january 9th, 2021
stream-of-consciousness: nervous & defiant
for a few years, i've had this story in my head about two trans kids. it's a horror story. i don't know when i'll start really writing it, but this is just a really quick experimental scene i threw together.
So, tell me about what happened.
Sylvia says, “the fire?”
Rowan says, “the fire?”
“Oh, fuck, uh...”
“Where do I start?”
“Where do I start?”
Sylvia throws her purse over the fence, then herself. It’s easy because she’s tall. Brad’s there with his truck. All smoky and rumbly.
“Hey faggot, get in.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Well, I wish you weren’t such a goddamn faggot.”
Fuck this guy, but where else is she gonna go? If she steals her mom’s card again... the scar’s like a hot flash. She gets in the truck. It smells like shit in the truck.
The people suck, but the party doesn’t. She feels the boom boom boom in her chest. She doesn’t know what she’s putting in her mouth but it makes the booms louder and the people quieter. She loses Brad in the crowd. It’s okay. She only needs him for his truck. He only needs her for her connections. It’s a good friendship.
Rowan’s dad punches him, square in the face. He still has the black eye from last time, but hey, gotta keep it fresh. Rowan snaps a couple of finger guns at his dad as he steps out the door. It’s all just reruns these days. His car doesn’t start. His car doesn’t start. His car doesn’t start. His car starts. No traffic tonight.
The club’s called the Second Circle. It’s in a basement that makes Rowan’s dad’s hillbilly shack look like
Slow down. What does this have to do with the fire?
Rowan says he’s getting there.
So, we’re in the club, right? I mean me and Sylvia. I met her there. I say my head’s pounding, she says to take some of this. I ask what it is, she doesn’t know. I take some. Then my head isn’t pounding anymore.
I don’t know how long we’re in the club for. I never see Sylvia leave. I’m not so sure I see myself leave either. I go outside and get in my dad’s truck since my car’s out of gas and my dad’s out cold. Oh, it’s next week, now. It’s sorta jumbled. It’s gonna get a whole lot more jumbled later on, but for now it starts to slow down.
Yeah, I give Rowan some of that new thing going around. It’s almost like a powder, but you drink it. No water, goes down smooth. I don’t think it’s coke. I’ve only seen coke in movies, but they rub it on their gums, so I try that with the new thing. I don’t know if it does anything. I must leave at some point because it gets cold and quiet. The wind gets all whispery and my arms get all bumpy. It’s gonna rain, but not tonight. Tonight I can almost see the stars.
So Brad comes out. I can tell I’m a mess by how I look in his rearview and I look like a mess.
“Let’s go, fag. I got practice in the morning.”
“Hey, right back atcha.”
“I ain’t gay like you.”
“Tell that to your cock.”
He sorta blushes a little, which is cute. He tries to hide it while he gets in the truck.
“You gonna do something about it?”
“Obviously,” I say, and he drives while I suck him off. I just about finish by the time we get to my house.
“You gonna do mine next?”
He slams my face into the dashboard. I take that as a no.
“So, same time next week, then.”
My parents don’t catch me sneaking back in. So, all in all, I think that was the last good night I ever had.