweet nectar of fresh blood, her usual act of normalcy was proving difficult to maintain. Astrid focused on her frustration and anger with Father Thomas to counteract the anticipation. "Thank you, sister."

Astrid hurried up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the chapel. She found the door to the priest's study and knocked. As the priest opened up the door to answer, Astrid raised her left hand, fingers clenched tight around the knife Einar had granted her, and slipped the cool iron into Father Thomas' throat. Her right hand covered the priest's mouth. "A sinner, maybe," she whispered seductively, "but I am not insane."

She quickly withdrew the knife and wiped it clean on the inside of the priest's robes. She backed away from the door before erupting in a blood curdling scream. "He's dead," she shouted. Astrid quickly contorted her face into one of tortured anguish. She narrowed her eyebrows and pushed forward her lips. She could hear the loud pounding of footsteps on the stairs and brought her hands up to her face, the final touch to her charade.

The nun was the first person to burst through the open stairwell onto the balcony. Astrid turned to her, hands and lower lip quivering. "I just," she moaned, purposefully stuttering. "I just found him like this."

The nun saw pooling blood escaping from Father Thomas' study. Her aged face contorted in similar fashion as Astrid's. "Look away, child," she instructed.

Astrid swept towards the stairwell melodramatically and ran to the ground floor. She forced a single tear to drip down her face as several other people were hastening to the stairs. Astrid burst through the church doors to be greeted by the guard's drawn swords. "He's dead," she yelled at them. A gust of wind cooled her tear-stained cheek. "I just, just found him." The guards looked at each other and then rushed into the church.

Astrid's face broke into a devilish grin. She picked up her spear and ran back through the streets to the gate. She spotted a single guard patrolling the entrance.

"Who goes there?" the guard shouted at Astrid.

Astrid responded with her spear, throwing it at the man. Despite the difficulty for such a small-framed person to launch a spear twenty feet into the air, her aim guided the weapon right into the guard's knee. He howled in pain as Astrid grabbed the tool required to lift the draw bar. She struggled with the heavy log for several seconds before she was able to topple it from the gate. Astrid quickly pushed open the gate for her newfound Viking clan.

Two hundred Danes sprinted from the tree line towards the open barrier. Astrid could see the gargantuan Hod leading the charge with his long, lumbering gait. She turned back to Durham, pleased with her efforts. With success mere seconds away, Astrid allowed herself to finally savor the moment that her blade had pierced the frail neck of Father Thomas. She closed her eyes to piece together the scraps of senses she could remember of the scene only to realize that she could see and smell and feel the entire event vividly. "Maybe I won't have to do this every week," she muttered to herself.

Lost in her memory, Astrid stood at the threshold of Durham while hundreds of Vikings poured into the city-stronghold around her. When the rush of air quieted down, she opened her eyes and ran off to join the rest of her new clan.

The Viking raid lasted several minutes, but the English soldiers were quickly overwhelmed by the skill of the Danes. Astrid found herself surrounded by English bodies and fellow Vikings. The men not busy with corralling captured slaves had gathered around Einar. She looked around the bloody mud and at the reddened tip of her spear, lost in the serene trance of war.

Einar stood amid his men. "Tonight was a good victory! And we owe it," he shouted to a chorus of cheers. "To Astrid, the Mad!" he finished. The men erupted in guttural, barbaric screams.

Yet Astrid's face hardened into a scowl as she raised her spear up to Einar's chin, leaving the slightest spot of red. "I am not mad," she seethed.

The men hushed at Astrid's threat, yet the hearty laughter of Einar rose above the stale moment. He pushed aside the wooden tip as he spoke. "Very well. Merely Astrid."

Astrid loosened her grip of the wooden shaft, allowing it to slide away from Einar. A glint of shiny reflection caught her eye.

"You're well on your way to earning a sword," Einar called to Astrid as she bent over a lifeless corpse to pick through the remains.

Astrid pulled out a flawless, steel dagger from the body. The razor sharp double edge enchanted her as she ran a finger along the flat blade. Its simple elegance provoked absentminded smile to spread across Astrid’s face. "I don't think I'll need one," she replied.

"I killed them, because they invited me in. They practiclly asked me to." The white male in his early thrities looked back at me with a serene face. You would think he was sitting in a park enjoying the spring weather instead of chained to the table in the California State Police Department. The detective looked the young man in the eyes, but turned away, unable to stomach the peacefulness of his demeanor, "Please explain how somebody thinks an unlocked door is a death sentence?"

"You see, Detective, if someone keeps their door unlocked, it means you're allowed to come in and do as you like. If a door is locked, it means they are busy and shouldn't be bothered. Eevryone knows that." The detective adjusted uncomfortably in his chair, "You think an open door gives you the right to murder a pregnant woman with two children and then eat them?" The young man shrugged with the attitude as if I had asked him how his day had been, "Not necessarily."

The detective slammed his fist down on the table, "Then why do it!?" The young man was unflinching, "Alright, I'll admit it. I was in the neighborhood and saw them coming inside after going to the grocery store. I was pretty sure I had known her in high school. I just wanted to say hello." The detective spit, losing his professionalism, "So, how did they all end up dead?"

The young man brought up his chained hands to tap his chin in thought, "I knocked, but no one answered. And since the front door was unlocked, I just went inside. She got really angry for some reason, and threateend to call the police," he continued casually like he was commenting about the weather, "I really didn't want to go back to the Ward, so I shot her. And then her kids wouldn't stop crying, so I shot them, too."

The detective picked up a manila envelope from the corner of the table. Opening it, he revealed crime scene photos depicting the blood-soaked victims. On their necks and bellies were teeth marks and knife wounds that resembled cutting into a turkey. The young man reached out and stroked the photos lovingly, "Oh, I remember now. The little ones were so tasty. And she was so lovely. She was all grown up from that awkward teenager I knew in school."

The detective snatched away the photos in disgust, "They are DEAD, you bastard. You murdered them in cold blood, descrated their bodies, and now you don't even show a shred of remorse! You are a sickening criminal, and I'm going to do everything to make sure you're punished to the full extent of the law. You'll never see the light of day, again." The young man cocked his head in confusion at the detective, "But... the door was unlocked."

***Note: On the 8th of May 1980, the jury found Richard Chase guilty of six counts of first degree murder after entering the premises when the door was unlocked. Rejecting the argument that he was not guilty by reason of insanity, sentenced him to die in the gas chamber. His fellow inmates, aware of the extremely violent nature of Chase's crimes, feared him, and according to prison officials, often tried to persuade Chase to commit suicide.

On December 26, 1980, Chase was found in his cell, dead. An autopsy found that he committed suicide with an overdose of prescribed antidepressants that he had saved over several weeks.

Guard: (grabs keys to unlock the door) Hey, come on and get up. You have a visitor.

The guard waits for the prisoner to move out from the dark room. He gasps and points his sword at the inmate.

Guard: (shakily) Who...are~ you? How did you get in the cell?

The prisoner laughs and shakes his head. What kind this some kind of jail prank? The inmate wondered if it was April fools already.

Guard: Hands in the air. Get on the ground.

The prisoner decided to have a staring contest with the guard. The guard felt beads of sweat run down the back of his neck. He started trembling and dropped his weapon.

The inmate moved a hand toward her own chin & felt something quite peculiar. She stroked her new beard and chuckled. The magic potion she had been handed by one of the o prisoners had worked.

The guard fell backward and landed on his derrière. The inmate cracked her fingers and grinned. The guard continued to stumble on the floor and half-crawled, and ran away.

The prisoner bent down closer to the floor. She smiled and whistled. Then walked away with the guard’s keys in hand.

Inmate: (to herself) I guess today must be my lucky day.

#Luckyday.

(This is assuming that they are referring to sex and not gender)

If I woke up as the opposite biological sex, I would be jumping with joy. For so long I have wanted my body to align with the way I feel, for others to see me as valid, to pass. But when the doctors saw my physical attributes, they checked this one little box that would decide how I should look, act, speak, display my emotions... be. And that was The F Box. Of course, for most people this isn't a problem. Most people wake up in the right body and get dressed in the right body and sleep in the right body and live in the right body. Most people never even think about their gender. Most people don't collapse into tears because the ones that are closest to them reject them.

But I guess I'm just not like most people.

It was at that point that Sonnie noticed her penis.

“What the fu-” she started to say, but then stopped – because the voice that had come out of her mouth was not the refined, endearing tones of a darling English movie star, but rather the profound rumbling bass of Mufasa trying to repel hyenas. She spun towards the mirror – only to find herself staring at a gigantic black man with a dong the size of a Costco salami, who stared in horror back at her.

“What the fuck!” Sonnie shrieked, or rather thundered, because again, her voice could’ve been put to the ground to test earthquake sensors. She stumbled out of the chamber in semi-delirium, steadying herself against the walls with hands the size of a Texan ribeye, then lurched forward, buck‑ass nude, towards the front counter.

“What the fuck is this!” she demanded, and the overweight speckly guy behind the counter winced as her words physically impacted his face.

“What’s what, why, what’s wrong?” he stammered, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose.

Sonnie was incredulous. “What’s wrong!” she howled, likely causing every dog within a two-mile radius considerable panic, “What’s wrong! Are you blind? This isn’t what I ordered!”

The BodEz clerk wilted. “No it’s-it’s-it’s fine, that’s what you-” He reached down with trembling hands and brought up the clipboard with her paperwork on it. “See?”

Sonnie didn’t even look. “This is not Keira Knightley!” she roared, and she slammed her meat‑hammer fists into the counter so hard it caused her ridiculously oversized penis to jump.

There was a moment’s silence. The clerk blinked and swallowed nervously.

“Keiran,” he said, cowering slightly. He held up the clipboard. “You, um. You selected Keiran Knightley. Male, um, African-American male adult, um, film star. K-k-keiran. Keiran Knightley.”

For a moment Sonnie just stood there panting, her eyes bulging at the clerk like he’d just slapped her grandma across the face. Then slowly she forced her gaze down to the signed form on the counter. It was indeed hers – her name was there, along with her details and her signature. And then, just like he’d said, in the ‘Selected BodEz’ box, there it was, plain as day – Keiran Knightley.

Sonnie made a quick note to kill herself as soon as she got home.

“Change it back,” she hissed, a sound that could’ve seduced an anaconda. She leaned towards the trembling clerk, her massive bulk blotting out the fluorescent light. “Put. Me. Back.”

“I, I can’t,” he whimpered, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to cry, “The-the mental st-stabalisers, it’s not safe, you, you can’t ch-ch-change m-more than once a week.”

Sonnie suddenly felt weak. “I can’t be like this for a week!”

“I’m sorry.”

The world was spinning. “No,” she gasped, gulping in huge lungfuls of air, “I can’t be like this for a week!” Her knees shook and she had to hold onto the counter with her canned-ham arms.

For a few moments the clinic was deadly quiet save for her ragged breathing.

“Would you like some clothes?” cringed the clerk.

***

Two hours later, a six-foot-five, two-hundred and fifty-pound black man sat in a teenage girl’s bedroom and sobbed hysterically into her Hello Kitty bedspread.

“It’s all ruined!” she wailed, tears leaking out from behind hands the size of dinner plates, “I can’t- hic- oh God look at me! I can’t go to prom like this!”

Sonnie’s boyfriend Kevin, now occupying the body of Orlando Bloom, tried to keep the despair from his rugged face. “It’s okay,” he lied, not particularly convincingly, “It’ll… it’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” howled Sonnie, “How will it be fine Kevin? Are you fucking kidding me, how will this be fine!”

“We’ll just say it was on purpose!” he shouted, throwing up his beautifully sculpted arms, “We’re doing a thing, like making a statement, like, gay pride!”

“I don’t want fucking gay pride Kevin!” Sonnie cried, “I want us! I wanted it be perfect! Just one perfect night!” She moaned and curled up on the bed, clutching the pink comforter to her chest in a hug that probably could have asphyxiated an antelope. “Ohhh, I was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be our first time!”

“It still can be!” Kevin replied, although with marked unenthusiasm. Sonnie let out a wet scoff.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She let go of the comforter and sat up, glaring swords. “Look at me. Look at me! I have a bigger penis than you!”

Orlando-Kevin’s face flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with my penis now!” he cried, and began unzipping his trousers to pull out Legolas’s dong, “Look!”

“Oh stop, put it away!” Sonnie cried, and sunk once more to sob uncontrollably into Hello Kitty’s midriff. Halfway exposed, Kevin reluctantly re-zipped himself, then stood around uncomfortably while his now-black now-boyfriend continued to weep.

“There’s other ways to fix it,” he said, uncomfortable, averting his gaze, “You don’t even have to go, what if you stay here and motion-capture a hologram instead?”

“A hologram.” Sonnie paused her crying to look up at him with an expression of venomous disgust. “So not only will the whole school know I’m ugly, but they’ll think I’m poor too?!”

“Holograms aren’t just for poor people!” he tried, but the argument was half-hearted. Sonnie leant her giant black head back and released a loud anguished moan.

“Fat Sonnie Chu,” she wailed, “Ugly and lazy and stupid and poor! Oh God I can hear them now, they’re all going to laugh at me, fucking Jessica Johnson and her fucking skanks, oh God why is this happening to me, why is this happening!”

“Because you chose the wrong name from a drop-down box?” Kevin snapped. Sonnie glared at him.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

“Oh God,” moaned Sonnie, burying her head in her hands. Orlando-Kevin rolled his eyes and strode out of the bedroom. The thud of his feet descending the stairs was followed by the sound of the front door swinging open and sudden squeals of excitement, then the distant tones of conversation. Sonnie listened glumly as several sets of footsteps traipsed back up the stairs towards her.

“Oh my God, honey,” lamented Julie the moment she entered. The skinny brunette swooped down over Sonnie’s bed and placed a small hand on each of her enormous shoulders. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, this is awful!” She leant in, trying and failing to wrap her arms around Sonnie’s enormous chest. “What happened? Is there anything we can do?” Behind her, Jake, Noni and Orlando-Kevin trailed into the room, the first two looking appropriately sombre.

“No,” Sonnie grumbled, “I’m stuck like this. The fucking BodEz guy screwed up.”

“Oh God, that’s the worst!” She pulled back from the hug and stared at Sonnie, her mouth set in pity. “I can’t believe they’d do this to you! And two days before prom!”

She wasn’t stuttering at all, Sonnie noticed.

“You guys all went okay then?” she asked glumly. She didn’t really need to ask for Noni – her skin looked as clean and clear as porcelain, the micro-hologram emitters sitting as studs in her earlobes hiding any visible trace of acne. The three newcomers nodded.

“You’ve still got a bit of a limp though,” she said to Jake. The short dark-haired boy nodded, turning slightly red as he leant on the doorframe.

“I only got the Disco Package uploaded,” he informed her, “It won’t kick in until I start dancing.”

“Yeah but then you’ll show everyone,” enthused Orlando-Kevin, and the pair of them exchanged grins. “Want to see my dick?”

“I’m fine,” cooed Julie, her words flawlessly enunciated. Sonnie could just make out the small wireless device implanted behind her temple, but if you weren’t looking for it you’d never notice the implant, or that her words were actually being spoken by a voice coach in the Philippines. “And honey, you’re going to fine too, there has to be a way, we can fix this.”

“How?” said Sonnie, choking up once more with tears, “How can we fix this? Look at me Julie. Fucking look at me.” Her lips trembled. “I’d already altered my dress.”

Julie and Noni both moved beside her and together managed to give Sonnie’s enormous frame a unified hug as she descended into a fresh round of sobs. Over in the corner, Kevin and Jake were chortling, Kevin’s pants around his ankles.

“Hey Sonnie,” said Jake, looking up from Orlando-Kevin’s proud new dong, “I hear you’ve got a huge dick.”

“Shut up Jake,” snapped Julie, as Sonnie’s howling intensified, “Don’t be an asshole. Don’t listen to him sweetie,” she reassured her, patting Sonnie on her enormous back, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t matter what you look like, okay? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

The five of them exchanged glances.

“Yeah,” hiccupped Sonnie, “Totally.”

Dear Diary

It wasn’t just me. I left my things in my locker and Seth walked towards me. Only thing is, that wasn’t Seth. I mean I knew that was Seth, his huge smile was unmistakable and his eyes were as bug-eyed as ever. But his red hair was long and it flowed down until it was at elbow length. It impossible to ignore softer features and his airy voice.

Then out of nowhere, came Oak. He also looked different but he just as unmistakable. His long narrow nose and dimples couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else, and yet they did. Like Seth his hair was inanely long and his features were finer. But what stunned me most was that Oak’s deep and gravelly voice was replaced by a high-pitched thin voice. Seth and Oak talked to me about the usual things we talked about sports, our crazy ideas and girls. Well we didn’t talk about girls, we talked about boys. I mean we were definitely talking about the girls but Seth and Oak weren’t describing them as girls. I was dumbstruck. I actually didn’t know what to do. Suddenly Seth punched me in the arm and pointed towards the end of the hall. Samantha was walking towards me with her usual smirk. As always, she was beautiful, except like Seth, Like Oak and like me, she had changed. I’m not going to describe it this time, she was unquestionably a guy. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her except I wanted her in a different way. Before today, every time I saw Sam, I just wanted her, but today I felt sick. My stomach felt jittery.

Sam stopped in from of me and ran her fingers through my long jet-black hair. She leaned and kissed me on the cheek then walked away. It felt strange that it felt good. Sam was a guy and I like girls, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it. It definitely didn’t stop Seth and Oak from enjoying it. Almost instantly they both started giggling. I told them to shut up and we headed towards class. As always, I sat in the middle of the classroom with both Seth and Oak on either side of me. Class started as usual and me and my buddies talked the entire time. It felt different but absolutely nothing had changed. Well…everything changed but for a split second it felt like it didn’t. I mean, my friends were the same and the people around me were the same, I was the same. The only thing that changed were our genitals.

I realized how easy it was, that is, until I felt strange. I started feeling uncomfortable in my lower stomach. I decided to ignore it but then I started feeling dizzy and even slightly nauseated. Class ended and I went to the bathroom. For some reason, my underwear was drenched. Did I pee myself? I don’t get it. I reached down and my hands were stained with blood. I let out a scream which almost made Oak drop his compact. He told me to relax and passed me some sort of cottony material shaped like a giant plaster. I went to the bathroom and almost threw up when I saw my underwear. Seth asked me to hurry up and I almost lost it. How in god’s name was I supposed to hurry up when one of the holes from my body was leaking blood. I didn’t even have this hole yesterday but I took care of my business and left the bathroom with Seth and Oak. I wasn’t feeling well. I had to change the big plaster stuck to my underwear every three hours and I wasn’t okay with that. I was over it. I was over being a girl.