I admit the whole situation had me just a little bit confused. I was going to die in this alley. No confusion about that.

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Not sure anyone will appreciate my lame attempt at a story honestly, but I figure I read enough on here that I'd like to give something back. This is my first attempt at a story, it's pretty short, and I figure I made some mistakes that I didn't catch, so please go easy on me. I also don't know how to paste this here and get my italics or indentations to show up, so my apologies in advance.

JL

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Shortcut: A Soliloquy on the Edge

I admit he whole situation had me just a little bit confused. I was going to die in this alley. No confusion about that. It was more the details that just won't line up in my head, probably because someone is working on caving it in. How do you rape someone and beat them to death at the same time anyway? I guess one of them rapes you while the other one works you over. I shouldn't even be awake. Someone pushes you past the point of agony, and you are supposed to pass out, right? Every movie I ever saw and every book I ever read, and I can't even do that right. So, I'm awake while I wait to die. Can't even feel the pain anymore, but I can kind of hear the one guy talking, not really what he's saying, but from the cadence I figure he's still chanting "fucking faggot". I wonder if he's the one raping me, or the one making sure I won't be around after the other one is done. Doesn't really matter I guess, half of one plus fifty percent of the other still equals I'm dead. The worst part is, on top of all these other thoughts, I can't stop telling myself that I knew this was a fucking bad idea.

I guess an explanation is in order right? I mean, none of this I'm gonna die shit really matters with out context right? I'm Christopher Michael Davies and I've got issues. Above and beyond the whole currently dieing in an alley one I mean. I live with my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Devout Baptist Davies in Kansas City, Missouri. No, that's not their real names, but they wish it was. For those of you who are lucky enough to live somewhere outside of it, Missouri is part of a area whimsically referred to by some as the Bible Belt, but prefer to think of it as hell. I mean, it could be worse I guess, at least it isn't Nashville, right? I figure if there is a hell, and I figure there's not by the way, then it's the only place with more Baptist ministers than Nashville. So KC beats a few alternatives, I could be stuck in Tulsa after all. All things considered, I'll take dieing in KC over either of those choices I guess. I'd really rather not be dieing at all. Oh god, I'm just fucking kid, and this is so not right!

Sorry, I mean I'm trying not to think about it, but it's hard to do, even if I can't feel it. Just bear with me. I'll tell you as much of my story as I can before I, well before I can't. The whole "Oh god" thing, don't really pay any attention to that. If you grew up in the Bible Belt it's just one of those things that's part of your vocabulary. Belief in god not required, you will "Oh god!" and "Jesus Christ!" along with the rest of them anyway. So Baptists, crazy as I think they are, most of the congregations have this rule about religious freedom. It's just about the only thing I like about them. What it means is that my parents can't pressure me to be a Baptist, or even a Christian. Oh, they can be disappointed in my choice, and let me know it, but neither one will come right out and say "we'll love you again if you accept Jesus as your savior". Since I finally told them straight out that I wasn't buying they just kind of pretend I don't exist, and I do my best to make sure they don't have to notice me. Dad's a deacon in the Southern Baptist Church, and a lawyer. That is seriously the way he says it too. Deacon first, lawyer second. I like to add the silent father last in my head. My mom, she volunteers a lot, and spends my dad's money. They both seem happy with the arrangement. Me, I figure it could be worse. I have a bank account that a percentage of my dads paychecks goes into. Crazy money for a kid my age, but I have to live off of it. Food, clothes, entertainment, whatever I want, but I have to take care of it, and if I want to talk to my parents, I pretty much have to arrange to see them. Like seriously arrange, call them to see when or if they'll be in for a minute. Mostly I just don't bother. I haven't seen either of them since before the school year started. We used to have maids when I was little, more like nannies, but my parents always called them "the maid", and as soon as I was old enough to ride a MAX bus and keep myself fed they got replaced with a cleaning service. So ya, I pretty much take care of myself, and my parents pretty much forget about me unless I have to remind them for some reason.

I'm fifteen years old. I figured out what was wrong with me and decided god didn't exist seven or eight years ago. You can only fall asleep praying to wake up a girl, and wake up crying instead so many times before you figure nobodies listening I guess. Took me another four or five years to tell my parents though. Not about the whole gender queer as fuck thing, but about the whole exercising my religious freedom thing. Coincidentally that kind of coincided with the maids disappearing and them not giving a shit what I did anymore. I mean, I moved my room to the guest room over the garage, with the mini kitchen and the separate entry two years ago, I'm not sure they've noticed yet. So like I said, they never come right out and say it, but you do the math.

So, ya, the girl thing. Look, I don't know if it's a psychosis or if it's actually something broken in my brain, but it's real for me. I'm not stupid, I have a computer, I know what it's called, I know all the options, etc. that you can pursue. The thing is, a lot of those options kind of require you either be legally able to make your own decisions, or have parents who will sign off on the right things. As opposed to signing off on the wrong things, and they can get plenty wrong. Now, me and my parents may be practically strangers, but lets just say that my father doesn't bother to hide his opinion about "those people", and by those people he means basically anyone who isn't him, although he'll give people who are practically him the benefit of the doubt. My mother may be a lousy parent, but she is all Baptist when it comes to honoring her husband, so it's not like I could expect any support there.

There are good things though. I mean, no supervision, adequate funds, and I managed to escape from Baptist private school hell. When I graduated the eighth grade, I just filled out the forms for a public high school near my house, and then left them on my dad's desk. He just signed them and sent them in, not a word to me about it. Nicest thing he ever did for me.

High school was indescribable. I'll try, but I'm not sure you can appreciate what it was like going from the inner circle of hell, to a shady corner with less brimstone. I mean sure school sucks you know? It's boring, it's easy as all fuck, and you are required to be there. What's there to like right? People who I didn't hate mostly. I managed to go through seven years of school, and eight grades in the hell hole my parents put me in with out finding anyone I wanted to be around. I had acquaintances you know? People who I could sit next to at lunch but I don't remember ever having a real friend before my freshman year of high school when I met Janet. It was the first day, and I was basically in shock right? I mean sure, rich upper class public school district, but there were more than three black kids in this school. There aren't any school uniforms, and the dress code is so lax that I think a few of the teachers at my old school would have had a panic attack at the front door. And me, I don't stick out like Robert Smith at a Mormon prayer meeting in the first time in I don't know how long.

My old school, I teetered on the edge of the personal appearance rules as much as I could, but I stayed inside the line. Any time the school had to talk to my parents meant they were reminded of my existence, and I've already said how I felt about that. But my dyed black hair and hipster anti-haircut weren't even mildly extreme here. The weirdest thing about my appearance was that I was wearing khakis and a polo shirt. I put them on with out thinking that morning. Guess I just equated them with school. So I'm looking around trying to figure out where to go when somebody taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I'm lost. I turn around and there's Janet, a perfect little post-punk princess gone bad.
-Hi, I'm Janet.
-Uh, Chris.
-What kind of a name is Uh Chris?
Nobody I've ever met smirks as well as Janet does. I swear she loads more mischief into that facial expression than anyone has a right to.
-The Uh willfully misunderstood kind?
-Oh, cute. Who's your homeroom teacher?
-Mr. Hancroft, and I have no idea where to go.
-Me too, and either. Um, we'll look together?
We walked side by side down the hall and were pretty much inseparable from that moment on. She introduced me to her friends she grew up with, and was the first person to ever ask me if I had a boyfriend with out meaning it as an insult. She's my best friend and me dieing is gonna break her heart, and that just makes it even worse. She's the first person I ever came out to about being rather dysphoric regarding my y chromosome, and she just laughed it off and said her gaydar must not be trans sensitive. She's the one who joined the gay straight alliance with me. She dragged me into the local GLBT center for the first time. She gave me the courage to talk to a counselor, and start hormone therapy. I mean, illegal hormone therapy, mostly anti-androgens and low doses of estrogen, but enough to keep me from turning into something I couldn't live with. She's the one who told me you can't come out of a closet if everyone already thinks you're gay. She's my family in a way that my parents never, ever were. God Janet, I'm so sorry for this. I don't want to do this to you. Please forgive me, oh god, it's getting so fucking cold.

I'm not sure. I. There not many clothes left in my closet. Not that I look much like boy if there were. I mean boy clothes, not like my parents are going to notice. Just a stupid shortcut, and I knew I shouldn't have gone. I mean, Janet wouldn't have gone to the way down. Knew better stupid! I'm uh, dressed pretty normal, too pretty normal maybe they'd stop. But figure they beat me to death cause I'm not a girl, once they saw, not both though. Jesus Christ it's fucking cold, and I'm soooo sorry Janet but I don't think I'm sorry. I mean I am, but I'm just, oh god...I...