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Dana DeYoung

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Dana DeYoung

If I Stop Breathing

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  • New Author
  • DanaDeYoung

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  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

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  • StrangeFellows Day - Too Long - 15k to 50k words

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  • 7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

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  • Transgender

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  • College / Twenties

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  • Language or Cultural Change

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  • Prostitution

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The fictional account of a transsexual porn star and prostitute. Story about how she came to be where she is. I've recently re-edited it to include new parts of the story. Please note this is not erotica, but only contains those elements.

Here’s the thing- anal sex doesn’t hurt, at least not after the one hundredth time you’ve had it done to you. By now, at the age of twenty-two, I am so used to it that it’s about as painful and excruciating as a game of bridge. I just smile, breathe heavy, and pretend that I’m really into it so that all the Johnny Jackass’s out there will blow their loads and I can get paid.

It’s funny though, looking back on it. When I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I never dreamed I would be would be living in a run down shit hole in the shadow of the city of Angels, hustling the street for tricks, dodging the cops and gang bangers, and whoring myself out to a variety of camera lenses in a thousand hotel rooms and other “exotic” locations. No child ever says that; I think I said I wanted to be a nurse.

But life throws sucker punches, and the only thing that keeps me sane is that I know we’re all just pawns in some perverted game of chess and that nothing we do is a result of our own actions. I think if it were, I would have ended it long ago, because I never chose to end up here. I just did.

Right now, even as I think these things, a hairy Latino man by the name of Julio is behind me, thrusting himself deep within me. I’ve done work with Julio before, and he knows his way around my body. I think in another life we could actually have been lovers. He has a soft touch, his kisses are tender, and he’s different from a lot of men I’ve worked with because he’s kind to me, unlike so many who just blow and go.
But yet he goes on, in and out, back and forth, while I let out a scripted moan and the camera men eat this up. I desperately long for it to be over, but I know it will go on for a while. The worst thing about people who’ve been in the business for a few years is that they know how to control themselves, as opposed to the John’s I pick up on the street who usually lose it after a minute or so.

A wave of nausea suddenly washes over me. I feel faint and my mouth is as dry as the Mojave Desert. I tremble as old memories flash before my eyes- my parents, my brothers, and my whole dreadful childhood. I desperately need a hit of that sweet sugar to cleanse my head of those images.

The camera lights flash. Our images are captured electronically, as Julio reaches around me and begins to slowly massage my genitals. My moan this time is real-I feel a brief moment of pleasure. I can’t remember the last time I had sex for love, or if I ever truly have. It’s one of the many nasty side effects this business has on you. Sex becomes just another job, like making refrigerators or tracking stocks. After a while the last thing you want to do is procreate with anyone, and you sell that piece of your humanity for of a few dollars. Plus the profusion of hormones I ingest has taken their toll on my sexual function as well.

Time ticks by as I feel Julio build to climax. I arch my ass higher in the air and lay my head down on the bed in an erotic act of submission. His big bulky hands press against my shoulder muscles as he forcefully holds me in place. Julio raises, thrusts, and leans into me as we couple like a pair of high school wrestlers, then he stops, breathes in deep, and slowly lets it out. I know he’s spent. Thank God.
Julio pulls out and I roll to my back and look back at Big Bill O’Grady, who is producing this little love fest. Big Bill is in this business because he couldn’t find any woman who will willingly lay his fat ass. Like a rattlesnake that feeds off desert rats, Big Bill preys on us chicks that have no self-esteem or dignity in order to satisfy his hunger. Bill is as fat as he is disgusting. He rarely shaves, he has nasty, tobacco stained teeth, and smells like a boys locker room after gym class. Bill also goes everywhere with a camera — it’s his delusion that he’s God’s gift to erotic cinema.

“Good job, Miranda, you’re such a tasty piece of ass; it’s no wonder we get so many hits on our site.”

I say nothing and wait for him to leave, wait for them all to leave.

“Hey senorita,” Julio calls. “You wanna come to thees party, see where we end up?”

“Another time, Julio,” I said. Translation: Fuck off, Julio.

I’ve been doing this a lot lately. I’ve noticed I’ve become more and more antisocial. If it had been two years ago, I probably would have gone out with him to some club, gotten trashed, and gotten laid. But these are different times. My soul is tired, my body has been used up, and it’s getting harder and harder just to make it to the end of each day. Somehow I manage.

“Hey, Bill, if it’s all the same to you I’d like to stay here tonight.”

“Sure, we have the room until tomorrow morning. Just make sure to be here in case I get hungry.”

I look down at the floor than back at his fat face.

“Sure, I’ll be here.”

“That’s my girl.”

I figured I don’t have to worry so much about Bill; I know he will spend the rest of the day on location at another set, then in the evening go back to his homemade studio to work on the editing. By the time he gets finished he’ll smoke a jay and drink until he passes out. Besides he has to be as flaccid as an ex-president, anyway.

I reach down to the floor, grab my panties, and pull them on. I grab my t-shirt and pull it over my bare, firm breasts, and wait for the crew to leave my hotel room.
One by one they all leave and I draw the curtains, submerging the room in near darkness. I walk over to my duffel bag that holds my few belongings and pull out what I need; my fix, my escape from a brutal past and a future without hope. I pour the white powder into the spoon I brought with me and begin to cook it with a cigarette lighter, the sweet sugar bubbling and melting. I suck it up with the syringe. When I finish I put the remainder of the powder back with the rest of my belongings and toss the burnt spoon into the bathroom sink. I toss my soft brown hair back, extend my arm, and shoot life back into my veins. I pull the needle out and let it roll onto the floor as a wave of euphoria begins to wash over me. The pain I have been carrying deep in my soul seems to melt away, and all my scars heal. I feel free; I feel whole.

I am back in the sunshine of my early youth, playing with a friend of mine, absolutely unaware of the nightmare years of my coming adolescence. My skin feels warm, that kind of relaxing warmth you only feel when you’re covered up with heavy blankets on a cold winter day. My arms and legs feel heavy as lead as I fall back against the mattress and slowly begin to fade from consciousness.

Miranda isn’t my real name; I’ve also gone by Jasmine, Candy, Cindy, Alexis, and Bambi, depending on where I was and who was asking. I don’t carry I.D. It makes it too easy for the cops if I get arrested, and other than that, most people don’t ask questions. If the truth has to be told, my real name is Mark Llewellyn, but when I die all they’ll do is put me in a cheap casket and bury me beneath a small sign that simply reads “Jane Doe.” Then everyone will simply forget that I ever existed.

My parents, Robert and Judy Llewellyn, think I’m dead. It is just as well, because they wouldn’t look at me even if they knew I was alive. Robert and Judy are residents in the chiefly hypocritical town of State Center, Iowa. The towns name is as it says; the city sits more or less in the center of the vast agricultural wasteland that is Iowa. State Center isn’t much more than an oasis of trees and houses lost off a lonely stretch of highway 30. The town calls itself the Rose Capital of Iowa, which is strange, because I don’t recall a lot of people growing roses.

Like most small towns, the people of State Center are so mind-numbingly backwards that when a beef processing plant lobbied to open there to help save the towns economy, the residents rejected it because they didn’t want an influx of Hispanics moving to their safe, little white village. Most people in State Center come in two flavors: the lifers and the runners. The lifers are those sad people whose sit and wait to die like the town that surrounds them, and whose world ends at the city limits. The runners are mostly kids, looking to escape the bonds of State Center to a place with lot more excitement and a lot less corn.

In a sense, my parents belong in that town. Especially Robert, who has built this perfect image within the community as a hard-working, church-going family man. But his perfect image is all just a hollow charade, and it ended as soon as he walked in the doors of our quaint little two-story, three bedroom home and began to drink.
As I made my way to California, I passed through to a lot of small towns like State Center, where the people either eye you suspiciously for being an outsider, or smile politely and make friendly conversation and as soon as your back is turned, tear you down brick by brick.

But even while I was living in State Center, Robert and I never got along. It’s not easy to love a man who runs his family like a boot camp. In a way, my older brothers Zach and David had it better. They were the ones who were the rough and tumble, naturally athletic, mischievous boys that every father is proud of. Me? I was just the sissy boy that causes most fathers to wish that their wives had just given them head on the night of conception.

Oh, Robert tried to get me to do manly things; until I was twelve, he ritualistically forced me to play baseball. I can still remember running in from the outfield in tears because the sun had burnt my soft skin. It didn’t help the fact that I couldn’t hit, run, or catch a ball. One day when I was ten, after I inevitably struck out and caused our team to lose a crucial game, Robert declared that no son of his would be a loser. Angrily he took me home, stood me in the back yard, placed a bat and my hand and proceeded to hurl baseballs in my direction as fast as he could throw them.

It was a pathetic sight to see, Robert screaming at me while I swung aimlessly at the bullets he chucked at me.

“Keep your eyes on the ball. No, no, choke up on the bat. Goddamn it, this isn’t fucking rocket science; just fucking try to hit the goddamn thing.”
The next thing I knew he rocketed a ball straight at me. I flinched. Tucked my head and tried to get out of the way of the hurtling sphere. Had I not been wearing the practice helmet he bought for me last Christmas, he probably would have killed me that day. But as fate would have it, the baseball struck the ear guard and knocked me to the ground. The blow rung my ears and left me disoriented. In retrospect, it didn’t hurt that bad, but I began to cry nevertheless. Robert just stood there, folded his arms and spit on the ground.

“Suck it up. Be a man, not a baby. You little wuss.” He threw his glove and walked back in the house, leaving me bawling on the ground.

That was the first time I realized he didn’t care about me. For as long as I could recall, he never took pride in anything I did. I loved to draw as a kid. I was actually good at it, but he would only take my work, look disapprovingly at it, and say something like, “Art is for girls, boys don’t draw.”

Still, something inside me kept waiting for the day when I could see it in his eyes, or for him to actually say he was proud of me. But it never happened, and as I laid there covered in tears and mucus I realized it never would.

By the time I was eleven, Robert had developed new and inventive ways to make my life miserable. He would often goad my brothers into tormenting me or try to get me to fight them.

“C’mon, he’s pushing you. What are you going to do about it? Fight back, be a man. Stand up for yourself. God you’re pathetic.” All my brothers had to do was degrade me and they instantly had the approval from Robert I had endlessly tried to win. There was one time I tried to fight back. Zach had been pushing me repeatedly at the Robert’s primal urgings. I snapped, charged at him, and tried to throw a roundhouse punch at his face. He was bigger than me, and my little punch landed softly on his chest. Zach stood there for a second, looked at me and pushed me by my sternum, sending me flying across the room.

But even though Zach tormented me, I could feel that he was at odds with what he was doing to me. It often seemed like he wore a mask whenever Robert was near, he would be the son Robert wanted him to be, loud, obnoxious, rough and totally uncaring for anyone but himself. But when Robert wasn’t around he shed his mask. He was quieter, more reserve. What’s more, he didn’t pick on me as much. As Zach got older, he gradually began to withdraw himself from the family. He would spend the nights at his friends’ houses, or stay in his room away from the rest of us.

David could care less about me, or anyone else for that mater. He would often wreck my room and sometimes break my toys. Four years older than me and fully indoctrinated in Robert’s Nazi machoism, he would openly make fun of me whenever he had the chance. Each time his childish comments tore my heart to pieces.

“Hey Mark, fagsayswhat?”

“What?”

“Exactly, Fag.”

“Hey Lil’ Fag.” His affectionate nickname for me. “What do you and hockey have in common? Neither of you have any balls.”

Life was already hard enough for me, yet my family felt the urge to make it even harder. I didn’t have any friends in school. Most of the boys were miniature versions of Robert and my brothers, who took great pride in teasing and publicly humiliating me. Most of the girls ignored me because I wasn’t one of them, but there were a few of them that got a kick out of calling me a sissy and a queer.

And where was Judy through all of this? Where was the sweet woman who had given birth to me? She was usually halfway through a bottle of Southern Comfort. She drank to ease the pain and forget her horrible life. Judy had once been a Miss Iowa contestant; in her youth, she was tall and slender with natural blonde hair and stunning emerald green eyes. But those days were long behind her. Her face was now wrinkled and saggy; her body the shape of a spoiling pear; and her golden hair now thinning and gray. She was the brutal victims of alcohol, cigarettes, childbirth and time.

I think in many ways Robert blamed her for my existence. He often yelled at her because of the things I did that didn’t jive with his idea of how a boy should act. It only got worse as I got older. Their fights escalated from a war of words into an all-out living room brawl.

“You just had to have another kid, and look what that got us; well as soon as that little sissy is eighteen, he’s out of here,” I overheard him say to her one night.

“He’s not a sissy, He’s just a little shy, that’s all.”

“Shy? Huh, he’s nothing but an out-and-out wuss, and it all your fault. You smothered him too much when he was a kid.”

“I didn’t do anything different than I did with the other boys.”

“No, you’re right; I guess it’s genetic because he obviously gets his uselessness from you.”

“He’s not useless, and if he is he picked it up from your lazy no good…”
The smack that followed seemed to stop time, its loud sharp echo still rings vividly in my head. I could hear her cry through the walls in my room. It was far from the first time he had hit her, but it was the first time that I knew he did it to her because of me.

Then Robert began to isolate me. As soon as he discovered that Judy had some affection left for me, it didn’t take long for him to drive it out of her, so that she ultimately gave up on my defense. She learned when to shut up, because as soon as she tried to open her mouth, Robert would close it for her. I know Judy had once loved me. I can still vaguely remember her teaching me to ride my bike when I was seven, or how she would laugh and smile when I would help her make cookies when I was four, or how she would proudly display my art work on the refrigerator. But by the time I was fourteen, I figured she had come to resent me, because I made Robert come down on her. Even if I truly had nothing to do with whatever problems Robert was having, he always found a way to blame me and take his frustration out on her.

Gradually, she stopped speaking with me. She did her best to avoid me by staying well-hidden behind an alcoholic fog. Judy’s silence was a like a knife to my heart. I once had a mother, someone who loved me, and now I truly had no one. I was trapped and alone, a prisoner in my own home.

Even though Robert ridiculed me and made my life a living hell, he never laid a hand on me, at least not until that last night.

It was the July just between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, and I was tired and exhausted from a hard day’s work. Robert’s latest endeavor to try to make me into a man was for me to get a job. Since I was only fifteen, the only type of work I could get was detasseling, which is an excruciatingly difficult job of walking down endless rows of corn in the hot July sun and pulling the reproductive stalks out of the corn plants. The worst part about it was that after I had gone to bed for the night, I dreamed I was back in the fields detasseling and as soon as I woke up, I had to go right back to it. It seemed like there was no escape. I had been doing this non-stop for the last two weeks, and looking back on it now, I can almost say that there are jobs worse than streetwalking.

That night, as the sun was sinking lower in the sky. Robert and Judy were half-passed out in front of the TV. Zach was out for the evening, so I seized my chance to dress up. I had been secretly wearing Judy’s clothing for the better part of a year and a half, at first just borrowing little things like her panties, bras, and pantyhose. But as the months passed, those no longer sufficed, and I began to borrow whole outfits whenever I got the chance. I knew I could get away with borrowing her lingerie for a few days, but anything more than that I could only take for a few minutes to an hour at a time. Every time I had to return her things it felt as if someone kicked me in the stomach. When whole weeks passed and without having the chance to dress up, and I would silently go crazy inside of myself.

The thing is that I had always felt that I was a girl, when I was three I remember looking at Robert and my brothers and knowing I was not like them. They were mean, and I wasn’t; they were rough and dirty and I was soft and clean. My brothers wanted to be football players or policemen when they grew up. I just wanted to be a mommy and be able to have babies.

But that evening as I walked into Robert and Judy’s bedroom, I felt an uneasy chill. I didn’t know why at the time, but as I stood there I shook briefly like a cold breeze blew past me. I opened Judy’s drawers and began to select my outfit for the evening. I picked out a white frilly satin blouse with a long polyester black skirt, nude control top pantyhose, and matching black bra and panties. The only thing I couldn’t get were heels. By that time I had out grown Judy’s shoes by two sizes. As I left Robert and Judy’s room, I tucked my bounty underneath my shirt to keep it away from any prying eyes that might be watching.

Quickly I walked back into my room, shut the door quietly and stripped out of my everyday clothing. As I stood there naked, I took a quick look in the mirror. I couldn’t stand what nature was doing to me; I could see dark brown hairs begin to grow above my lips, my muscles were beginning to bulk and firm up from all the field work I had been doing, and I could hear my voice begin to crack to unnaturally deep octaves. I wanted to cry. Nature was forcing me to become the one thing I couldn’t stand to be. A man.

I looked away from the mirror and started to dress. I knew that I had to be quick, finish, and return Judy’s clothes because I could hear movement downstairs. I pulled the panties onto my waist first and then fumbled with the bra and only managed to get one of the clasps hooked. I pulled the blouse around my broad shoulders and quickly buttoned it, then pulled the skirt up around my waist. I did the panty hose last. I was always afraid I’d cause a runner in them and they’d know I’d worn her things.

Carefully I got them on, even though there was still a good length bunched up around my feet.

I took a walk around my room and twirled a couple of times in the skirt, letting it twist and furl around my long, albeit hairy, nylon covered legs. I came back to the mirror and looked at myself again, and my heart sank. I looked like a boy in a dress. But somewhere deep in the reflection of my clear blue eyes I could still see the girl within me screaming ’LET ME OUT’. I needed to be a girl more than anything in the whole wide world, but it seemed like I would be forever trapped in this masculine prison.

Deep in my frustration I walked over to my bed and fished for the coffee can I had hidden under there. When I had located it I pulled open the lid and removed the newspaper I used to cover my hidden treasure. I pulled out a tube of cherry red lipstick; I looked back down in the can at the rest of my bounty, burgundy nail polish, mascara, and some rouge blush. All of this I had bought piece by piece at Eldon’s Thrift Store, with the excuse that it was for my mother or a present for my girlfriend.

I knew I was wasting precious time, but I didn’t care. They could all go to hell as far as I was concerned. I needed to be free, I needed to be the girl that I was. I grabbed the blush and lipstick and walked back over to the mirror and began to coat my lips in red. I didn’t have a make up brush; instead I used my fingers to apply the blush to my oily face. I looked terrible, and faced with my frustrations I took the mirror off the wall and turned it around so I wouldn’t have to see my hideous reflection staring back at me.

I returned to my bed, laid down and closed my eyes and pretended that I was in some other reality. It was homecoming and I was voted the homecoming queen. Guys lined up and competed for my hand, and all the girls were envious of my natural beauty. Scott Fisher, a senior and the school’s star running back, asked me to the dance. Our bodies embraced as we danced to the soft, sensuous music. My breasts pressed firmly against his chest and I felt his sweet breath against my lips as he leaned in to kiss me, deeply, passionately. After the dance we went back to his place, his parents weren’t home and he kept the lights dim. We continue our loving embrace and he kisses me up and down my neck as I moan softly. His steady and careful hands reach behind me and unzip my dress; I lay back and let him slip it off of me. Half naked I pull him into me and he fumbles with the clasps on my bra, but he unhooks it and pulls it off my chest, exposing my soft milky white breasts. His hands caress my breasts carefully as he slowly moves his hands down my waist to my panties and…

“Hey I thought I told you to mow the lawn, hurry up it’s getting…” Robert says as he walks in my room and stares at the sight before him.

My fantasy was broken and I was sent hurtling back into the real world, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must have looked to him, me laying on my bed smeared in makeup and wearing Judy’s clothes, with her skirt hiked up around my waist and my cock in my hand.

Robert was aghast, but I could tell he was hardly surprised.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? No son of mine is ever going to be a fucking queer.” He stormed over to me and pulled me up by my forearm. “You’re a fucking disgrace, you know that? You’re a disgrace to this family! You were born a disgrace, and you’ll die a disgrace.”

“Hey, at least, I’m not some sad pathetic prick who batters his wife because he can’t get it up.”

He backhanded me and I fell down.

“You think that’s funny, do you? Do you think I’m a pathetic prick now? What’s the matter? Is the little sissy going to cry again? You pathetic piece of shit,” he said as he delivered several quick punches to my face.

“I’ve had it with you! You’re done, get the fuck out of my house, you goddamn queer.”

He picked me up again and I practically flew out of my room. When we reached the stairs, he turned and let go of me. My momentum continued I realized it was too late to stop myself from falling. I landed five stairs down on my elbow and continued ass over end until I reached the bottom. The pain was sharp and intense, but somehow I managed not to break any bones. I must have laid there for at least a minute, eyes closed, the tears silently streaming from my face. When I looked back up I saw Robert standing there holding the .22 he kept in his night stand.

I didn’t wait to see what he was going to do with the gun, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me out the front door. I could hear him scream the words that still vividly echo in my skull today.

“That’s right, you run, you little punk. If you ever come back around here again, I’ll not only kill you and dump you in a ditch, but I’ll kill that bitch of a woman for every bringing a little faggot like you into this world.”

I ran into the muggy July evening, still wearing Judy’s clothes. I ran past Zach who had just returned home in his car. His mouth hung open as I ran past him.
I ran as fast and as hard as I could, through people’s lawns, down empty streets and into the city park praying no one would see me. I sat winded beneath the park’s awning, surrounded by nearly a half dozen empty picnic tables as I stopped to catch my breath. My body seethed in agony as the adrenaline rush slowly wore off, my face was tender and bruised from Roberts repeated blows, and my left eye kept watering and was hard to keep open.

I didn’t know what to do, I had no place to go and I had no friends or family that would take me in. I would die tonight I thought, I would have to somehow hitchhike over to Ames where I would either drown myself in the South Skunk River or throw myself off an overpass into oncoming traffic.

Why did no one love me? What had I done to deserve this hell? I couldn’t help who I was, I never asked to be born a boy, and I never asked to have such a shitty family. I must have done something to piss God off in a previous life, why else was he making me suffer so?

Slowly the sun set and the stars came out. I don’t know how long I sat there underneath that awning; time didn’t seem to be real anymore. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear someone come up to me.

“Hey, Mark, is that you?” It was my brother Zach.

“Yeah, what the hell do you want? You’ve come to take your shot at me too?” I didn’t look back at him.

“No I came to find you? What the hell is going on?”
“What does it look like? Dad’s throwing me out of the house; he said if I ever go back he would kill me and Mom.”

“Why?”

“Do I really need to draw you a picture?”

He paused for a second as he gave me the once over, “No, I guess not.”

“Good, now will you leave me alone so I can die in peace?”

“No I won’t, come on you’re coming with me.”

“Fuck that, why would I want to go with you?”

“Because I’m going to get you out of this place.”

“And just where are you going to take me huh, you heard what I said I can’t go back home, and I got no place left to go.”

“I don’t know; Mark let’s just get the fuck out of here, all right? Just come with me and get in my car before anyone else sees you. It’s all right, you can trust me.”

“Trust you? Ha!, I’ve never been able to trust you. Knowing my luck you’ll tie me to the roof of your car and parade me through town so everyone can get their jollies.”

“Listen, I don’t blame you for not wanting to trust me. You know, for all the shit I’ve ever done to you; I’m sorry. I can’t take it back. But if you want to sit here and sulk in Mom’s clothes until someone else finds you, be my guest. If not, come with me. I have spare clothes in the car. Maybe we can find somewhere safe for you to go.”

It was the lesser of two evils; I picked myself up off the ground and walked back with my brother to his black el Camino. I got in the passenger’s seat as he fired up the car and we drove into the night. Neither of us said anything until we were on I-35, heading south toward Des Moines.

“Aren’t you going to change clothes, man?” Zach asked.

“No, I think I’ll leave these on for now if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself, but at least take the makeup off. It looks like shit.”

I looked in the review mirror and saw that he was more or less right. I didn’t want to be reminded of my image so I grabbed some napkins that were in the glove compartment and angrily removed my lipstick and blush.

“So what’s the deal, Mark? Are you gay, or what?”

I honestly didn’t know what to say, it was something that was more or less assumed at home, even though no one bothered to ask my opinion on the subject.

“No…Yes, fuck, I don’t know.”

“Dude it’s all right, I mean what does it matter at this point anyway?”

“The thing is… I like guys but not as a guy. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“I like guys as a girl would. I want to be a girl.”

“No offense dude, but I’ve always thought that you were a bit of a girl.”

“Look at me. Why would I take offense to that?”

He laughed a little. “I don’t know.”

We drove around the streets of Des Moines, not really knowing where we were going. Along University Avenue, we stopped behind an abandoned service station where I changed into the clothes Zach had for me. The jeans were loose around my hips and a few inches too long; they had fit Zach several years ago and had stayed in his car since about that time. He had an old White Zombie t-shirt that smelled of stale sweat and was threadbare from wear. It also had several small holes in the armpits. Our next stop was at a Quick Trip where he left me in the car while he filled up with gas and bought a twelve pack of Miller Lite with his fake I.D. I closed my eyes and briefly let myself fall into a short dreamless sleep. When Zach came back and started the car I woke up, the clock said that it was 10:15 p.m. Somehow I had slept for a half hour, because of my exhausted and battered state I didn’t bother asking what had kept him so long, I just assumed that he had needed to use the restroom. When we got back on the road we drove until we came to an empty Target parking lot, where we stopped to rest and talk.

He pulled out two cans out of the twelve pack and handed one to me, I looked at him like he just handed me a fish.

“Go on take it, after the night you had you’ll need it.”
I took the beer and opened it and took a nervous sip, it was bitter and disgusting, but I couldn’t stop from drinking it, somehow it calmed my nerves.

Zach said, “You know, I wish things could have been better for us.”

“What do you mean us? You and Dave always had it easy.”

“Dave maybe, but he’s just a walking corpse. I think Dad sucked all the life out of him. Did you know he was arrested last year up in Madison for beating his girlfriend?”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, you know what Dad said when he found out?”

“No.”

“Atta boy, you gotta keep’em in line otherwise they’ll end up walking all over you,” he said mocking Robert’s voice as best he could. “I think it was then I finally gave up on him, you know. I figured out that all this shit, everything he is, everything he’s been trying to make us, is nothing but a bunch of shit. I often wonder what Mom saw in him that made her want to marry him.”

“From what mom said, he was a different guy before they were married- sweet and charming and all that jazz, but he’s always had a problem with alcohol. Being domesticated didn’t help either, it only made things worse when she had us.”

“She told you that?”

“Yeah, pretty much. A long time ago, Mom and I used to actually talk. The worst part was that she would always insist he was a good man, or that she deserved what he did to her, did to all of us, and if we just did what he wanted than everything would be fine and we could be a happy family.”

“God, what a bunch of shit. Man, he really beat the crap out of you didn’t he,” Zach said, examining the bruises on my face.

“I’ve tried not to look.”

“I remember the first time Dad hit me.”

“He hit you? When?”

“It was last summer; I think maybe you were at camp or something. Anyway I had been out drinking and smoking all night and I came home, God it must have been three or four in the morning when I stumbled in and he was like ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I told him to piss off, that I just needed to sleep. He said something like, ‘Like hell you are, you come in here and wake everybody up at this hour. Well your ass is going to be up at six and working for a change around here, starting with the gutters,’ and I was like, ‘fuck you, old man, if you’d get your fat drunk ass up and do something for a change around here we’d be living in a regular fucking Hilton.’ That was when he sucker punched me in the stomach; the worst part about it was it caused me to puke everywhere.”

“What did you do then?”

“Slept in the car all night, thought I’d let him handle the puke since he caused it, when I came back in the next afternoon, I found out that the shithead made Mom clean it up.”

“Unbelievable.”

I had finished the first beer and it made me feel lightheaded, but I reached for a second. It was strange talking like this with Zach. In my entire life, I could scarcely recall when we had talked about anything more than what was on TV. Part of me kept waiting for his betrayal, for him to just kick me out the door and leave me alone in this city. But something else told me he was for real, that he really did care for me.

“Why’d you come back for me anyway?”

“I already told you, man.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re probably going to get it if Dad finds out what you did. Why put your ass on the line for me?”

“I mean, you’re family and all that other shit, right?”

“Yeah,” I said and we sat in silence for a few seconds.

“I mean, I’ve always hated seeing the shit you’ve had to endure at home. I know things I’ve had to take, and I can only image that you’ve had it about a hundred times worse. Thing is, when I saw you run out of the house tonight, it freaked me out a little, but it didn’t really surprise me. You know, like I’ve always thought you were more of a girl anyway, but in a way I respected you because it was your way of fighting the old man and not catering to his bullshit.”

“Thanks for coming for me; it’s probably the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Don’t sweat it man, I’m sure you would have done the same for me.” He said as he tossed an empty can out the window. I wasn’t so sure that before that night I really would have.

We sat talking about our respective childhoods and drinking until almost daybreak. I didn’t want the night to end. I didn’t want to find out where I was going to live. But as the sun began to rise, Zach fired up the engine, and I began to quietly doze from sheer exhaustion. But my sleep was short lived, when I awoke we were sitting in the parking lot of the Youth Emergency Services and Shelter building. The first thing I saw was the gold dome of the Iowa capitol building glittering in the early morning sun. Closer to the ground, the houses revealed to me what a dive the neighborhood really was. Everywhere small decrepit houses lined the streets, some of which had their windows boarded up with plywood. Old, rusting cars were parked in driveways and there was litter and piles of leaves strewn throughout the lawns. The neighborhood gave me little confidence in what was about to be my new home.

“You want me to go here?” I asked him, somewhat taken aback.

“It’s probably the best place for now, at least until we can figure something or someplace for you to go.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’ve got to go back.”

“Why don’t you just leave man? Start a new life in the city or something.”

“Yeah; with what? I don’t have a high school diploma yet, and I scarcely have any money to live with. What do you want me to do, bunk here with you?”

I looked away for a moment, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

“Speaking of which, I have something for you.”

He reached in his front pants pocket and pulled out a series of twenty dollar bills and handed them to me.

“Here’s three hundred dollars. It’s the most I could get out of the A.T.M. You’re short about ten because I had to get the beer.”

I took the bills and looked them over.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. You’ll be safe here. I’ll come down on the weekends to make sure that you’re ok. It’s gonna be tough for awhile, but keep your head up and you’ll get through it.”

I didn’t want him to leave. Anytime before today I longed for my brothers to be anywhere else but near me, but within the last ten hours Zach had shown me that he wasn’t just my brother- he was a human being too.

“Thanks, Zach, for everything.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, you’re my brother or sister or whatever, and I care about you.”

“And I love you too,” It felt so odd to say that it almost came out sounding sarcastic.

Zach laughed. “Hey, don’t get too mushy on me. You might inadvertently take down my protective shields and I’ll be unprepared when I go back to the house from hell.”

I laughed out loud.

“Hey, I’ll see you this weekend, all right.”

I just nodded as I stepped out of his car and closed the door behind me. I stood there paralyzed for a minute as I watched him drive into the distance as I wondered if I would see him again.

I was so exhausted that all I wanted to do was sleep, but I had to wait while the shelter personnel, as well as an agent from the Department of Human Services questioned me about my background. They were especially interested in the fresh bruises in my face. Once they discovered that Robert had assaulted me, it opened up a floodgate of questions. “Is this the first time he hit you? Has he hit or struck any of your siblings? Has he ever sexually assaulted you? Describe his relationship with your mother and other family members?”

These questions came at me from almost out of nowhere, and I gave them as accurate information as I could, except for letting them know that Robert had once struck Zach. I figured Zach didn’t want to be involved in any kind of legal mess otherwise he’d still be sitting here with me. Finally after what seemed like forever the interrogation ended and they showed me to what would be my home for the next six weeks.

I slept for much of my first day in the youth shelter. When I got up that night I was able to better comprehend my surroundings, and to the shelter’s credit, they did the best they could to make the place seem like a home. There were large living areas complete with a TV, VCR, recliners, and sofas. There was a recreation area that contained a pool table, ping pong table, and both a Play station and Nintendo 64.

Very quickly the shelter personnel began to emphasize structure and self-discipline. I was responsible for fixing my own meals, washing my clothes, and keeping my place orderly. My room was small; there wasn’t much in it except for two twin sized beds and a pair of dresser drawers.

The shelter provided counselors if we wanted them. I was hesitant to speak to anyone other than my brother, but I hesitantly decided to talk to a counselor by the name of Tim Edison. Tim was about Robert’s age. He always wore brown tweed sweaters. He had a brownish grey brush mustache, and he wore bifocals and had a terribly nasty habit of chewing on his pencil, often reducing it to a nub of mashed wood and graphite.

I really didn’t know what to say to him at first, and so for about fifteen minutes we only made small talk. Then he finally tried to dig deeper into my past.

“Is there anything else that you wanted to talk to me about today, maybe something more that’s bothering you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just feel like a prisoner here, you know.”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate way to feel, coming from home where you had a routine and familiar surroundings. Even though you may not have had the best family environment, you knew how to survive in it, what to expect and you could adjust yourself to that. It will take time, Mark, I know things are uncertain right now, but this is something that you can get through. Perhaps the best advice I can give you is not to worry about tomorrow or the things you can’t control, but rather just focus on today.”

“I’ve tried that, it doesn’t work. I mean, I’m here and no matter what I try to busy myself with, my mind keeps coming back to that moment where I saw Robert standing over me with that gun, threatening to kill me and my mother.”

“Tell me why your father threatened to do that to you.”
I stared at the floor as I tried to bring the words to my mouth, but some how they didn’t come. I didn’t tell him that I was a cross-dressing freak who just wanted to be a girl. It didn’t matter to me that he might have had every Ph D under the sun; I still didn’t feel like I could trust him, especially since this was my first time meeting this man. What could he do, run home and tell his wife and kids about the crazy sissy he met down at the youth home?

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure? Anything you say to me I will keep in the strictest of confidence, I won’t hurt you or ridicule you. You can trust me. It will be alright.”
Zach had said I could trust him and so far I had been able to, although part of me still kept thinking that he had dumped me off at this youth home in order to get me out of town so I couldn’t embarrass him.

“I just can’t right now. I’m just not sure who I can trust. All my life people have discarded and ridiculed me and then hung me out to dry.”

“Mark; I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I looked at him warily. There was just something about him. I don’t know, maybe it was the way he sat, the way he continued to move about uncomfortably as if he were sitting on a pebble. Perhaps it was the fact that he was from Robert’s backward generation; that told me I couldn’t trust him.

Tim tried and tried to get me to open up to him, but I just couldn’t do it. Perhaps if he had been a woman I could have summoned my strength to confide in him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I figured the fewer people who knew about my secret the better. The only person I was able to confide in my whole time at the shelter was one my roommates, boy named Jeremy Jefferson.

Jeremy was a very tall, very skinny black kid. At age fifteen he was already over six feet tall. He wore his hair braided up like the rapper Snoop Dog and in more than one way he resembled him. Jeremy came briefly into my life at the end of my first week at the shelter. For the first day he said nothing to me as he was taking in his surroundings. But by the next day, as I was lying on my bed trying to read a book, he came into our room, threw down his back pack, and sat on his bed.

“I positively hate this fucking place.”

“I know.”

“How long have you had to put up with this hell hole?”

“I don’t know. ‘Bout five days now, I imagine.”

“Shit, I hope my sister comes and gets me or I swear I’m going to go fucking postal.”

“I don’t know, it’s not too bad. At least my parents aren’t here.”

“Oh yeah? What did they do?”

“They kicked me out and threatened to kill me if I ever went back.”

“Ooh, you must have done some shit. What the hell you do?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“C’mon. How bad can it be?”

“It’s not bad. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right, all right no need to go all ape shit. Just curious, that’s all. I mean, we all in the same boat right so what does it matter why you’re here?”

“C’mon, I don’t know you and I really don’t want to talk about it. I mean, how would you like it if I asked you how you got here?”

“Wouldn’t care.”

“Fine then, why are you here?”

“I tell ya, but you gotta tell me why you’re here then, too.”

I thought about it. It was like that game, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’, and my curiosity got the better of me. I figured while he was telling me, I could always come up with some reasonable sounding lie if I needed to.

“All right fine, I’ll tell you after you tell me.”

“All right, I’m gay, pure and simple. I like dudes and my parents couldn’t have a fag living under their roof. They said I could come back if I straightened up, but other than that they gave me the boot. Now, how ‘bout you?”

His answer surprised me. I thought he was the stereotypical gangsta from the inner city; I thought maybe he would have been running with a gang and involved with drugs and things like that. I didn’t ever expect that this tough-looking kid would actually be gay. He didn’t fit with what my mental picture of a gay person should look like. Needless to say, I had to reinvent my image of him very quickly. I figured he was probably the one person who could understand what I had gone through. I set the book I was reading between my legs and looked back over at him.

“I guess my story’s not that much different than yours. A few days ago, my father caught me wearing my mother’s clothes. He said if I ever went back, he’d kill me and mom.”

“Whew, that’s some tough shit. I didn’t really figure you for a drag queen, but hey, whatever, it’s fine by me.”

Jeremy and I got along fine after that. He told me all about his upbringing and life. He wasn’t from the inner city as I had previously assumed. His parents owned a rather nice home in West Des Moines, and between them they made nearly a half million dollars a year. His father was a prominent lawyer and his mother was a regional salesperson who sold computers to schools throughout the Midwest. All Jeremy would say was that they were, “Selfish bitches, who cared more about money than any of their kids.”

I only spent a little more than a week and a half with Jeremy before one of his sisters agreed to let him live with her in Omaha. But during that week we became pretty good friends. We spent a lot of time playing pool and Play Station in the recreation room. I had hoped we’d stay in touch, but once he left, I never heard from him again.

Zach managed to keep his promise to me; he came down from State Center and visited me every Saturday. When I saw him that first Saturday, my heart was filled with joy that he had kept his word. Zach decided to take me out for an afternoon away from the shelter, and as we were driving he dropped the bombshell.

“The cops came the other night and arrested Dad.”

“Really? Good, that fucker deserves it.”

“Yeah, I guess the state is going to charge him with assault on a minor.”

“Good, I hope he gets ass raped in prison for all he’s done. Has Judy said anything about all of this?”

“Not really, she’s been kind of sullen lately. She keeps to herself mostly. I think she’s probably afraid to say anything because of what Dad said to you.”

“Hmm, I hope they put Robert in jail for a good long time. It will be good for all of us.”

“I don’t know how long that will be. He was out on bail the same day as he was arrested, and he was livid. I left that night, but I know he had another go around with Mom. Her face was good and swollen the next day when I saw her.”

I was somewhat dismayed that Robert had gotten out of jail; there was no justice in this world. He threatens to kill me and beats the crap out of me, and they send him on his way. I bet at most he’d get some sort of community service thing for his sentence.

“God, if there is any justice in this world, they’ll put him in jail for a good, long time.”

“Yeah, if there is any good side to this, it means that you won’t have to see his ugly face ever again.”

“What about you? Are they going to get you out of the house?”

“I doubt it; I’m rarely at home as it is. Besides, I’m almost eighteen. They probably won’t bother with it.”

I had hoped that once Zach graduated and got a place of his own that I could come and live with him, but that dream was quickly shattered as life threw its next sucker punch. At the end of one very humid August evening, I was sitting in the recreation lounge of the youth home, idly looking through the Register when a small section of the obituaries caught my attention.

Killed — Zach Llewellyn, 17 of State Center, Monday in a fatal automobile accident. Zach was the son of Robert and Judy, he left behind a brother, David, 19. Zach was a senior at West Marshall Community School. Services are scheduled Friday at First United Presbyterian Church.

Shocked and devastated, I ran back to my room and cried all night. It couldn’t be. How could the only person who had ever cared about me suddenly be gone? What was I going to do now?

I wanted to go to the funeral but I knew there was no way I could get myself back to State Center. I also didn’t want Robert to see me, because I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to fulfill his threat. In a sense, the obituary was a declaration that I was already dead to them. They had lost two children, and I was sure that Robert didn’t really care.

For the next several days I was like a zombie. I scarcely slept or ate and when someone tried to talk to me, I spoke in short sentences. I didn’t see Tim the counselor anywhere after Zach passed away. I didn’t feel I could confide in any of the other counselors who were available at the shelter. I just wanted to be left alone; I just wanted my brother back.

My situation went from bad to worse, by the beginning of September, Child Services had become aware of my case and was looking to put me in a foster home. For me, this was the worst possible thing that could happen. I would truly become a product of the system, a kid beaten and kicked around from home to home, neglected and then abused while the foster parents collected drinking money from the state. I knew I was going to have to make it on my own. So on the tenth of September, I gathered my few belongings, the money Zach left me, and I boarded a bus bound for Kansas City, taking my first steps to a hellish world that led me back to this empty hotel room.

As my high begins to wear off, I wearily open my eyes and am greeted by the darkness and bobbing shadows from the world outside. I need another hit, but my supplies and my cash are getting low. Instead I pull the sheets over my head and pretend that I’m dead. Somehow I sleep a short dreamless sleep only to be woken up when I hear the hotel door opening. Great, Big Bill has actually come back, just what I need. God Viagra should be illegal.

He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights; I hear the rustling of clothes as he strips naked and then climbs under the sheet with me.

“Hey sugar, I’m hungry, why don’t you come here and satisfy your daddy?” He whispers.

Slowly he reaches around my head and guides me to where he wants me. In my dazed and weakened state I can only comply.

I want to puke.

Looking back; I now regret leaving the Youth home. Having any kind of home was better than none at all. I often wonder what it would have been like if I would have toughed it out through high school and those foster homes. In my dreams, I graduate high school and make my way through college then become the woman that I’ve always wanted to be- smart, beautiful, successful, and respected. Or sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I had actually had caring loving parents. I’ve read stories on the internet about some parents of transsexuals who actually help their kid transition while they’re still teenagers. But I have to wonder; for every one of those kids who gets the privilege to do that, how many more like me are there out there who are just thrown to the wolves? After all, there’s a reason why you never see bumper stickers that say, ‘Proud Parent of a Transsexual’.
Right now I’m as much a woman as I’ll ever become. Even if I could get all the money for the reassignment surgery, it would spell doom for my career, and thus my livelihood. Unfortunately, there is little work for post-op girls in this business and there is nothing else that I know how to do.

So like a pawn I continue to move forward until my end, from man to man and the occasional girl. I live my life in between the shadow zones of money and sex. In some ways I know I’ve been fortunate. In eight years, I’ve managed to avoid death, disease, and starvation. I’ve seen those girls who get into a John’s car and are found later buried somewhere in a shallow grave, or those whose poverty and desperation drive them to inject silicon into their own breasts and they wake up dead the next morning. But survival brings its own horrors, and if I stop breathing tonight, I know it will be all right, because I know that no greater hell exists than the one I’ve already endured.

The Butterfly and the Flame

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Organizational: 

  • Title Page

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Taxonomy upgrade extras: 

  • fiction
  • Posted by author(s)
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The Butterfly and the Flame

The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 1

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel Chapter

Genre: 

  • Science Fiction

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

TG Themes: 

  • Disguises / On the Run / In Hiding
  • Language or Cultural Change
  • Androgyny

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  • Dystopian thriller

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  • Posted by author(s)

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"There's something you need to know about Emily..."

In the year 2404, America is no more. In a land ruled by the oppressive theocracy known as the Dominion of Divinity, being gay is a capital offense, adultery is punished with the lash, women are forbidden to work, and forced marriages are common.

Fifteen-year-old Emily La Rouche faces an impossible choice. On her sixteenth birthday, she will be forced to marry Jonathan Marsh, the son of her landlord. If she refuses, her family will lose everything. If she takes his hand, it is certain that her life will end by a hangman's noose in front of an angry mob. All because Emily has been hiding an enormous secret for years-she was born a boy. As the wedding approaches, Emily's parents realize the only way that she will be safe is if she is to escape the Dominion.

With her brother Aaron at her side, Emily flees across post-apocalyptic America in search for a new home. With vile bounty hunters on her trail, only time will tell if Emily will ever find a place where she can live and breathe free as the person she was always meant to be.

Chapter I

April 4

Ma once told me that God watches over everyone. I wish I could still believe that. But with the arrival of the New Year, I am becoming acutely aware that I’m on my own.

It’s only four weeks until my sixteenth birthday and my wedding day. I am so frustrated with this whole arrangement, because even though I am the bride-to-be, I have no say in this marriage. I never chose to marry Jonathan Marsh. We don’t even like each other. Yet his father foolishly forced this engagement on us when we were only children. It was when he took our family’s land.

I fear for my safety–so much so that I am having trouble sleeping at night. The nightmares of my married life haunt my exhausted mind. Ma and Pa keep reassuring me that everything will work out fine and that this wedding will be canceled, but I don’t believe that anymore. All these years they have been promising that this day would never come, and yet here we are, only twenty-eight days away from it.

With so little time left, it seems like such a waste of an afternoon to spend it in church. But our routine isn’t going to change on my account. Ma is so stubborn that she’s not only making us go to the New Year services, but she is also making us adhere to the traditional fast that comes with it. My God, I am starving! I haven’t eaten since supper last night, and I would do almost anything for a little bread. I realize our ancestors didn’t have a lot of food during Divine Retribution, but it’s absurd to insist that we should fast, especially when we already live on the brink of starvation. I know Ma is trying to be a good Christian, but I really don’t believe that eating a few vegetables or scraps of meat will land us in hell.

Out of all the church services in a year, Divine Retribution has to be the hardest to get through. Today, while people celebrate the birth of the Dominion, all I can do is mourn. I mourn for the death of America–and for the death of freedom, and a place where I couldn’t be bought and sold like an animal, and a place I could be safe.

If God is watching over me, he’s the only one who can save me from the future.

A knock came at the door, and Emily La Rouche looked up from her diary. “Are you almost ready?” her mother called.
Emily set her pen on the nightstand next to her. “Just about,” she called back. She set her diary aside and reached down for her necklace. Her necklace was an old American quarter dollar that she had been lucky enough to find when she was a child. Her father had punctured it and threaded it with a length of twine in order to keep her older brother, Aaron, from taking it. She lifted her auburn hair and tied the necklace around her neck. Emily got up from her bed. She pressed down the sides of her long, slate-gray dress and joined her family in the eating room.

Within twenty minutes, the family was ready to go, and they all made their way to the horse-drawn wagon that waited outside. Her parents took their usual places at the front. Aaron hopped on the back and extended his hand to help her up. As soon as she was seated, he lapsed into an irritated silence.

It was the first time that Aaron was returning to Seaton since he had received ten lashes in the town square for the crime of adultery. As they drew nearer to town, Emily could sense his anger rising. She couldn’t understand why her mother was making them go to church today. She wanted to curse the weather. Had it been raining, the roads would’ve been too muddy to traverse, and they would’ve had to stay home.

Emily let the thought go as they reached the sprawling tenements of the only city she had ever truly known. The poor quarters of the city of Seaton stretched for almost two miles around the center of town, where the cathedral stood. Every time she passed through the tenements, she couldn’t help wondering if life was like this everywhere. Did everybody live in rotten houses of decaying wood and tin that reeked of human waste? Were there always hoards of barefoot children who went to bed each night with empty stomachs?

As if to answer her question, a man-sized poster caught her eye. It featured a stout, well-fed young man, smiling, with a caption that boasted: “Three square meals a day, guaranteed! Join the army of God.”

She placed her hands on her abdomen as her stomach growled. There was no way to escape hunger’s clutches; it had pervaded throughout her life, and it was the sole reason that David Marsh had been able to take over her family’s land and force her to marry his son.

But, unlike the people of the tenements, her family had a safety net to catch them in times of absolute desperation. She might be hungry, but she’d never starve. She might get sick, but there would be medicine; she might be in need, but she’d at least have clothes. David Marsh would always provide the basic minimum necessities–just as long as she made it to the altar.

The dirt roads gave way to brick-lined streets, and the slums of the outer city were replaced by the manors and mansions of Seaton’s elite. At last the cathedral came into view. The building was adorned with dozens of flags that symbolized the Dominion. The flags, white banners bearing a dominating golden cross over the smaller, blood-red continents of man, fluttered majestically in the morning breeze.

Even though they were early for the morning services, there were crowds of people gathered around the entrance of the cathedral. Aside from Christmas and Easter, the New Year celebration of Divine Retribution was the most-attended service of the year. At this time the cathedral would be filled with people who rarely attended services.

Emily left her family to go and secure the horses, and then she made her way to the crowded cathedral. Her mother had charged her with finding them a seat. Given how crowded it was today, that could be a difficult task. Last year she had had to sit by a complete stranger, because they had arrived late and there hadn’t been enough space to sit together as a family.

The crowd gathered in front of the cathedral did not thin out as she walked inside. There were fifty rows of two pews on each side of the nave, but it seemed that the only space that wasn’t occupied was the narrow aisle she was standing in. Emily frowned and scanned the nave once more. It was there she found a space, on the left side, five rows up, that would be just large enough for her family to squeeze into.

Emily claimed the space, which her family filled a few minutes later. When everyone had been seated, Emily felt an awkward silence creep around her. She glanced at the man in front of her, who made a point to look away as she made eye contact. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man next to her staring at her brother. Emily glanced at Aaron, who cast a fierce scowl at the man until he looked away. She tensed up; she was surrounded by the very people who had cheered during her brother’s lashing. Coming to church today had been such an awful idea, and she longed for the service to begin, so it would block out the sea of gossip that flowed around her.

“All rise for the coming of the Lord!” boomed the aging voice of Bishop Joseph Aldridge.

A melodic tune echoed from the pipe organ, and the entire congregation stood at attention and faced the narthex. The acolyte, a boy who was no more that twelve, carried the scepter bearing the golden cross down the aisle. Behind him followed Bishop Aldridge, Cardinal Nathanial Stanton, and Pastor Raymond Gertz. The entire congregation gradually turned as the procession made its way to the altar. The music reached its climax as the acolyte gave a slight bow and handed the scepter to the bishop.

“My children, may God be with you on this New Year’s day. It is only good and right that we affirm our faith and allegiance to God and His holy kingdom. Please join with me in reciting the Oath of Affirmation …”

Emily mouthed the meaningless words as she impatiently waited to take her seat.

After Bishop Aldridge had seated the congregation, he and the cardinal took their seats in the throne-like plush chairs that flanked the altar.

Pastor Gertz approached the pulpit.

“My children, God be with you on this day as we celebrate the anniversary of Divine Retribution. Today is a day for celebration, for three hundred and forty-five years ago, on a spring morning much like this one, Almighty God cleansed a sinful world with fire, so that a new era of righteousness and purity would reign for a thousand years. As told in the Holy Book of Revelations, God unleashed the Four Horsemen upon the Earth to punish the generations for their sins, and on that day four mighty asteroids, as big as mountains, fell from the heavens and brought to the nations war, conquest, famine, and death.”

Pastor Gertz rested his hands on the pulpit in front of him. He paused to let the words take effect. “Our Almighty God wiped away the world’s decadent democracies, which continually polluted so much sin into his beautiful world. I need not remind you what this place was like before Divine Retribution. America was a land of sinful, vengeful people. It was a land consumed with technological idolatry, greed, and pleasures of the flesh. It was a truly ravenous society.”

“But I tell you, brothers and sisters, God had a plan for these people, a plan that was as old as history itself. God gave fair warning to the wicked people of America. He warned them in the holy book of Revelation. But yet they ignored. He even sent His Holiness, the founder of our church and our country, Pastor Elijah Kane. But his warnings were shunned. All the signs of the coming of the end were there, but the people went on living their wicked lives. But when the holy day of Divine Retribution came, they were consumed with sin, death, and everlasting damnation.”

“For over two years a cloud of ash blotted out the sun, and as the old world passed away, a new kingdom was born to take its place. In the city we now call Divinity, Pastor Kane and his flock, our ancestors, were safely sequestered away from the dying world.”
“Indeed, the hardships our ancestors faced continued after the sun returned. Resources were scarce. Much had been destroyed in the fires of Divine Retribution, but most of it had been wasted needlessly by the Americans. But, by the sweat of their brows and by the grace of God, they survived and thrived and have forged this kingdom, the Dominion of Divinity, to rule on this Earth until the great day of final judgment.”

Emily bit her lip and detached herself from Gertz’s sermon. She grabbed her necklace and spun the coin on the rope until it no longer held her interest. She looked up at the masses in front of her. It never failed to amaze her what a difference only a few pews could make. The wealthy landowners and church patriarchs were sitting up front in their best attire. The men were dressed in their pressed cotton suits and had stuffy brimmed hats, while their wives and daughters had donned elegant white-and-blue satin gowns that were bustled tightly to show off their feminine forms. But in a matter of a few feet the styles and clothing changed abruptly. Here, further back, most people dressed in clothes that were ragged from everyday wear. They were dusty and dirty, and there lingered the smell of sweat and grime that enveloped the laborers’ existence.

Emily examined each parishioner closely, playing a game she had taught herself to occupy the long New Year services. The game was quite simple. She would look at each parishioner closely to see whether or not they were observing the fast. It was usually pretty easy to tell. Those who did were tired and had trouble concentrating on the sermon. Instead, they closed their eyes and tried to drown out the hunger built up within their bellies. Those who ate breakfast looked alert and energetic and had no problem concentrating on the pastor’s message. She looked across the sea of faces toward the chancel, where Cardinal Stanton and Bishop Aldridge sat. Both men were sturdy, and they looked over their flock with somber and steadfast gazes. Clearly, they both had had breakfast fit for a king.

Emily looked at her family. Her mother, who clung to tradition and stubbornly did not make breakfast, somehow managed to find the strength and resolve to stay focused on the sermon. How she did remained a mystery to Emily. It was the same sermon year after year–powerful the first time you heard it, but after the fifth time she could practically preach it herself.
Her father, by contrast, looked as if he were about to collapse. He had dark circles around his swollen, bloodshot eyes, and he rubbed his face endlessly in an effort to stay awake. He looked far weaker than a man should halfway through a twenty-four hour fast. His face bore the expression of a man who was in desperate need of sleep but had the misfortune to be trapped within a mind that would not shut off.

Her brother still looked fiercely annoyed. She thought he was just upset at having to come back to church so soon after being whipped in the town square–not that she blamed him. If it had been her, she would never have come back. Aaron, however, was staring at something toward the front of the church. She followed his glaze to a brunette woman in a white gown, sitting along the aisle near the front of the nave. It was Elizabeth Mason–Aaron’s lost love.

If things had been different Aaron and Elizabeth would have been married by now. He had braved the fierce January cold to come into Seaton to propose to her, only to discover that a man named Alexander Rothchild was using her family and had arranged for Elizabeth to be his wife.

After the wedding, Rothchild had had Aaron arrested for stealing Elizabeth’s chastity, and he used his influence over the courts to have Aaron whipped in the town square.

Emily tensed up as she thought about her brother. Whenever she thought of him being whipped in the town square, it was a reminder of what could happen to her if she didn’t marry Jonathan. Arranged marriages were fairly common throughout the Dominion, but that fact offered her no peace of mind or reassurance whatsoever.

It was absurd the way the elite could just choose who they wanted their children to marry. Seaton’s wealthy families rarely intermarried because of the acrid competition between them, and all too often, their spoiled sons would use their wealth to cherry-pick their spouses from the community. Many times they would base their decisions on nothing more than a girl’s physical beauty, but every so often they would steal their brides from the arms of their true loves for nothing more than an act of retribution. It had happened to Elizabeth.

In her case, Emily had so often wondered why David had cherry-picked her to be his son’s bride. After nine years of living under this marriage arrangement, she had never found an answer. Her mother had one explanation. She believed it was because David’s wife, Andrea, had never had any other children besides Jonathan and coveted Emily so much that she sought to make her her own daughter. Emily didn’t necessarily believe that, but it was an idea that she could never fully dismiss.
When the service concluded, Emily and her family made their way back to their wagon, but they were detained by the polite musings of their landlord, David Marsh.

“Happy New Year to you, James, Julia,” David said to her parents. “James, I hope you don’t mind, but there are a number of things we need to discuss.”

David pulled her father aside to discuss matters of the farm and other business in private.

While Emily waited impatiently for her father, she noticed that Jonathan was making his way toward her. She shivered at the prospect of having to talk to him. Every memory she had of him was unpleasant. When they were children, he was the boy who’d pulled her hair or tried to look up her dress, or find something to say that would make her cry. He hadn’t changed much since then, except that he was now talking about either sex or how rich he was going to be.

“Afternoon, Emily,” Jonathan said. “You know, after we’re married, I’ll throw us the biggest dinner reception you’ve ever seen, and you’ll have the biggest feast you’ve ever eaten.”

She didn’t reply but instead glared into the distant horizon in the opposite direction and waited for him to leave.

“And you won’t have to sleep in that shack you live in now. You’ll have warm rooms with comfortable furniture and a big bed to sleep in … with me,” Jonathan flashed a sly smile.

Emily, mortified with the thought, turned around and shot him a gaze filled with abject disgust and loathing.

“You know, I happen to like where I live now–because you’re not there,” Emily said. She promptly turned and walked away.

Her father had concluded his discussion with Marsh and was making his way back, when David interrupted him again.

“Oh, James, why don’t you bring your family out to our house next Sunday for a little pre-wedding celebration?” David called out.

“And, Emily, we need to find a time so you can be fitted for your wedding dress,” Andrea said.

“Looking forward to it,” Emily said. And she was, too, even though she hoped to God that she would find some way out of the wedding. But the dress-fitting would give her a chance to wear something other than the same old tattered clothes she’d always worn.

“Okay, we’ll be there. What time?” James asked.

“Be there about five thirty. We’ll make an evening of it. I’ll hire a photographer friend of mine to take some good pictures,” David replied.

“We’ll be there,” her father said.

Silence washed over the family as they made their way back to the wagon. Emily looked at her father, who looked as if he had a fresh burden loaded on his shoulders. She couldn’t help but feel that she was the reason.

Read the first five chapters here:
http://www.dana-deyoung.com/Five%20Chapters.pdf

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The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 2

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel > 40,000 words

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Day after Tomorrow
  • Science Fiction

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

Other Keywords: 

  • thriller
  • Dystopian

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

the-butterfly-and-flame.jpg

Chapter 2

In this chapter, Emily faces here worst nightmare - her wedding day.

About:

"There's something you need to know about Emily..."

In the year 2404, America is no more. In a land ruled by the oppressive theocracy known as the Dominion of Divinity, being gay is a capital offense, adultery is punished with the lash, women are forbidden to work, and forced marriages are common.

Fifteen-year-old Emily La Rouche faces an impossible choice. On her sixteenth birthday, she will be forced to marry Jonathan Marsh, the son of her landlord. If she refuses, her family will lose everything. If she takes his hand, it is certain that her life will end by a hangman's noose in front of an angry mob. All because Emily has been hiding an enormous secret for years-she was born a boy. As the wedding approaches, Emily's parents realize the only way that she will be safe is if she is to escape the Dominion.

With her brother Aaron at her side, Emily flees across post-apocalyptic America in search for a new home. With vile bounty hunters on her trail, only time will tell if Emily will ever find a place where she can live and breathe free as the person she was always meant to be.

Chapter II

Emily felt as though she were falling through time, and before she realized it, the day of the wedding had arrived. She awoke in a daze, with fatigue weighing down heavily upon her. Lately, she had had trouble getting enough sleep, each night culminating with only a few restless hours.

She felt disembodied. She could see her actions but did not feel a part of them. She got up from bed, dressed, and made her way to the family eating room where her mother had prepared lunch. She felt like a prisoner eating her last meal before being led away to the gallows. With her fork, she twisted and turned her lunch of fried eggs and cornmeal into an unidentifiable yellow and white mash. She was looking for the strength to make it through the day.

She didn’t want to marry Jonathan, and she knew he didn’t want to marry her. Her parents didn’t want her to marry him. So what was the point? After today she’d be trapped in an unloving, abusive, and impotent marriage–a prisoner of her husband’s design, trapped in their home, only leaving for social functions and dinner with his parents. She’d almost never see her family. Jonathan and Aaron hated each other. Jonathan knew that seeing her family would bring her great joy, and that was something that he simply wouldn’t allow.

It was nearly impossible to get a divorce, except in cases of lechery or homosexuality. But even with a marriage dissolved for those reasons, the unfaithful spouse was punished, sometimes severely, for violating the sacred covenant of marriage. Jonathan would certainly look outside the marriage bed to satisfy his carnal lust. What was worse, there was nothing she could do to make the authorities believe he’d been unfaithful to her. It would be his word against hers, and they would believe his. Then there was that other thing–

“Emily,” her mother said, interrupting her train of thought. “Aren’t you hungry, hon?”

Emily closed her eyes and tried to make time stop. She stood up from the table, hurried to her room, and shut the door. She slid to the floor and buried her head into her hands. This was it, the last day of the rest of her life. Whatever happened after this didn’t matter. She would live and grow old in a perpetual state of unhappiness. For years she had known this day would come, but it had always seemed like a speck in the distant future. Somehow, time had caught up with her. It had stalked her, toyed with her, waited for the right move, and finally it had stolen her life.

She desperately wanted to run away. But they’d find her. Anyway, where could she go? She hoped that when she got to the church the wedding would be called off, because Jonathan had died in a fire or by a gunshot wound or had simply drunk himself to death. Anything would do; she thought of a hundred different ways in which it could happen. But in her heart she knew it wouldn’t happen, and even though she detested Jonathan, it was wrong to wish for the death of another person–even if he was a worm!

Even if Jonathan would be tolerable to live with, sixteen was far too young to be getting married. She had seen the effects of marriage on young girls; they slowly turned to old crones with the burden of raising children and keeping house. It was the same for almost all women whose lives were designated exclusively to domesticity. She knew that it wasn’t always like this, but she
found it hard to believe the expectations society constantly reiterated for her.

Before long, her mother opened the door just far enough to stick her head through. “Emily, it’s time,” she said in a somber tone.
Emily pulled herself up and followed her family to the wagon outside. Throughout the trip to Seaton, she remained silent. The trip progressed slowly, but it led inexorably toward the event she dreaded. After they had finished their lunch, they reached the city
limits of Seaton. When they came to the cathedral, her mother escorted her to the rear of building.

Emily stopped in front of the door to the bridal suite. “Ma, could you give me a few minutes alone, please?” she asked.
Her mother nodded, “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Emily closed the door and looked at the small, stuffy room around her. There was only one small window opened for ventilation, and the gray, drab bricks trapped almost enough heat to roast her. She sat down at a small desk and stared at her reflection in a mirror. She knew she only had a few minutes of precious freedom left, but she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Her eyes wandered away from the mirror and fixed on the hanging wall clock. She watched the hands on the clock tick slowly toward five. She now had a scarce half hour left. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to get ready.

As she stood, another wave of fatigue washed over her. She removed her faded black dress and stood wearing nothing but a tattered, dusty cotton slip. She looked over her wedding gown. Despite her feelings about the marriage, she had to admit the dress was stunning, and it took her breath away to think that she could ever wear something so beautiful. The gown was as white and pure as porcelain. The corset was made of sleek, shiny satin. A line of finely tailored velvet roses crossed the breast and ran back from the left arm to the right side, and a short white lace strap would just barely cover her shoulders.

The skirt itself was actually three skirts. The innermost layer was a made from a delicate dark purple lace that would be almost completely obscured from view, except for a small length just above her ankles that would jut out when the outer skirt cut away. The second skirt was lavender and made from imported silk. The outer skirt was made of a thick bridal satin with a white lace trim and was garnished with small, delicate lavender bows. Along the back, the satin clustered together in a small, tight bustle.

It was time to put it on.

Emily opened the door a crack and called for her mother. Her mother entered the room and shut the door behind her. “Give me a second to get this corset on,” Emily said. Her mother turned around, and Emily removed the dusty slip from her body. She pulled on delicate lace pantalets and then stepped into the corset and pulled it around her chest. “Okay,” she said, beckoning her mother to help her tie the corset stays behind her. She had never worn a corset before, and the tightness she felt in her chest made it hard to breathe. The corset slimmed her waist, giving her straight figure subtle, gentle curves. Around her waist, Julia tied a small horsehair tournure so that it rested gently on her bottom. The pillow would give prominence to her bustle and add even greater emphasis to her new curves. Her mother picked up a small package from the desk. She opened it to reveal the most beautiful treasure Emily had ever seen–delicate white silk stockings. She reached out and carefully lifted them from their box. Her eyes swam with hot tears. She looked through her veil to meet her mother’s gaze. Emily knew her parents had gone to great lengths to procure the stockings for her. She felt her heart breaking as she slid the stockings up her legs. Would anyone ever show her this kind of loving gesture again?

Once the undergarments were in place and the corset was tied, she stepped into the skirts one by one and slowly pulled them over her small, boyish hips. As quickly as she could, her mother fastened the skirts together by the series of hooks that were sewn into the fabric. The pieces of her bridal outfit had come together.

“Come, dear. We still need to fix your hair,” her mother said.
Emily looked back into the mirror and noticed how disheveled her hair was. Its brownish-red strands were still tangled from yesterday’s sleep. She sat back in the chair, and her mother brushed through the snarls and tangles.
Her mother was midway through brushing her hair, when she suddenly stopped. Emily turned around and looked at mother. She could see her mother’s hands were shaking.

“What’s the matter?” Emily asked.

“It’s nothing, it just–” Her mother looked away from Emily, and she wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s just that I realized this might be the last time I get to brush through your hair.”

The last remnants of Emily’s strength were shattered. She threw her arms around her mother and cried. “Oh, Ma–don’t let him take me away from you. I don’t want to go!”

“I know, baby, I know. I don’t want you to go.” Her mother held Emily tight. “You know the Lord says he’ll never give us more than we can handle. I still believe that. I know this day is so hard for you to bear. But always know that, even though we may be apart, you’ll always be in our hearts and minds. I think that if you can take that with you, it will give you strength to make it through the toughest of days,” she said.

Emily didn’t believe what her mother said. They’d be separated, miles apart, but she might as well be on the moon. She knew she’d rarely get to see her family. That, coupled with being married to someone who despised her, was far more than she could ever bear. She closed her eyes and flushed those thoughts from her mind, focusing instead on her mother’s tender embrace. The love of a mother, she thought. In all the world, there is no equal.

Continue reading: Chapter 2
http://www.dana-deyoung.com/bff2.pdf

Buy the book - now on Kindle
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The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 3

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel Chapter

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Science Fiction
  • Adventure

Character Age: 

  • Child

TG Elements: 

  • Childhood

Other Keywords: 

  • thriller
  • Dystopian

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

the-butterfly-and-flame.jpg

In this chapter Emily's past is revealed and at the age of six she begins her life as a girl.

Chapter III

Julia ran her fingers through Emily’s soft hair and listened to her daughter’s faint breathing. She could only construe the events that had taken place tonight at the Marshes dinner party as a bad omen for the future. She drew in a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer to the Almighty, asking Him to watch over her family through the coming days. After all her family had been through, they were going to need as much help as possible when David Marsh found out that Emily would not be marrying Jonathan. It wasn’t an absence of love or the fact that Jonathan had assaulted Emily that was going to annul the marriage contract, but something much more fundamental. Emily was really a boy.

It was a secret the family had spent years hiding. They had even moved from their farm by the small town of New Antioch in the Augustine Parish to keep her safe. Julia remembered the turbulent events that had begun over sixteen years ago. She remembered vividly how much James had complained about the weather and the prospects of a mediocre harvest. She had had her hands full with the children. Sarah, three years old, had been a handful, as she was walking everywhere and had even nearly gotten lost outside while Julia was attending to Aaron’s needs. Aaron, who had been just over nine months old at the time, was teething, and he fussed constantly.

When the fall harvest came, all of James’s worries were realized when he was only able to make a little less than what he had the previous year. The day he came back from town, James complained about everything: the lousy weather, the shoddy equipment, and the health of his animals. By then, she had suspected that she was pregnant. It had been over eight weeks since she had bled. She had fierce cravings for eggs, and she was becoming highly irritable, things that had happened only when she had been pregnant with Sarah and Aaron.

It had been a cold night in late October when she finally decided to tell James. They were lying in bed, trying to keep warm, as the rain and wind battered their small home. Aaron was sound asleep in the bassinet, and the sounds of his soft breathing filtered into her ears.

She placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder, “James,” she whispered.

“Hmm.”

“I think … I think I might be pregnant again.” She had always been reluctant to tell him of a new pregnancy, not because he would be unhappy or upset, but because her first pregnancy had ended with a miscarriage, and she didn’t want to worry him.

“Oh,” was James’s disheartening response.

Silence filled the room as he absorbed the news.

“Are you okay?” Julia asked.

James was silent for a moment longer. “I don’t know. I’m worried. I always hoped that after Aaron we wouldn’t have any more kids. I worry that I won’t be able to keep us fed, ’specially if we have another poor harvest. Worse still, I’ve heard stories ’bout other farmers who’ve had their crops burned and livestock killed, just so the landowners in New Antioch can bankrupt ’em and take their land. If we can’t make enough money, how’ll we back on our feet if something bad happens?”

Julia rolled away, “I know. I didn’t wanna burden you while you were harvesting, but I thought you should know.”

He rolled over and put his arm around her waist. “I mean, I’m happy. I just don’t want anything to happen where we might have to give up our land.”
“I guess we’ll just have to trust in each other and in God to make sure that everything will work out,” she said.

But as Julia’s belly grew, so did her husband’s worry. By the time she could feel the baby kicking, the bitter cold winter choked the land and several of the farm’s animals died from exposure. That winter also came without the vital life-giving snows that would moisten the soil for the next planting season. There were even times that James would complain out loud that he was going to have to sell the land just to keep the family fed.

The springtime was filled with anxiety for Julia. Throughout the last trimester of her pregnancy, she had experienced a number of false labors, and her younger sisters briefly moved into the cramped farmhouse to help watch the children and comfort Julia while she rested.

After a false labor, Julia finally had the real thing the afternoon of May 1, 329, but the baby kept her waiting for a grueling thirteen hours.
“It’s a boy!” Julia’s sister Maria exclaimed. Her sister’s declaration caught Julia by surprise. Through all her pregnancies, she had always had an intuition as to whether she was having a boy or a girl, and with both Sarah and Aaron she had been right. She had been so sure that she was having a girl with this pregnancy that she hadn’t even thought of a boy’s name for the baby. But, as her sister handed him to her, she couldn’t help but notice a slight resemblance between him and her uncle Erik, so she named the baby Erik Richard La Rouche after him.

The moment she handed Erik over to James, he seemed transformed. The dour look of worry that had overcome him during her pregnancy disappeared as he laughed and smiled with his newborn son. On that day, it had seemed as if God smiled on her family. They had three healthy, beautiful children. Then the weather soon changed for the better, and that fall James reaped one of the best harvests of his entire life.

Continue reading Chapter 3:
http://www.dana-deyoung.com/bff3.pdf

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The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 4

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel Chapter

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Science Fiction
  • Day after Tomorrow
  • Western

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

Other Keywords: 

  • thriller
  • Dystopian

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

the-butterfly-and-flame.jpg

In this chapter, Emily's father, James faces a Sophie's choice: Surrender his trans-daughter into an arranged marriage knowing the possible deadly consequences when she comes of age, or slowly starve to death over the winter months.

As a special promotion for July I am pleased to announce that The Butterfly and the Flame is available on Kindle and Nook for $.99

James looked over his fields with dismay. As far as he could see, brittle and dead sticks jutted up like thorns through the dried and blistered soil. It had now been ninety-one days since rain had graced his crops, and since then he had been at war with the sun to keep them alive. He had made endless trips the creek that ran behind the fields to fill watering cans full of water to pour over the plants. In the end, it was no use; the heat fried their roots and evaporated the water. He put his hands above his eyes and glared at his solar nemesis.

Everything was lost. What could be harvested wouldn’t be enough to last his family more than a few weeks. If they slaughtered the animals, they might have enough meat to last two months, possibly three to four, if the hunting was good. The best case scenario? They would be able to survive until March, but even then he would have no money to buy seeds or livestock.

James threw his hat to the ground. It had been a terrible year. Since they had moved from New Antioch ten months ago, nothing had gone right. Why had they trekked all this way to end up starving to death? Surely the weather was better back in New Antioch, and even if it wasn’t, at least he could have relied on his or Julia’s family to help them make it through the winter. A stiff breeze gusted from the south, stirring up miniature dirt devils. James watched his future disappearing into the air with them.

Over the past few weeks, David Marsh had been soliciting offers to buy the land from him for a reasonable price. Each time Marsh hinted at the subject of buying his land, James thanked him but reassured David that he’d be fine, while he hoped and prayed for a miracle from the skies.

Nothing happened. He was a modern-day Job trapped in a test of faith that had no end. Whatever deal Marsh offered would keep him alive, but he and his family would be little better than slaves. But what choice did he have? If he didn’t take the deal, his family would be penniless and starving inside half a year.
He no longer had any choice. He’d have to visit David tomorrow and pray that his offer was still on the table. James bent down and picked up his hat. “Why, God? Why this, now, after everything?” he said.

* * *

James found little sleep that night and as the sun rose, he found himself paralyzed in his bed.

Day ninety-two.

Normally, James would be feeding the livestock now, but what was the point? In a few hours they wouldn’t be his anymore. James looked at Julia, who was sleeping peacefully next to him. She had cringed when he told her that he was going to sell the farm. She sensed his frustration and disbelief. But all she said was, “We’ll get through this. Whatever happens, even if we are broke, we’ll still have each other.” He wished he could his share her optimism.
As the morning passed, he could no longer remain idle in his bed. He got up, but he still couldn’t shake the dull ache of apathy that filled his body. As he dressed, he could hear Aaron and Emily playing in the next room.

“Aaron, no! Don’t kill it.”

“Why not? It’s just a spider!”

“So, what did it ever do to you?”

“It’s just a spider. There are hundreds of ’em everywhere.”

James smiled at the irony. He was like the spider, caught between forces of life and misery. He listened to the children play-fight some more. He knew who would win, and it wouldn’t be the spider.

Julia greeted him with a simple, but loving, kiss to his cheek when he came into the family eating room. He sat at the table with his children and tried his best to stay upbeat. For a moment he wished he could trade places with Aaron and be a boy again, just so he could live one day without worrying about tomorrow.

“Ma said you didn’t sleep well last night, so I fed the animals for you, Pa,” Aaron said with proud enthusiasm.

“Hey! I helped too,” Emily said.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful,” James said.

“We only have one bag of corn feed left,” Emily said. “Can we go with you tomorrow when you get some more?”

James gritted his teeth. The drought had wiped out all the fields where the cattle typically grazed. In order to keep them alive, he had had to resort to buying expensive feed. Doing so had drained what little savings they had had. He didn’t want to tell his children that, with a disastrous harvest looming ahead, he might not be able to spend the last of his money on animal feed.

“We’ll have to see. I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring.”

Julia prepared a light meal of scrambled eggs and boiled carrots. Knowing the potential crisis they faced, she made the helpings smaller than what she traditionally served. James only ate a little of his food and gave Aaron the rest when he complained that he was still hungry.

Beads of sweat condensed on James’s forehead. One look out the window told him all he needed to know about the weather. There were no clouds in the sky, the air was still, and if the previous three months were any indication, the sun’s blistering rays would nearly bake him into a human roast.

“Do you kids wanna go to church today or stay home?” James asked.

Before he had discussed his plans with his wife, James originally had planned to go by himself and approach Marsh after the service to discuss selling his land. The prospect of his children seeing him beg David Marsh for their survival sent chills up his spine. But Julia didn’t want to deprive the children from worshiping. The family went every week, and she wanted to make sure Aaron and Emily would grow up to have a strong faith. They argued for nearly an hour, but Julia would not relent unless they were at least given the opportunity to go.

“I don’t wanna go. It’s too hot to listen to some old boring sermon,” Aaron said.

“How ’bout you, Emily?” he asked her. He expected her to follow her brother’s lead.

Emily frowned as she thought it over. “I think I wanna come with you.”

“You sure?” James said, emphasizing the last word carefully.

Emily’s eyes darted away from him to her mother. “Yes, I think so,” she said at last.

“Okay,” he said. Emily had been following him around more than she had at any other time in her life. She always wanted to spend his free time with him. It was as if Emily was trying to make up for something. “Why don’t you go fill our canteens with water while I get the horse ready?”

“Okay,” she said. She slid off her chair, grabbed the canteens from the cabinet, and then disappeared out the door.

James stood and slid his chair back under the table. “Well, I s’pose I better go get Duncan saddled up.”

Julia gave him a quick hug, “Okay, good luck with everything.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. He turned to make his way outside.

“Good luck with what?” Aaron asked.

“Never you mind. Your father just has a couple of things he needs to take care of after church,” Julia said.

James closed the door behind him. He didn’t want to tell his children that he had failed to keep them fed and that he would have to become a sharecropper in order to survive, yet it was only a matter of time before they would know.

James retrieved Duncan from the barn, saddled him up, and brought him out to the front of the house, where Emily was waiting for him. He reached down and, with an effortless motion, picked her up and set her in front of him.

“You sure you want to go, Em? You know it’s gonna be pretty hot in there.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather go with you than just sit in the house all day.”

“Okay,” he said.

Emily looked up at him, “You okay, Pa?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

He looked back at Emily, into her deep blue, loving eyes. As she looked at him, he felt some of his anxiety slip away. Perhaps it wasn’t bad for her to come after all. Perhaps if she was there it would give him the strength to get through the day and do what needed to be done

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The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 5

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel Chapter

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Science Fiction
  • Day after Tomorrow

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

Other Keywords: 

  • Dystopian thriller

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

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With the impending future weighing down upon them, James and Julia try to decide the best way to keep their transgender daughter safe from a lunatic society.

Emily floated in and out of consciousness. She felt pain, sickening and sharp. Her body felt hollow and placid, like a decaying fish on a sandy beach. She kept her eyes closed in an effort to make the pain go away, but no matter what she did, it persisted. Memories danced randomly through her mind. She remembered the dream about her wedding, and she remembered hunting earlier that morning and tonight’s dinner. The world around her grew dark, and Emily could faintly see the shadowy outline of her mother sitting by her side and running her fingers through her hair. Her mother asked her a question, but her words were muted, indistinguishable sounds.

Emily passed out. When she opened her eyes, the world was darker, and the shapes and sounds around her changed until she felt she was floating through the air. Her father was carrying her into the house.He did not look at her but kept his vision forward as he brought her inside and laid her down on her bed. She felt her body melt into the soft mattress, and she drifted back to the realm of unconsciousness.

James brushed her hair aside and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Julia placed a damp cloth across her forehead, and together they left the room to let Emily sleep. Aaron stood outside the room in the cramped, narrow hallway, waiting for them.

“How is she?” Aaron asked.

“She’s asleep. She’ll probably be like this for the next few days as she gets better,” Julia said. “I’ll stay with her tonight to make sure there are no more problems.”

“So, where am I gonna sleep?” Aaron asked.

“Why don’t you sleep in our room tonight?” Julia said.

Aaron looked uneasily at his father before looking back at her.

“Don’t worry too much about it. Your father’ll probably sleep on the floor anyway. It’s easier on his back.”

“All right, I guess.”

“Good, why don’t you get to bed? Your father and I need to talk.”

Aaron turned and walked to his parents’ room. When he had shut the door, Julia walked into the family eating room, with her husband following closely behind. James took his usual spot closest to the fireplace, while Julia sat across from him. The lonely candle in the center of the table cast a dull light that accented the tired lines in James’s worn face.

“James, we need we figure out what to do about Emily,” Julia said. Her voice quivered and her hands shook. Her daughter had been assaulted and injured, and she couldn’t do anything about it. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

“I don’t know. After Aaron’s little brawl, I think we lost our only chance to get outta the contract.”

“Maybe, but I think that even if Aaron hadn’t knocked some sense into Jonathan, David would’ve done whatever it took to calm things down–but he would’ve never released Emily from the contract.

James sighed and let his head rest in the palm of his hand. “I don’t think we got any good choices left. It isn’t safe for her to stay in Seaton. We’re gonna have to send her somewhere.”

“What about your family? Could she stay with one of your brothers?”

“No, I haven’t heard from either Martin or Daniel since we’ve been livin’ here. Besides, the last they remember of Emily, she was still Erik; they’d prolly be very reluctant to take her in.”

“I forgot about that. It’s too bad that my parents weren’t still alive. I mean, they at least knew about her. I think they would have taken her in.”
Julia’s parents had died within six months of each other five years ago. The first notice she’d received of it had been a poorly written letter from her sister Maria a year after the fact. Her parents had been the kindest people she had ever known, and she vowed that someday she would make it back to New Antioch to visit their graves, but so far she hadn’t been able to fulfill that promise.

“I know, I still remember the first time they met Erik as Emily; it was just as if she had been there all their lives. They were really good people,” James said. He stared deeply into space, and silence filled the room as they tried to think of a plan.

“Is there any way that we could move, as we did ten years ago?” Julia asked bluntly.

“What, all of us?” James asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, I don’t see any way we could do it. When we moved last time, we still owned our land and could sell anything to raise the money we needed, but now David owns everything, and if we try to sell anything that’s his, we could end up in jail.”

“Then what’re we gonna do, James? If she stays here, her life is as good as gone,” Julia said. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit her, and she couldn’t maintain her composure. “God, this isn’t fair! All I ever wanted in life was to be able to see my children grow up and have families of their own. But Sarah died young, Aaron’s a convicted adulterer, and Emily …” she paused to try to select the right words, “… can never marry.”

In spite of all her family had been through, Julia took pride in Emily and how independent and creative she was. Emily was perhaps the most intelligent person she had ever known. But at times she found herself wishing that Emily was either completely male or female and not somewhere in between. She loved Emily as a daughter, but she would never wish her situation on anyone. It was too much to handle. She lived under a cloud of fear that someone would find out that Emily was a boy and all the family’s efforts to keep her identity a secret would’ve gone to waste.

She worried even more when Emily turned thirteen. Julia watched Aaron grow from a boy into a man. He was nearly six feet tall, and his muscles rippled from the years of heavy farm work. He had thick patches of facial hair that matched his sandy-blond hair. She had worried the same thing would happen to Emily, that by the curse of nature she would develop into the man that she was supposed to be. So far, Emily had been lucky. Emily was nearly sixteen and still possessed an array of feminine features. She was only a few inches above five feet tall. Her voice had only broken moderately, and she only had a few hairs above her lip, which she meticulously plucked out. Perhaps her most striking feature of all was her long, flowing auburn hair. It flowed around her shoulders and down the length of her back, where it came to an end around her waist. Her hair was the color of autumn and as fine and smooth as the best Chinese silk. It was the hallmark of her femininity.

Ever since Emily had started living as a girl, Julia had worried. She vividly remembered the agony and the heartbreak that her daughter had felt, and she remembered the things Emily had done to herself. It had scared her when Emily had refused to eat because she couldn’t be a girl. Even though they were letting her live the life she wanted, Emily occasionally went through bouts of depression. There were days when she would stay hidden in her room, and on those days she’d scarcely do anything or talk to anyone. When Emily had been younger, she would sometimes talk about how she would grow up to be a woman. Julia knew it was absurd but humored her anyway, for fear of breaking her heart. But with each year that passed, Emily slowly came to the realization that it was nothing more than a childhood fantasy and there was nothing that she could ever do that would turn her into the woman she knew herself to be.
Emily had also seen what puberty had done to Aaron, and it scared the hell out of her. Julia remembered Emily saying one night a few years ago, “I’d rather be dead than to have to end up looking like Aaron.” That statement alone kept Julia up many nights. No child should ever say such things.

Now, James said, “I know. We’ve done the best we could. I think most people woulda given up on a child like Emily.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna let her go. We’ve already lost one daughter. I don’t want to lose her, too.”

“We won’t,” James said.

James winced as a sharp pain shot through his stomach. He was plagued with worry. He worried what would happen to his way of life once the wedding fell through. It was well within Marsh’s power to seize the land and force Julia and him out into the streets. He could even be arrested.

No matter what form of retribution he faced, nothing pained him more than the realization that he would never see his children again. But the only way that Emily would ever be safe would be if she fled beyond the borders of the Dominion. There was no way he could send her that far without someone to look after her and be her companion, and that job would fall to Aaron.

James tried to remember a map of the Dominion. Emily could be safe in the western parishes, as they were sparsely populated, but the land was less suited for farming. On top of that, further west there were the mountains, and James didn’t like the thought of his children having to cross them alone.

Sending the children south was out of the question, as he would only be sending them deeper into the heart of the Dominion, where the laws were stricter and more often enforced.

He couldn’t send them north, either. The Dakota Territories were teeming with Mormon refugees and extremists. The situation had deteriorated over the last year. Farms and settlements along the northern border were increasingly under attack. Last autumn, after the railroad bridge in Lewis Bend was bombed, Bishop Aldridge had announced that he would send soldiers to the northern territories to root out the Mormon infection.

Sending his children east was the only option left. Over the Missouri River was the Saint James Parish. It was less populated than the Seaton Parish, but if James wanted to make sure that Emily was safe forever from the Dominion’s laws, they would need to settle in the Great Lakes Territories, which began near the Mississippi River. The territory had fertile farming land and enough wildlife and game to live off for as long as they would need.

He rubbed his tired eyes. “I guess our only option would be to get her far away from here. The only thing I can think of is to send her east, toward the Mississippi,” he said.

“Where’s that?” Julia asked.

“It’s ’bout four hundred miles east of here.”

“But she wouldn’t make it that far by herself.”

“Aaron would go with her.”

Julia’s eyes widened. “So all of our children would be gone,” she said, the words barely escaping her.

“Julia, it’s the only way.”

“I know.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I know. How soon would she have to go?”

“The wedding’s in three weeks. When did Andrea wanna do the dress fitting again?”

“The sixteenth. Next Friday.”

“Okay, she’ll have the fitting, and I think I can get enough supplies and money for them to leave two weeks from now. That’s plenty of time for them to get out of the area before the wedding.”

“God, James! I never thought we’d have to see a day when we would lose all our children,” Julia said.

James could not imagine the pain and stress that Julia was feeling. In all their years of marriage he could scarcely recall a time when she had taken the Lord’s name in vain, and now, within a space of just a few minutes, she’d done it twice.
“But at least she’ll be safe and be able to live a long life.”

“What about Aaron? You know how stubborn he can be. Remember our last move?”

James did remember, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought. From New Antioch to Seaton, Aaron had thrown nonstop tantrums. He had asked endless questions and repeatedly harassed and blamed Emily for their having to leave their home.
“I don’t know. He’s grown since then,” James replied.

“Still, he hates change, and I know he’s still in love with Elizabeth.”

“Sooner or later, though, he’ll realize that she’s untouchable. At least this way he has a chance to find someone else and get married.”

“Hopefully, that’ll be sooner rather than later. We’ve almost run out of time. Speaking of which, what do you plan to tell Marsh? We can’t just not show up the day of the wedding. You’ll have to tell him something.”

“And what do ya suggest telling him? You know he won’t accept anything less than Emily at the altar.”

“You could tell him the truth.”

“What? That Emily’s really a boy, and that we’ve been raising what the church and everyone else sees as an abomination for the last ten years? I’m sure he’d love that!” James said.

“What else are you gonna tell him? If knows the truth, he might just call off the wedding.”

“Don’t you think that’ll just make things worse? I mean, if it just looks like Emily ran off, then we might be able to come through this with our livelihood intact.”

“But if it looks like she just ran off, then there’s absolutely no way she can ever come back. If David knows the truth about Emily, he might just end the contract himself, and we could stay together.”

James shook his head. “He won’t show us any mercy, ’specially after the wedding he’s been planning for ten years blows up in his face.”

“You know, despite what happened tonight, he’s always been fair to us.”

“Tonight will be nothing if he knows the truth.”
Julia sighed aloud. “You know we don’t have much choice. You tell him whatever you think’ll be best, ’cause you’re the one who’ll have to talk to him.” Julia stood up from her chair and looked at James. “You should try to get some sleep. It’ll be daylight before you know it,” Julia said. She turned to make her way to the children’s room.

“Julia,” James said.

“Yes?” She stopped and looked back at him.

“You know I love you.” Those words seemed almost alien to him. It had been a while since he had last said them to her, and with the weight of the world on his mind, his marriage at times seemed to be nothing more than a simple friendship. But now, as he looked at the careworn face of the woman who’d been his companion for the last twenty years, he realized he needed her now more than ever.

Julia walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I know you do, and I love you. No matter what happens, I want you to know you’re the best father and husband a woman could ever ask for. There’s not a man on Earth who would’ve made the sacrifices you have for your family.” She gently kissed his forehead. James lifted his head and their eyes met and exchanged a lifetime of moments, the good and the bad. Through thick and thin they had been there for each other. She lowered her head, and for a moment they kissed. Her warm, wet lips moved with him. A fire burned deep inside him; it felt like the first time they had kissed. Their spirits were one as they danced the dance of life and love. The burden of the future slipped away as he loved the woman who had always remained steadfast by his side. How long had it been since he’d felt this way? Too long!

Julia parted and closed her eyes, holding on to the moment for a little longer.

A smile flashed over her face. “I should go tend to Emily and make sure she’s all right.” She paused to take one last look at James and then walked to the children’s room.

A fresh wave of fatigue washed over James. He decided to try to get some sleep. He grabbed the candlestick and made his way to his bedroom. He opened the door, and the dim light cast an unearthly light over the room. James set the candle on an uneven end table and quickly stripped off his clothing down to his shirt and undergarments. Aaron was sprawled across his bed. Rather than moving him,

James grabbed a pillow, blew out the candle, and lay down on the floor.

Twenty-one days was all that remained before the wedding day. Only fourteen days remained before he’d have to say good-bye to his children for the final time. He hoped and prayed for the best, that everything would clear itself up and his children would be able to stay home. But he knew it wouldn’t happen. Time was his enemy. It was unbelievable that so much time had slipped away from him. Nine years had disappeared in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Just before James fell asleep, he made a promise to himself. He might not be able to stop the future, but he would right the things he had let go wrong in the past.

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The Butterfly and the Flame - Chapter 7

Author: 

  • DanaDeYoung

Audience Rating: 

  • Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication: 

  • Novel Chapter

Genre: 

  • Transgender
  • Science Fiction
  • Day after Tomorrow
  • Adventure

Character Age: 

  • Teenage or High School

Other Keywords: 

  • Dystopian thriller

Permission: 

  • Posted by author(s)

the-butterfly-and-flame.jpg

With time running out, Emily uses her dress fitting as a chance to bargain her way out of her upcoming wedding.

Friday April 16

It’s been too long since I’ve been able to write my thoughts down. For the last few days, I’ve done nothing but lie in bed and wish the pain would leave my head. Finally, this morning, I was able to move and think without the blinding pain and the nausea.

What’s worse is that I’ve lost days recovering in my bed. Yesterday it was Sunday, and we were at the Marshes’ for supper, and now it’s Friday. I am to go to town today and be fitted for my wedding gown. The thought of being able to try on expensive and glamorous clothing is really exciting. But I worry. I worry that while I’m changing someone might accidentally discover what I’ve kept hidden for so long. It seems like it’s getting harder and harder to hide; it’s such a sensitive area right now, and trying to hide them causes me great pain. Lord, how I wish they weren’t there.

David Marsh would just die if he knew the truth, which is a great worry for me. What’s he going to do if I don’t marry his son?

I know the wedding’s not going to happen. I know–but it still haunts my dreams. I am so worried. Two weeks are all that remain, and still Ma and Pa have said nothing about getting me out of this wedding. I can tell it’s killing Father.
He’s not the same; he’s so tense and nervous. I know he’s not sleeping well at night–I don’t think any of us are. I know the wedding is killing him; I’m killing him. He can’t look at me; he always looks away. It seems as if we are back on the old farm again. It’s like that first night when he caught me.

I think he loves me, but it’s hard to tell. I still remember the arguments he would have with Ma and how they would wake me up in the middle of the night. I remember how angry he was in those early days and how that anger was replaced with a cold unease. I know I am a burden to him. I know he wishes he didn’t have a child like me. I am a burden to this whole family. They’ve put their lives aside for me. They’ve made adjustments to shelter and protect me from the law. They say they do it because they love me, but I’m not sure I believe that anymore. I’m just an obligation to this family because of the accident of my birth. It seems as if there is a condition attached to me somehow. We love you, but … I can see it in their eyes, their secret resentment.

Father keeps his distance from me. He always has. Looking back, I scarcely remember a time when we did things together. The only thing that stands out is the time when he taught me how to hunt. For our first few trips, I was reluctant to go. But after a while, it was something I looked forward to. Even though we rarely talked, something told me that he was proud of me and how proficient I had become with a rifle. After a while, he started sending me out on my own to hunt, while he worked the farm. Even though I’ve invited him to come with me, it has probably been four years since we have gone hunting together. I can’t help but wonder if he enjoyed that time we spent together. I wonder if he was proud of me for the game I have brought in, or if it was just something he had to teach me so we could have food on our table.

In many ways, I guess I am jealous of Aaron. I see Pa talking and laughing with him, and there is nothing but pride in his heart for Aaron. Aaron might be oblivious to it, but when Pa thought that he was going to get married to Elizabeth, he seemed to be the happiest man on Earth. I remember some things about how he was with Sarah. She was his pride and joy, his little girl. Perhaps part of him died when she did, and that’s why he seems so empty to me. I only wish I could make that emptiness go away, that I could be his little girl like Sarah was so long ago.

Emily set the pen down and stared at the words that she had written. She flipped through the pages of her diary, the sporadic passages and words she had written whenever she felt she had to confide her thoughts.

At that moment, the outside door opened and her father walked into the family eating room.

“Morning, Em. How’s your head today?” he said. He took his place at the head of the table.

“It’s all right, I s’pose.”

“Good. Good, that’s good. Where’s everyone else?”
“Aaron’s out doing chores, and Ma’s getting the wagon ready for us to go to town.”

“Ah. What’re you two goin’ to town for?”

“I’m getting fitted for my wedding dress today.”
“That’s right; I can’t believe it’s Friday already. Hey, can you make me something to eat? I’m pretty hungry.”

“I s’pose. Is oatmeal okay?”

“Yeah.”

Emily stood up from the table and made her way to the wood stove to boil some water. An awkward silence filled the room as Emily prepared her father’s breakfast. She was desperate to know any new details about how she was going to get out of the wedding safely, but she held her tongue for fear that she wouldn’t like the answer.

“I remember when we gave this to you,” her father said, referring to her diary. “It was two Christmases ago, wasn’t it?”

She set his oatmeal in front of him. “Three, actually,” she said.

“I didn’t know you still wrote in this thing.”

Emily sat next to her father. “I try sometimes, I guess,” she said.

“I hope you were kind to your old man.” He closed her diary and slid it over to her. “Listen, I … I know I’ve made mistakes in my life, Em. I know I was hard on you when you were younger. I hope you can forgive me for that. But it’s hard, you know, knowin’ that underneath it all you’re really my son. Even after we moved here I was afraid of what might happen if someone found out. You know, we couldn’t all move again. Then what would happen? But I guess none of that matters anymore.”

“Why? What’s gonna happen?”

He leaned over to her. “I don’t want you to whisper a word of this to your brother ’til I’ve had a chance to tell him, but I’m gonna send you two to live in the Great Lakes Territories.”

Emily nodded as she thought the plan through. “I kinda figured something like that would happen. Are you and Ma gonna come, too?”

James shook his head. “No, it’s just gonna be you two this time. With all of us goin’ together, we wouldn’t have the money and supplies to get that far.”

“When are we leaving?”

“Next Friday.”

“What’re you gonna do about Marsh? You know he’s been looking forward to this wedding for years. I don’t know what he’ll do when I don’t show!”

“I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll come to that bridge when we get there, but for now, your safety is our top concern, and it’s best that we make plans to get you out of Seaton. Hopefully, sometime it’ll be safe for you to come back, but I’m not holding much hope out for it.”

“Please, you don’t have to put everything on the line just for my sake.”

“Emily, you’re our child, and we’d cross the fires of hell to keep you safe.”
Emily rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She looked away from her father.

It rankled that he still continued to call her our child, instead of our daughter. Even though he allowed her to live as a girl, after all these years he still didn’t want to believe she was one.

At that moment, her mother came into the house. “Are you ready to go, sweetie?”

“Is there really any point? I mean, if I’m gonna be leaving and all?”

“You told her?” her mother asked.

“Yeah.” He turned to Emily. “For now, we need to keep the Marshes thinking that all’s well until we can get you and Aaron outta the parish,” he said to her.
“Besides, Emily, you’ve told me how much you’ve wanted to try on some fancy dresses,” her mother added.

“Yeah, okay; I’ll go,” Emily said evenly. She slid back in her chair and made her way toward the door.

“Remember, Emily–keep this between us for now, okay?

“Okay,” she said.

Emily walked with her mother to their wagon outside, and together they began the trip to Seaton. For a few minutes they remained silent.

“So, how do you feel about your father’s plan?” her mother asked, breaking the silence.

“God, it’s dumb. How–”

“Emily Anne La Rouche! Do not take the Lord’s name in vain!”

Emily looked away and rolled her eyes, “Sorry,” she said. “How does he expect us to survive out in the wilderness? I mean, why not just move to a town in Rogersville or Holy Mountain or something?”

“And how would you make a living in any of those towns? You won’t have very much money to live on, and if your brother doesn’t find work, you could very easily have to live on the streets.”

“And that’s worse than living in a dirt hovel in the wilderness?”

“I didn’t say that it would be easy, and it won’t be. But farming’s the only thing your brother knows. At least he’d be able to keep you fed.”

“I guess, but why do we have to go so far out of the way?”

“Because we don’t know what David will do once he finds out about you.”

Emily’s eyes widened. She looked at her mother. “You mean you’re actually gonna tell him the truth?” she asked.

“Your father and I have discussed it, but I don’t think that we have any other choice. David won’t accept anything except for you to be at the altar in two weeks. There’s no reasoning or bargaining with him, and we have no choice but to break the contract.”

“But why tell him the truth?”

“If he knows the truth and thinks that it could bring shame to his family, he might just break it off and that would be that.”

“That sounds like an awful big risk.”

“I know, but what choice do we have? If we just strand Jonathan at the altar, there’s no choice but for you and your brother to leave. But if we can just get David to understand the situation, there’s a chance we can stay together.”
Emily thought about the severity of her parents’ options.

“Ma, how do you feel about this?”

“Oh, Emily, I’m so scared! When we left the Marshes’ last week, David threatened your father to get our house in order or he’d make our lives miserable. I’m just so scared of what he’ll do. I go to bed every night praying, hoping that David will annul the contract, but in my heart I know we’re being ripped apart, and I fear we won’t ever be together again.”
Emily looked away from her mother. Her words only reminded her that she was responsible for everything that was happening. It reminded her that she was a liability, a complication, an inconvenience, and a cancer devouring the lives of the ones she loved.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve put us in this position. I’m sorry that you had to have a child like me. You deserve better.”

Her mother placed a shaky hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Don’t say things like that. I wouldn’t trade you for any other child on God’s good Earth. You’re a remarkable girl, and you’re a caring and loving person. The fact that the authorities would overlook that, just ’cause you refuse to live your life as they think you should, is a real testament to how blind they are.”

Emily shook her head. “But I complicate everything. I’m a burden to everyone. I don’t try to be, but I know I am. I know that Father thinks that.”

“Emily, you’re not a burden! Everything that has happened to us in this life has happened for a reason. You are a blessing to this family, because when the world seems unbearable and dark and lonely you light up our lives with your smile, your creativity, and most of all, your caring.”

“But Father’s resentful toward me. He always has been.”

“Your father loves you very much. He’s not the most affectionate man sometimes, and I know he’s had a hard life, but he cares for you as his daughter.”

Emily turned her head sharply and cast a skeptical glance at her mother. “He never calls me that. Ten years have passed by, and he’s never once referred to me as his daughter!”

Julia sighed, “He still loves you, though. You should know this: love and affection are emotions that men often have difficulty showing.”

“I guess.”

“You’ll have to trust me on this one. Many men would rather die than tell anyone what they’re really feeling.”

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