Brainwyrms

by Alison Rumfitt

She turned off the road, off the planned route, but felt like the man was still there, even when she looked around and he wasn’t. Just another girl walking home alone who wouldn’t make it back. Another statistic. A dead trans woman whose name wouldn’t be included when they released the yearly list of women murdered by men. It seemed so clear to her: the girl whom she’d had three fingers up to the knuckle inside not long before was in league with this man and had lured her out here, and this was the endgame. Get a tranny to make me cum before I let my boyfriend or Dad or boss or husband or bestie follow her home and corner her in a dark alleyway, or chase her into the green space called The Level, which is always lit at this time but never occupied apart from people so fucked out of their heads they wouldn’t have anything to say to the cops when questioned. Chase her there, next to the skate park and the yellowing grass, and bend her over a concrete block and smash her head into it again and again while thrusting into her. Frankie was walking as fast as she could now, no longer taking moments to get her bearings. She was convinced the man was just on a parallel street. You’re being paranoid. Calm down. I need to get home I need to get home. There was no bus back to her house. She went up over the hill and back down it, feeling him at her heels, even when she turned and saw that he wasn’t there. A couple of drunk girls were smoking on their balcony and called out something u...