One

"have"

I'm the coldness that you chase in the warmth.

See you when I die- BOYO

Ariem

And finding her body, still and pale was like reaching the end of a monotone narrative. It was soulless and limp, like a bulb with no light in it. Only darkness and the silence that comes with death. She was cold, blue washed , like a scene in a medieval horror movie, perhaps a horror comedy with fake blood that was obviously fake and comedic characters that were secretly homosexual. Like Jenny and Brionny. 

Jennys story was a sad one. Of secret panties, stuffed bras and a deathly knowledge of the fact that his body wasn't truly his body. A story of secret oestrogen shots and scant haircuts. It started when he saw himself for the first time with long hair. Thats when he knew that e was not born in the body to which he belonged. Baseball attire turned to leggings and tutus, shorts to skirts and belts to bows. He hated make up but loved lipstick, so much so that the day he emerged from the shadows and came out as transgender to his family he wore a red lipstick and a black fitted bodycon dress. He struggled before coming out, having to live under an identity that wasn't truly his.

He hated his life and was high off acid most days. His mother knew something was off, and was shocked when she came across the panties. The trainee lingerie and a chicken scratch list of all the p's that he wasn't. 

Pedophile

Porn star

Prostitute

Person

Reminded him of Brionny, and her blue energade and her fucking hair cutting.  He cried when he thought of her, living his dream in the body of a nineteen-year-old girl. A nineteen-year-old girl so desperate to love boundlessly. Her own literary sophisticate. Her own library boy. He lived in the shadows and for so long felt like an actor in a facade meant to be observed by the outer world. He felt like an outsider in his own family. He remembered the dinner at his aunt Marions house where he confessed that he was indeed a female.

He remembered his mother going on a tangent about the panties before breaking down into a frenzy of tears. He remembered his message being received with the helpless warmth of a family baffled by the phenomena of transgender people. It was warmer than the roasted chicken, potatoes and cranberry sauce that his aunt Marion had served. Their words were calming, like the soothing melodies of a baby's lullaby. Like being rubbed from left to right with a silk cloth.

He remembered his mother making the photo wall for her own mental wellbeing and crying for her "beloved boy" night after night.

He remembered letting his hair grow down his back in first in brunet tufts then to brunet locks that cascaded down his shoulders. He remembered taking his own polaroids and editing them to what he saw was the truth. Baseball attires became leotards and soccer uniforms became tutus. Jennys story was not one out of the ordinary in her family. Her uncle Norman happened to be a cis woman too. Just a lovely middle-aged woman who felt out of place in a body that he was sure wasn't his. His cousin Gavin aged sixteen happened to be going through the same thing too. Jennys narrative was one of change and of finding beauty in the things that were nullified out of being perceived as grotesque. 

Two days sober. He was two days sober and going through heaven and hell at the same time. Withdrawals were hard, he had vomited quite a bit and had spent most of his time curled up against walls. Like a baby. At the mercy of his body. He felt like a pianist, making some fucked up score for a contemporary horror movie with plenty of babe fucking. Two days sober and he couldn't get Brionny and Jenny out of his mind. He was oblivious to the fact that they had fucked in front of Nahum before. In the world of Sigma of course, were all that had perished lived on for all eternity.