I pulled on a pair of cotton underpants; white hipster briefs with a tight elastic waist band. Turning back towards the mirror, I froze in mid-breath. With my hair spilling over my shoulders and my panties drawn up to my belly button, I was no longer a boy. Raising a hand to my throat, I regarded my image in round-lipped silence. My mother had been right.

I looked just like a girl.

Bang! ‘Freak!’ Bang! ‘Weirdo!’ Bang! ‘Faggot!’

Bobby Simpson was preparing to hit my head off the school locker when a large pair of hands grabbed him around the neck and lifted him off the ground.

‘Stop hitting him!’

Bobby gurgled in response.

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘You’re Beatrice the Beast’.

‘Call me that one more time and you’ll wake up in hospital.’

She dropped Bobby who stumbled, just avoided a face-plant and ran whimpering around the corner of the corridor.

‘You saved my life. My hero!’

My hometown of Benton is surrounded by half a million acres of untouched forest that are rich with game and hold untold natural treasures. Hidden in these forests are dozens and dozens of small deer camps that at most can boost a dozen voting members. The supporting these scattered little camps are dozens of small businesses. I would even say, many merchants even depend on the yearly influx of hunters to balance their books. I say all of this, because I myself am a hunter.

Graphic created by Patricia Marie Allen from photos on Unsplash .
Background by Jorge De Jorge , model by Alex Blăjan ,
coffee and muffin by Nathan Dumlao

Authors note: This story first appeared in the “ One Dozen Roses ” anthology and has been edited to be read as a standalone.
You can read it in the anthology here .

Jacked Up Part 9

I spent the next weeks training in the mornings, being taught in the afternoons and spending my evenings on the computer, getting the casualty lists of all of the ‘accidents’ and bombings that I could. I cut and pasted all of the likely targets onto another spreadsheet for later use.

Homemaker
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I never thought that there was anything odd about Matt. I would not say that we were friends, but we worked alongside one another for three years and we always talked. I knew that he was married, and I had even met his wife, once, when we met on the street after work. She was plain as I recall.

“Perhaps my best con was on Belinda. I telt her there was a song from the sixties with the lyrics ‘Lie down girl let me push it up push it up lie down.’ She absolutely refused to believe it. I kept that one going for thirty years. It was only when one of her mates said, ‘I remember that,’ that my ‘con’ was busted.”

Peter to Penelope

By Alison Mary Murdoch

Edited by Kelly Blake

A Twist of Fate…

Being the Duty Paramedic at a highway station 12 miles North of our regional hospital, I received an emergency call.

"A boy injured in a fall from a trail bike...”

Finn and Fiona. Day One

My name is Phineas Olsen and I am a thirty year old accountant for a ‘wellness’ company. It is not an onerous job and there seems to be a huge market for our products and services which keeps me pleasantly busy five days a week.

Protected
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Mommy was always very protective of me. She would say: “I worry about you being bullied because you are so small. Five foot three and 115 pounds is really a bit small, even for a girl. With your lack of muscle and your delicate, even feminine appearance you are a target for mean boys.”

Jacked Up Part 8

I sat, in a state of shock, and he allowed me a few moments to consider what he had said. “My parents were certainly no threat” I said “They were loyal, unlike myself. Being given that permit was a joke, a party piece for the in-crowd. It did stand me in good stead in the CIA as it allowed me to be privy to a few things better left unspoken about.”

In the three months since she'd entered the Program, Verity had been exposed to indignities without number: probes and penetrations; medical procedures which invariably left her shaken and tearful. The invasions never seemed to end. They'd explored her most intimate recesses with a barrage of wicked-looking instruments, delving and touching and pricking and poking until she'd begged them to stop, wailing like a child as each new device was inserted. Still, there was something worse than all the violations she'd suffered over the past ninety days...

Struggling to survive the lethal poverty of a post-apocalyptic world, young Verity Sherman has volunteered for "genetic reconfiguration;" a long and torturous medical procedure which effectively transforms biological males into fertile young women. If successful, Verity will be granted wealth, comfort and privilege beyond her wildest dreams - but only if she can survive the horrors of reconditioning. A dark, dystopian vision of a future where gender is a fluid medium and sexual slavery is the only alternative to the slow, creeping death haunting the slums of the Red Zone.

Deniability
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

The Oval Office seemed somehow smaller than she imagined. The curved corner-less walls gave it a surprisingly warm feel – it was after all, the shape of a womb. The color was apricot – warm and sweet. The trim was matt white – clean and tidy. There was a lounge area that looked softer than soft. But at the windows was the business end – the empty desk.

They remained standing as the President entered. He took his seat and did not invite them to sit, so they remained standing.

When I was in fifth grade the schools still did the Halloween parade.
On the afternoon of the Friday before Halloween or on the
actual day when it was not on a weekend we would have a party and
everyone would put on their costumes. Then we would have a parade all
the way around the school and across the stage. The line of kids in
costume would snake through each class room and then at the end of the line
that class would join up. When the first class got back to their room
they would sit down and all the other classes would walk past.

Once we've finished eating our dinner, the dishes had to be collected, washed, dried and stored in the cupboard. Once that chore had been done, I was then free to get a bath. I meant to bath before dinner, but instead I had retreated to my room to brood. Mom's scolding had really taken the wind out of my sails if you will. The bath did little to lift my spirits. Once my bath was finished, I walked into my room and as expected I found my mom sitting on my bed, she had changed too, she now wore a simple blue housecoat that was tied at the side.

How different is 'different' ?

Summary:
Written elsewhere as a fanfic for the Five Gods Universe of Lois McMaster Bujold. Amended and republished here by permission of the author.

The Five Gods are Father-Winter, Mother-Summer, Daughter-Spring and Son-Autumn. The Bastard deals with all the misfits. There are those who believe in Five Gods and the Quads who deny the Bastard. One aim of the Bastard is to help those who are 'different'. Sometimes even his priests fail. And how different is too much - abuse, cruelty, racism, transgender or other. Whispers on the breeze.

Following feedback this is an expanded and slightly revised version of my Selkie' short

Jacked Up Part 7

Inspecting the ground in front of me I saw that there was a nice big tank just off to my right and a closer truck to my left with a couple of other trucks beyond that. The trucks were tempting but there was space underneath them where bullets could easily take out your legs.

Part 7

We finished the sangeet with about a half hour of me singing love songs and, although the dance floor was less populated, there were still quite a lot still dancing and I saw a few couples dancing closely. I suppose all races have their lesbians, it is just how hidden they may be and, let’s face it; we were all girls here today.

Mom and I returned from our shopping expedition around one in the afternoon. Mom quickly decided that tonight's dinner would be tenderized beef steak, smothered in homemade brown gravy and home style mashed potatoes. And of course, me being a girl now, I was required to help. Mom had become quite keen on teaching me to cook and that included helping with every meal.

The Secret of M.Y.T.H. - revised

As I got dressed for my first day at the new school, I reflected on how much had changed since this time last year.

Last year I was just a regular boy, with a girl as a friend who would soon be my girlfriend, trying to navigate the beginnings of puberty and typical school stuff, nothing unusual about me at all.

Now, pretty much none of that is still true.

I am way beyond “usual”, nowhere near “regular”.

And not even a boy.

I’m a girl.