M.A. Melby's Blog, page 3

Live

The story starts here.

“Life is sacred. This place is sacred. I continue to live and I continue to choose peace.”

“I don’t even know what I am,” the young master said. “All I know is that I’m dangerous. I deserve worse than living here with you, surrounded by beautiful things.”

“I’ve tried to find out more about the curse. Everything I’ve read is frightening; stories about children changing into demons and destroying everything and everyone in their path. You defended yourself and I know you feel guilty, but you chose differently. You chose peace. Your choice to stay here to protect others is admirable. Your sacrifice is noble.”

“What will I do when you die?”

“Live. Choose to live. I wrote a letter to you, to remind you that you’re my son. You are not evil or bad, you’re different,” you said smiling. “Very different, but you’re my son. I love you and I’ll care for you until my last breath. You’re my beautiful child.”

A few weeks later, while tending the garden, you were startled by a young person calling out, “Scholar Lafe! Scholar Lafe! Are you here!”

“Stay where you are!” you yelled back, “let me come to you.”

You put down the shovel you were using and looked yourself over to decide if you were presentable. You certainly didn’t wear your vestments while tending the garden.

You found the young person standing near the stone stairway, wearing a loose-fitting cloak and hiking boots. “Why are you here? I told everyone, I don’t…”

“My apologies Scholar Lafe, but I needed to come here.”

“Why?”

“Because this is where Kyn live.”

Your fear and anger turned to joy. “You are one?”

“I am one,” one replied. “I am Kyn.”

“Can you keep a secret?” you asked as you heard the young master stirring in the chapel. “A very big secret.”

The Beginning

Refuse

The story starts here.

“I’m not bringing you anywhere,” you responded sternly. “I know you’re only here for the money. We can work something out without bothering the young master.”

“So, he is dead,” Mister Gannon said under his breath.

Was there a hint of relief in his voice?

You decided to remain silent and let Mister Gannon believe whatever he wanted to.

“I can be a reasonable man,” he declared. “It will be less expensive and less of an inconvenience if we come to an agreement.”

“I don’t ask for much, just enough for the young master and I to live modestly,” you said, holding your head up high. “If you relinquish claim to the liquid assets, I will gladly sign the estate lands and holdings to you. You can deal with the central government and the insurance company. I have no stomach for it.”

“Good. Good,” Mister Gannon nodded.

“And I will remain the legal guardian of the young master,” you insisted. “Those are my terms.”

“I agree,” Mister Gannon said, holding out his hand.

“One more thing,” you said, refusing to shake his hand, “your man will apologize for striking me. We wouldn’t want the locals to remain under the impression that imperials are disrespectful brutes, would we?”

“You!” Mister Gannon fumed angrily, lifting up his hand as if he was going to strike you.

“Those are my terms, Mister Gannon. There is only so much indignity and sacrifice I am willing to endure for the peace the serves us all. You should remember that, if you are planning to stay here for any length of time.”

The crowd began to murmur.

“Apologize,” you insisted.

“Fine. Fine,” he said. “If you insist.”

“I’m…sorry?” the bodyguard said, sounding confused.

“I apologize Kyn Scholar Lafe for placing my hand on you,” you said, making it clear that’s what you wanted him to say.

Mister Gannon nodded, indicating that his man should repeat the words.

“Um…I apologize…”

“Kyn Scholar Lafe,” you prompted.

“…Kyn Scholar Lafe, for placing my hand on you.”

“I accept your apology. Now that we are on good terms, I’ll bring you to the magistrate so we can clear up matters involving the estate.”

The papers were prepared and signed. Mister Gannon was able to convince the insurance company to release the settlement and he was free to clear and redevelop the estate grounds. Eventually, one of his children, a reasonable young woman who was interested in botany moved in and began a business importing and exporting herbs, spices, and tree nuts. She was credited with saving many of her late aunt’s prized plants.

The central government created a memorial plaque that included the names of everyone who died in the fire, claiming that each and every one of them were heroes. You often left a flower on Chef’s name when you came into town.

The young master continued to change and you continued to live with him in isolation.

New teeth grew into his mouth, including long fangs. His voice became deep and booming. His neck became longer. He started to run on all fours. The scales now covered almost his entire body and his horns were magnificent.

You made clothes for him as he changed, but at some point, they seemed silly. He wasn’t a human anymore. He grew. He became quite large, to the point where the chapel was the only building he could sleep in. The raised stage essentially became his nest.

“I’m getting old,” you told him one day. “I’m gratified with maintaining this sacred place, but it’s empty, except for us.”

“Are you lonely?” the young master asked.

“Aren’t you? At least I can go into town. You are here on your own all the time.”

“This is my fate. I’m poison.”

“Do we really know that? Have we tested it?”

“Do you want to touch me and find out? I couldn’t bear it if you died. How lonely would I be then?”

“Is it enough to simply live? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a very long time.”

“Have you found the answer, Tutor?”

Touch him

Live

Save him

The story starts here.

You could feel intense heat coming off of his body.

“Touch the lock,” you suggested.

He did and it melted.

You took a few steps back as he walked through the gate. “Your parents? The staff?”

“Killed.”

“Are you sure? Everyone? Chef?”

“I think so. They set the buildings on fire. They killed the people who ran out. I didn’t see everyone, though. I watched through the window until they threw a burning bottle at me. It smashed through the window and everything started on fire. I was surrounded, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, I felt…powerful.”

Very slowly you began to realize how quiet it was. The yelling and the screaming had stopped awhile ago and all you could hear were the crackling fires raging and the buildings falling down. Occasionally, a load bearing timber would break with a loud bang.

“What happened to the people who attacked the estate?” you asked.

“I was angry.”

You wet your lips and gulped, trying hard not to hyperventilate. “We need to go.”

“Where?”

“I know a place. It has a garden and a stream for fresh water. It’s a sacred place. I’m going to bring you home with me.”

“Home?”

You nodded. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m a monster.”

“You’re a child,” you responded with conviction. “Our people don’t kill children. Now, follow me. We need to take a long route around the town and near the river to be safe. Try not to touch anything.”

As you traveled, at first, the young master made the grass around his feet shrivel, smoke, and burn with every step. But eventually, the young master became cooler and his own glow become muted.

“Who are you?” the young master asked after you had walked through the woods for a while. “What happened to your wife and child?”

“You heard that?”

“Yes.”

“My wife was a member of the royal family. We offered ourselves for execution to allay fears of insurrection after the annexation.”

“What does that mean?”

“The imperials were worried that if anyone from the royal family were alive, that we would be considered the rightful leaders of the region and not the central government. That’s why I wrote a letter to my child. I thought I was going to be killed, but they didn’t care about me. I wasn’t a blood relation. My child was. We were confused. In our custom, if a nation takes over another, we adopt the royal children to solidify the legitimacy of our rule, we do not kill them. In our custom, if we are married, we become family. We didn’t even consider it a possibility that they would be so cruel.”

“The imperials did that?”

“Yes.”

“I thought…”

“Lies,” you interjected. “All lies.”

“So, you’re a man?”

“No! I told you not to ask that.”

“Sorry.”

We walked a ways further before he just couldn’t help himself. “But you’re a father.”

“A parent.”

“But you had a wife.”

“I did and she’s dead now, would you please quit asking questions.”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t believe you’re asking these stupid questions after you survived a fire, started to glow, and felt cold even though you were as hot as molten iron. You imperials are insufferable…murderous…vapid…”

“Tutor. I killed people.”

“I know.”

“Am I bad?”

“You’ve been told you were a demon since you were born and you ask me this question?”

“But you said I wasn’t a demon. Am I a demon? Am I bad? Am I evil?”

You turned around abruptly and stared at him, wanting desperately for him to just be quiet. “How am I supposed to know?” you barked.

He wrapped his arms around his body in embarrassment at his nakedness. “What am I?”

“I don’t know, but my people believe that our choices make us good or bad, not who we are.”

“Even imperials? Even demons?”

“Yes.” You took a deep breath and looked away to respect his modesty. “Yes, even imperials, even demons.”

“But you said…”

“I was angry.”

Finally, you were climbing the stone stairs to home. The sun had set, so it was precarious, but you both made it into the chapel safely.

“I bought things in town, but I left them. I don’t have matches,” you admitted as you rummaged through your things in the dark. “I’ll find some clothes for you. You must be cold.”

You saw a light behind you and turned around to look. The young master had his hand on a small stack of firewood and it was burning.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said.

You quickly found a thick robe and brought it over to him. “Will it burn? I don’t have many clothes anymore.”

“I don’t think so,” he said as he backed away from the fire and took the robe. “I made that happen.”

“The fire?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I made my hand hot and started the fire.”

“That’s good. Maybe this is something you can control.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to be scary and dangerous. I really don’t.” He tried to wrap the robe around himself, but then stopped. “Tutor, is there something on my back?”

“Let me see.” You took a closer look. His back was covered with about a dozen raised oval shapes, but it was difficult to see in the firelight.

“What is it? Is there something there?”

“There is, but I don’t know what it is. We’ll try to assess everything and make plans in the morning. Right now, I want a drink.”

“A drink?” He wrapped the robe around himself tightly. “Can I have a drink?”

“I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thank you.”

By the time you came back from the stream with a full flask of water, the young master was sleeping. He was curled up in your robe with just the top of his bald head and his eyes peaking out from underneath. With each breath, his whole body glowed with a dark, subtle red light.

Though you felt guilty for considering it, you wondered if he was better off dead. Was he changing into something truly evil and dangerous? Would you pay the price for your compassion? Would he?

The longer you watched him sleep, the more your fears subsided.

He was a child.

He was your child now.

You placed the flask of water near him, but not too close.

You took off your constrictive outer-garment and hung it on a broken chair. Then, you reached into the basket of food and took out a bottle of wine.

“To you chef,” you said, as you took out the cork and drank deeply. “You were nice to me. Thank you.”

There was no possibility of sleeping without the help of wine, not after what you had seen. So, you sat by the fire and drank until you passed out.

The morning came soon enough.

You opened your eyes and the young master was no longer there. In a panic, you hopped to your feet and ran outside. The sun was bright and your eyes needed to adjust. “Young master, where are you!”

“Tutor, what’s happening to me?” you heard him call out. “It hurts.”

You found him standing near the edge of the plateau. You had to squint to see. Cloth from the robe was tied around his waist. The growths on his back had become more prominent and numerous. They were deep red and iridescent, like scales. Two spindly horns had started growing out of his head. They were black and branched out wildly like the roots of small trees.

You walked up to him out of extreme curiosity, but you kept a safe distance.

“Puberty?” you guessed as a joke.

He laughed and smiled, but then looked concerned and started massaging his mouth and jaw.

“I have a theory,” you said more seriously, trying to sound like the scholar you were. “Maybe there is some kind of creature, an animal that we don’t know about, who only comes out at very specific times of year. You call it a curse, but I don’t believe in curses, I believe in natural things, such an animal that could have inhabited you when you were a baby but was only awakened when you experienced extreme heat. That’s not unheard of. Some plants only drop seeds when there is fire. Some insects need heat to mature.”

“Insects?”

“Be brave, Young Master. It’s your only choice.”

He nodded his head, but then spat several teeth into his hand and started crying. “I’m scared. I did…I did horrible things when I was afraid and angry,” he said, lisping slightly since half his teeth were in his hand. “My touch is death. I’m dangerous.”

“If it’s any consolation, you may have stopped a war.”

“A war?”

“The people who attacked the estate were not there to rob you or even for revenge. They wanted to send a message to the central government that they are willing to fight. You stopped them. The central government will make up a lie to keep the peace. They will say the fire was an accident and the people who died were trying to save your family but were killed in the blaze. At least, that’s the lie I would tell.”

“Is that how the world works?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry about your child,” he said. “I don’t understand all these things. You told me why, but I still don’t understand why the central government would do that. We…we are supposed to be uniting the world…ending chaos and needless death. I thought…”

“You thought the people who fought back were misguided and that the central government was welcomed by the locals?”

“Yes.”

“This place is where the Kyn used to induct members. Each of the outer buildings was the home of a Kyn scholar and teacher. We were also well-known healers. Many of us learned how the body works and how to fix it.”

“Can you fix me?”

“No. You are something I have never seen.”

“Where are the other teachers and healers now?”

“They fled during the annexation.”

“You didn’t leave with them?”

“My continued life was a surprise.”

He chuckled with a toothless smile and touched the horns that were growing out of his head with his fingertips, which made a quiet sizzling sound. “That…that we have in common. My continued life is also a surprise.”

“Will you be alright if I go into town? We need supplies.”

“Do you have money?”

“Huh?”

“I have a plan of my own. I don’t know if I will survive whatever is happening to me. We should do this right away.”

“Do what?”

“Make you my guardian and beneficiary.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“I would be honored.”

The next several weeks were surreal. The young master continued to change, but he signed several withdrawal slips. You had enough money to buy supplies, begin repairs, clear the grounds, add to the gardens, and to live relatively comfortably.

The young master decided that the chapel was a good place for him to sleep.

You wanted your privacy, so you moved into one of the outer resident buildings.

Both the locals and the imperials were becoming very suspicious. There were rumors that you had started the fires and that you were holding the young master captive to gain access to the family’s fortune.

The insurance company was refusing the release funds, claiming that the fire was likely arson. The central government, however, was very clear that it was an accident and that all the casualties were heroes; they were locals and imperials attempting to fight the fire side-by-side.

One day while in town making purchases, you noticed three men following you. You decided to confront them to make sure you stayed within the public eye. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Are you the one stealing my money?” one of the men responded.

“Of course not, I’m not stealing anyone’s money.”

“Take me to him.”

“Him? Do you mean Young Master Gannon? Who should I say is coming to visit?”

“The rightful beneficiary of the estate.”

“Who? You? Funny, I’ve never seen you before today. You must have been very close.”

“I’m his father’s brother.”

“I’m sorry for your loss of revenue.”

“Don’t mock me,” the uncle responded angrily and signaled one of his men by jerking his head forward. When the man hesitated, he signaled again, now less subtly.

“But…but what if it’s a woman?” the man protested. “I…I can’t hit a woman.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but that’s when the other man kneed you in the stomach.

“That was unnecessary,” you wheezed. “Don’t cause trouble. I’m Kyn. The locals will be unhappy if I’m mistreated.”

“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”

“Respectfully, Mister Gannon, look around you.”

A crowd was beginning to form.

“Take me to see my nephew, now.”

Comply

Refuse

Run

The story starts here.

Fear took over and you were frozen, but only for a moment before you felt the overwhelming urge to flee.

“Stay away from me!” you yelled as you wildly ran away.

“Tutor! Please, I’m scared!”

Your back became warm. Was he coming after you?

Your skin became hotter and hotter until it was unbearable, even as you desperately scrambled to get away. You turned briefly to look behind you and were blinded by the white heat.

You covered your eyes with our arms and screamed.

“Oh no! Tutor! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to! I…I…I was scared. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t mean to. Tutor! What’s happening to me! Tutor! Help me!!”

Your legs gave out and you fell to the ground.

The world went black.

The last thing you heard was the demon screaming and the last thing you felt was your flesh burning.

The End

Leave quickly

The story starts here.

You turned away and held your possessions close to your body. You walked quickly down the road you knew very well, toward the large hill where you were inducted into the Kyn Order. You would be safer there, surely.

You could hear yelling and screaming behind you, but the further you went, the quieter it was.

You climbed the stone steps to the chapel and hid yourself away inside it.

You were unsure if a fire would be safe inside the building, but the windows were broken and the ceiling was high. Most of the structure was made of stone. You decided that it was fine, there was no reason to worry. You made a fire pit by placing loose rocks in a circle.

It would have to do.

Every once in a while you thought you could hear crying and banging. You tried to tell yourself that it had nothing to do with you. Whatever was happening was beyond your control.

You were choosing to survive.

That’s what you told yourself.

You needed wood for the fire, so you walked out of the chapel with the hatchet. The sky was colored due to the impending sunset, but it was different. It was hazy and glowed with a strange light.

You walked toward the edge of the plateau toward the town. The smell of smoke was so intense that you instinctively covered your nose and mouth with your sleeve. The entire town was engulfed in flame so bright it fought against night itself.

How?

Why?

Was it a runaway fire from a kitchen or a blacksmith or a dropped oil lamp? Was it a raid? A fight?

You didn’t know.

You also realized, to your own guilt and horror, that there was no one you cared about enough to move you to act. Everyone you loved was already gone. There was no reason to run back into town. Who would you try to find? Why would risk yourself to save?

Even the chef and the young master were acquaintances. The shop keepers and the townspeople that just helped you get the things you needed to survive? You barely knew their names.

So, you watched the town burn to the ground, safely above it all.

Days went by.

You made the chapel your home. You made a chimney and covered the windows with straw mats. You revived the Kyn gardens and orchards which had become over-grown. You hunted rabbits and you read the same four books over and over again.

Weeks.

When you were bored, you fixed and cleaned things. When you were lonely, you made clay sculptures and wrote poetry.

Years.

You looked over the edge at the town almost every day. Year after year, nature continued to reclaim it until you could barely tell that the town ever existed.

Your isolation became a habit and you became frightened to leave. You became consumed with maintaining your home, your sacred place.

You thought, one day, someone would find you, maybe Kyn who had traveled away would come back as pilgrims and join you.

You were wrong.

You died alone.

The End

Find out what’s happening

The story starts here.

Everyone around you, one-by-one became eerily silent as more people heard the shrieks and cries. You were disorientated for a moment, but as the sounds continued, you were able to determine the direction they were coming from, turned your head, and saw swathes of thick smoke rising up into the air.

You dropped the heavy sack that was on your shoulder and started running as fast as you could toward the commotion. Your clothing wasn’t made for speed, but you did the best you could.

Soon, the estate came into view. You could see the flames through the trees. Everything, everything was on fire.

You kept running toward the gate. It was shut and wrapped in chains. It was too high to climb.

You grabbed the bars, shoved the gate, and yelled in frustration.

“Young master! Chef! Anyone!”

It took a moment to realize what was happening. The fires were so bright that all you could see were the silhouettes of people running around.

You started to shake and sob uncontrollably as you clenched the bars too tightly. This wasn’t a kitchen fire or a tipped over lamp. This was an attack.

This was war.

“Traitors!” you screamed once you found your nerve. “Traitors! We chose peace! We paid the price and we chose peace! How dare you! How dare you! Do you know who I am! Do you know what I sacrificed? Do you? My wife. Her family. My child! How dare you!”

You felt the deep need to get through the gate. You threw your shoulder at the bars near the center over and over again and continued to scream until you were hoarse, but it was no use.

You crumpled into ball at the foot of the gate, feeling the heat of the fires and people screaming and yelling.

“Tutor,” you heard a familiar voice say. “You came back.”

“Young master!” you exclaimed as you looked up to see a demon, a red glowing, naked thing.

“They tried to kill me, but I don’t think it worked. I’m scared.”

He was the young master, but his skin looked like there was light underneath it. Small scraps of charred clothing lifted from his body due to the air currents created by heat. His hair was burning away, creating a horrific stench.

“What’s happening to me? My back hurts. I feel cold. Am I a ghost now?”

“I don’t know what you are,” you blurted out, trying to remain calm and convince yourself that you weren’t delusional.

Save him

Run

Burn the letter and leave

The story starts here.

The possibilities flooded your mind. He was a smart boy. He would figure it out eventually. You had to do something.

You took out a tin of matches and lit the oil lamp that was sitting by your bed and turned the nob on the side to force the cloth wick upward and increase the flame.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you crumpled up the letter into a small ball. “It’s for the best.”

You dropped the letter onto the lamp flame and watched it burn. You would have stood there until it had turned to ash, but you didn’t have time. The young master was hungry and wouldn’t wait very much longer before scolding you again.

You took a chair and placed it under the handle of the door, then took off your night clothes and started to dress yourself quickly. All the buckles and lacing of Kyn clothing were very inconvenient.

Once the over-garment was centered, laced, tightened, and tied, you took the covers off the bed except for the bottom sheet. Then, you started to put things that were actually yours onto the bed.

A couple books. A boxed pen set. The tin of matches.

You knew you couldn’t take everything, so you chose your favorite things.

A tin of rouge. A bracelet. Your best clothes.

You looked over at the flame. The letter was still burning. Soot covered the inside of the glass flute, but you could see that it was burned well enough. It was gone now.

Another book. Books were heavy, but you wanted one more.

You stacked the items to be as compact and stable as possible. Then, you folded the sheet around your possessions, hoisted the pack around your shoulder, and tied the two free ends in front of you.

If you were lucky, very lucky, the young master wouldn’t notice you leaving. He would think, hopefully, that you were leaving to get his food.

You moved the chair away from the door and slowly opened it.

He would fine, you thought. They will find someone else soon enough. The young master would be fine. You needed to think about yourself.

You had nearly reached the door at the end of the hallway when you heard the young master’s voice behind you.

“Why?”

You tried to keep walking, but he started to cry.

“Why! I said I was sorry. I’ll never go into your room again. Please!”

The tone of his voice broke your heart. Despite your better judgment, you turned around.

“I have a secret that I have to keep. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“I won’t tell anyone! I don’t even know what it is! I’m hungry!”

“The chef will notice I didn’t come. Someone will bring you something soon enough,” you said as you turned back around. “You’ll live.”

“I’m…I’m lonely. Please.”

You turned around, yet again to face the young man who was crying. “Lonely? You’re lonely. Of course you are. Your parents don’t deserve you. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re their child, not a demon. You deserve love and protection, not isolation and contempt.”

“Why do you say that and leave me! Why?! Tell me!”

He was screeching now, like he is prone to when he’s angry. Soon he would start to throw things and threaten to hurt himself. You knew how he was. Of course, he was not well. Who would be well, given his circumstances?

“Think it through,” you said, as if giving a lesson. “After the initial invasion, my people surrendered. Who would have prior knowledge that they were going to die? Who would be prompted to write a letter with that knowledge?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“What group of people knew that the imperials were going to execute them?”

His eyes grew wide. “Who are you?”

“The person who wrote the letter I just burned,” you blurted out as you rushed out of the building.

You stopped for a moment after slamming the door behind you to wonder why you answered his question. How could you be so impulsive? You took a deep breath and continued toward the main gate.

You could hear the young master screaming and throwing things, but he didn’t leave his house. You wondered if he ever had.

You kept walking. You saw one of the staff out of the corner of your eye. She must have noticed the pack on your back, since she suddenly ran toward the main house. You quickened your pace.

“Lafe! Lafe!”

Oh no. It was the chef. She was running toward you.

“Someone else will have to bring him his food,” you shouted, continuing to walk quickly.

“Lafe! Where will you go?” she asked as she closed in.

“I’ll find a roof somewhere. Why do you care?”

“What happened?”

“You know how he is,” you lied.

“Lafe, don’t leave. At least give us time to find someone else.” She grabbed your arm much too tightly as you tried to leave.

“Let go of me!” you yelled at her as you attempted to yank your arm away.

“What really happened? You look…are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t belong here. I hate you. I hate you all. Now, let me go! I’m not your slave! I’m not your entertainment.”

“Lafe, I never…” she said as she let go of your arm. “I never thought of you that way. Please, tell me you’ll be all right.”

“I will never, ever, be all right, but I’ll live. I’ll choose peace and I’ll live.”

“Fine,” she said, becoming quiet. “At least, let me pack you some food.”

You nodded and she left toward the kitchens. Your pack was heavy, so you sat down on a bench while you waited. The sounds of the young master crying were distant, but in moments of high intensity were easily heard. You knew most of the staff were probably terrified.

Would they be too frightened to feed him?

He’ll live, you kept telling yourself. He’ll live.

The time passed very slowly. Eventually, the chef returned with a large basket full of food wrapped in paper.

“Thank you.” You stood up to take it from her, but couldn’t look her in the eye. “Please, bring the young master food. He’s hungry.”

“You’re worried about him?”

“Of course, I am, but I can’t stay here. I can’t.”

“Lafe, you have every right to hate us. You do. I won’t take it personally,” she said, attempting a smile. “I’m sorry you’re leaving. I hope you can find happiness, somehow, despite everything. I hope you find happiness.”

“Chef?”

“I’ll make sure the young master gets something to eat today.”

“Thank you. Your…your kindness is unexpected.”

“I apologize.”

“For what?”

“I’m sorry for what your people have been through.”

She had no business apologizing. Those responsible would never suffer shame or consequences. Imperials like her would simply say hollow words in an effort to make them feel better. Her guilt was self-indulgent.

You looked up at her face and could see her sincerity. It stopped you from saying the bitter things that came to mind.

“Good bye, Chef. Thank you for the food.”

“Be well.”

So, you left, not knowing where to go. You had some money and you could sell a few things. How long would that last?

You walked down the main path, which was now a broad cobblestone street teaming with shops and people buying things. Many of the locals bowed in greeting, but then averted their eyes. Imperial children pointed and asked their parents questions about why you were dressed so strangely and who you were — what you were.

Where would you work? What would you do?

You considering finding an Inn, but you only had money for a few days of lodging. So, you just kept walking until you were out of town.

The bed sheet dug into your shoulder. You took breaks and adjusted it, but it hurt all the same. You moved the basket of food from one hand to the other, but it became heavier and heavier.

You gritted your teeth as you climbed up the stone stairway to what was left of the Kyn Order. The buildings were gutted and overgrown. The only one in reasonably good condition was a small chapel near the center of the complex, so that’s where you laid down your burden.

You took a breath and then started searching for more things you might need. There was very little left. Imperial graffiti covered the walls, saying the most vile things. There were broken wine jugs littering the floors. Furniture was deliberately destroyed. Doors were marked with x’s to show that nothing was left inside.

Did you do the right thing?

You did your best to create a space for yourself at the chapel. There were parts of benches left. You propped them up and used them as tables. You unpacked the books and your clothes and organized them on the benches, then covered everything with the sheet.

“This will have to do,” you said to yourself. “This will have to do.”

The chapel had a raised platform in the front made of stone. You cleared a space and lifted the basket onto the platform. Then you sat down next to it, dangling your legs off the edge. You looked through the food basket, realizing this would be the last indulgent meal you’d have for a long time.

So, you savored every bit of it. Diced squash and sweet cakes, braised meat and citrus compote with ginger. She even packed some wine.

Around you, everything was dirty and ruined, but the sun shone through broken windows and nature herself had begun to reclaim the stone and timbers of the chapel.

It was a sacred place.

It was home.

But it was empty.

You tried your best to pack the leftovers as well as you could to avoid them being eaten by rats and you placed the basket on the benches under the sheet. Then you tied your coin purse to your belt and started to walk back into town. If you were going to stay here, you would need to buy a few more things.

You looked back for a moment as you left. You remembered what it was like when you were a child, a place where knowledgeable elders cared for you and you could be yourself. Your lip quivered and face contorted, but you tried not to cry.

“Choose peace,” you muttered to yourself. You took in the fresh air and closed your eyes. “Choose peace.”

By the time you returned to town, the sun was low in the sky. You would need to hurry. The local merchants seemed concerned when it became clear that you had decided to sleep rough. A bed roll. A fire kit. A small hatchet. They lied, telling you that the things you needed costs much less than they were worth.

“It’s the least I can do,” a lady selling sauce pots said, and then whispered, “Consider it a donation.”

The sun was just beginning to set as you gathered all your purchases into a burlap sack and started the trek back home. There were no longer lanterns to light your way, so you had to get back soon.

That’s when you heard the screaming.

Find out what’s happening

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Bi Bi Bi Bi

I did a thing.

What’s really funny about interrogating your own gender when your middle aged is that, for me, this is a huge epic journey, and all the young people really don’t care. It’s amazing and liberating, but also the juxtaposition is hilarious.

It’s us old people making a big deal out of things, the kids are okay. (Well, for the most part.)

I’ve struggled periodically with whether or not to transition, and this has been very quiet. Decades ago, I never reached out to trans men or the trans community in general. I’m unsure I would have even known how. I didn’t read books or even really talk to anyone else at any length. I just decided that if I wasn’t in agony, it wasn’t worth it.

I haven’t even talked about it to trans men who are close to me. In a way, it’s embarrassing. Part of me wonders if they would even believe me. It would certainly be out-of-the-blue.

Even coming to terms with my bisexuality was an intense struggle when I was younger, and I’m still not open with certain people about that. I decided, what was the point?

So, why would I be open about this?

It’s created this weird situation where it’s really easy to question myself. Everything is all so internal, rarely articulated – essentially all in my head.

But middle age does something to you, when you realize suddenly that half your life is gone – and putting things off doesn’t seem like such a good plan anymore.

When I see people who have transitioned late in life, I’m very happy for them, but I still can’t imagine that for myself.

One reason is because, much of the time, I’m comfortable inhabiting my womanhood. It’s not just an ill-fitting garment I’ve become accustomed to. It’s something I’ve learned to live with and has profoundly effected me. I don’t know how to be any other way.

And my manhood, whatever that means, I see as a casualty. However depressing that is, it’s true. I can entertain all sorts of fanciful hypotheticals all day – time travel and magic pills or whatever – but the truth is that I’ve suppressed this aspect of myself so thoroughly that he is someone I grieve.

So, I look at all these terms and labels that have become common relatively recently. Do any of them describe me? The joke is that there are thousands of genders because a group of folks once got together and produced a treasure trove of neologisms related to sexuality and gender identity. You’d think with so many choices, something would fit.

But so many of them don’t work for me at all.

I’m not a huge fan of terms that refer to masculinity or femininity, because that’s not what it’s about for me. I’m also not prepared to shed my womanhood; I’m simply not.

I seriously considered “gender fluid”. However, I know that my perceived “gender fluidity” isn’t actually changes in gender. Sometimes I’m in situations where my gender incongruence can’t easily be ignored, when I have moments of dysphoria. I could conceptualize those times as times when I have a male gender identity and think of myself as having a female gender identity when I’m comfortable, but that would be inaccurate.

I do not have a female gender orientation. This I know.

So, I thought of when I did question my bisexuality for a short time. I mean, it was pretty obvious after I hit puberty, but later on I wondered if I was mistaken because I was attracted to men differently than I was attracted to women. I thought maybe I was wrong.

Then, I realized that was sort of silly.

Likewise, my womanhood and my male gender orientation (that has yet to see the light of day) are very different – extremely different. But, they still exist and they exist simultaneously.

So yeah, I changed my bio on twitter and mastodon to read “Bitter bisexual bigender bitch” – lmao.

I wonder if anyone will notice.

The flag is cute.

What I told Nie Huaisang on our wedding night.

Disclaimer: I haven’t read the book and I haven’t watched the series recently. I am not a super fan. Please don’t hurt me if I get anything wrong. lmao. However, I decided to heed the call.

“I want to be honest with you,” I said, my voice shaking slightly as I sat on the wedding bed. “I know you don’t want me.”

He looked at me for a moment, confused, but I knew it was an act. Of course, he knew what I meant.

He continued to take off his elaborate robes that were customary for the occasion. There were so many layers.

“The only reason I agreed is because I admire you. You put on a good show. Even when your heart is broken and your anger rages underneath the surface, even when you are disrespected, you…you are in control. Even when your friends are in love and you feel deep longing for what they have, you are genuinely happy for them, aren’t you?”

He smiled now, like I said something funny.

“I can tell you keep your true self hidden. This is something I understand, but I suspect the rumors are true. You don’t want me, or any woman. I accept that. I will do my duty, knowing that, to you, I’m an obligation. I will play my part for your clan and for your family. I will be your wife, I will carry your children, but I don’t want you to lie to me that you love me. Please don’t.”

He looked hurt. Why was he continuing to act? I was telling him not to.

“And if you find someone you truly love, I won’t protest. Even with longing in my heart, I will be genuinely happy for you. You deserve to be truly happy.”

He sat down beside me, now only wearing a long undergarment, but he didn’t look at me. He seemed touched, but very sad and shy.

Was he being sincere?

“When you hide for a very long time, it’s sometimes difficult to know who you really are,” I continued. “I hope, one day, you’ll trust me enough to be yourself with me, but I understand. I do. You don’t have that luxury, do you? Of truly trusting anyone. But even so, I hope I can be a comfort to you and that we can be friends. That’s my sincere wish.”

He looked up at me with those childish eyes that caused so many people to underestimate him.

“There is something I want to know, however, and I want you to tell the truth. Why me? Even though, you want me to think that the reason I am sitting right here, right now, is due to fate or luck. I’ve come to believe that very little happens around you due to chance. So, why me?”

He carefully started to take off my headdress, without saying a word. He found each of the innumerable pins that were holding everything in place and put them carefully on the table.

“Why?” I asked again.

He didn’t answer, he just indicated that I should stand so that he could continue to take off my clothes.

“I’m not the prettiest. I’m not wealthy. I don’t have connections. I’m not particularly skilled. So, why me?”

Once my outer clothes were removed and my hair was free, he took the knot out of his own hair and got into bed. He looked over and blinked at me a few times, so I got into the bed with him.

“Why are you so quiet?” I asked, pulling up the blanket over us. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

Once I was in the bed, he gleefully snuggled up to me. It was unexpected.

“You’re sweet,” I smiled and laughed as he rubbed his nose against the side of my breast.

But I stopped smiling and laughing when he crawled on top of me.

I knew that look.

“You see right through me, don’t you? I got you all wrong, didn’t I?” I asked.

He continued to stare at me.

So, I pushed him down onto his back and jumped on top of him. Two can play this game.

“Why didn’t you just say so? You naughty boy!” I scolded. “Why did you let me believe all those things? Say all those things? Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?”

He brought his arm up and touched the side of my cheek. I rubbed my face against his hand and closed my eyes.

“Wǒ bù zhīdào.”

Self Insert

This is a teaser for a larger work that is in progress.

I thought I would wake up and look in a mirror and scream.

It wasn’t like that at all.

It was like being a baby. I flailed around, uncoordinated and displaced.

I would look at my hand in front of my face and not recognize it as mine.

I would see the ceiling and not know if it was above me or below me.

Was the world upside down or right side up?

The sounds around me were gibberish. I couldn’t tell where they came from.

I often became overwhelmed and cried.

I wanted comfort desperately.

Sometimes they would wrap me up in blankets to calm me down.

When they began feeding me with a spoon, I felt like I was going to choke and spat it up. Sometimes they yelled at me for making a mess. At least, it sounded like yelling. I was pathetic.

Time didn’t make sense, but I was told later that it was over a month before they thought I was ready. Once my senses calibrated and I could sit up and stand and eat and understand words again, they brought in a mirror.

I didn’t scream. I disassociated.

They said they would try again later, maybe in a few weeks.

I started to feel myself. They said it would help.

I asked for privacy and touched every part of myself that I could reach.

Was this me?

I was thin and bony. My legs were long. My reach was amazing.

The way my body responded to my own touch was unexpected and uncontrollable.

I laughed and smiled. I could get used to this.

I heard the nurse giggle on the other side of the door.

“Can we come in?” she asked.

“Yaw es,” I said with conscious thought and effort. “Mear er.”

“What did he say?” the doctor asked.

“He wants the mirror,” the nurse answered.

They brought it in again. I was even able to hold it myself and see the new me.
It was still jarring, but I grounded myself by touching my face while I looked.

It was me.

My jawline and cheeks were angular. My eyes were slim and dark. My nose was distinctive, like a fin. My neck was long, and my Adam’s apple was prominent. I had dark coarse hair on my face and bushy eyebrows that could use a trim and wax.

It took several more weeks to relearn how to talk and move well. Every day we worked on motor skills and language skills.

Slowly, my body felt more like mine, but I wasn’t the same person. I had to make peace with that, they said.

“Think of your old self as dead,” they told me. “It’s better that way.”

I have my own apartment now. I dress myself. I feed myself. I sleep well most nights. I am well taken care of monetarily.

My job is to be observed. They need to know how well this works before trying it on someone worthwhile, I suppose.

I am used to being poked and prodded, but now they only come in once a week to take samples and do tests. I answer their questions before they ask them. I know them by heart.

I watch videos and take walks. I have a pet frog that I like to paint pictures of. I work out in the first-floor gym. I wear a watch that monitors my vitals and gives the research team my location.

Tonight, I’m going to do something different. I am going to go out and socialize.

“Hi, I am Jack. I am 27 years old,” I tell the mirror. “I live alone and work from home. After I graduated from college, I got a job in IT at the clinic…but that’s a lie…I’m Janice. I’m 94 years old. I worked as a receiving clerk for many years, but I’m retired. My husband preceded me eleven years ago. One of our children died young. The other one is in memory care. I’m a science experiment. There’s a nurse who was nice to me and held my hand when I was afraid. I call her ‘mom’ when I’m distressed. It’s so embarrassing. I’ve never felt so alone, and I want to try my new body out. Do you want to come back to my place?”

I give a thumbs up to the mirror and laugh.

“Best pick-up line, ever!”