A slice of my raw emotion, unedited since the moment it wrote itself.
|Bad Carbon Copy
By Angie (kitn) Hughes
There she was. Standing in the mirror in front of me in all her natural
beauty. The most beautiful girl in the world. So, why wasn't she smiling?
I looked down at myself, curves like a two-by-four, breasts just barely
more rounded than a sheet of paper. The... thing sticking out from between my
legs, pointing up at me like it was trying to remind me of its existence. I
looked back at the beautiful girl in the mirror and smirked.
I would never be that perfect girl. My breasts, if they ever looked like
they were there, would be implants. My male parts turned inside out, with a
chance that I would never feel anything from them again, or die on the table. I
don't know for sure which would be worse for me. I could only be a bad carbon
copy, with lines where it had been folded and a general foggy look because it
spent too much time against the original carbon.
Reaching for the shaving razor, I contemplate death. It doesn't scare me,
death, but the thought of hurting other people does. I know my wife would be
upset, not to mention the kids... But how can I continue living like this? In
this body that forces me to follow social standards I can't stand. I hate it.
The razor slides across my wrist, a few drops of blood form. Nothing life-
threatening, but a start. It hurts, but then every rebirth does. It will leave a
scar, but every death does. The razor falls to the floor as Andrew dies, and
Angie is born.
It may not be perfect, but not even genetic girls have perfect bodies.
It's the soul inside that matters, and mine is woman. I am Angie, and may the
Gods help anyone who tries to stop me.