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This is one of our ENG2010 class assignments. The advice I got from my professor was that I should use precise verbs more to substitute those redundant adjectives and adverbs used. I thought that was a pretty fair advice, and now the draft has been cut half shorter than it was. I posted here the first draft still, for later reflection.

He’s now of the opposite sex of what he used to be. Now he dumps his former ill-fitted neutral clothes he used to wear, which were once only aimed to blur people’s visions and most of all, his own. To fool them and himself that he was only a little bit abnormal than others, but not outrageously whimsical enough to breach his faith for the church for his sick mind and thus be banished from the land of the Lord. For the time being he still retains the fear and shop online for clothes he wants to wear instead of going out on the street above board. Online shopping is good, he thinks, at least he doesn’t have to hide behind a gear of disguise out and bear with the saleswoman’ embarrassed and colored eyes. He knows what that implies. We don’t want you here, get out with your filthy money, even if that’s what we open the store for.

He didn’t agree with his inborn identities. He hated his bodies from head to toe. He felt the same amount of filthiness and had this nauseous feeling with his external appearances and unfitting genitals as people do with his evil maniac thoughts of changing their biologic sex through transsexual operations. He wanted to change, to finally meet with and embrace that athletic man in the middle of that mountain of meditation.  He even wanted to find someone who appreciate his sacrifice for longing for his true identities and love and live with that endearing someone.

So he did.

Lying in the ward for more than three months, counting numbers to sleep till awaken by the same nightmare. That body injected with excess amounts of anesthesia, got cut into pieces and piled up on the operating table with brutality and emotionlessness, like slaughtered cattle in the farm. Blood dripping down on the off-white floor, gradually forming a random shape, its profile sinking into their own faces. Later the piled squares are retrieved and seamed back onto different parts of their bodies, using oversized needles. It was strange that he was lying on that freezing iron racks, with another vague figure, one beside the other. The light above their heads seemed to burst out, that dazzling, dazzling, dimming light, gradually faded away, until they were all buried in total darkness.

The day after transacting the hospital discharge and got home, the first thing he did was to set all the things he owned in the past on fire. Embracing a hug of pictures, he glazed at the fire and decided to dispose their memories, and the picture. He decided to bury his past and start a new living, though faintly he knew that the dead still had huge power upon the living. He believed in fatalism. He approached the furnace, and suddenly release his arms. Like snowflakes, the pictures shortly flew above the air and then instantly buried one on another in the fire, the corners of them darkened and flamed to ashes as the fire kissed them fiercely and maniacally. It’s strange that he should want to risk being burned rescuing one picture out of that fiery flame. To keep one last piece of memory of his past, to be able to finally compare himself to the person in the picture at the hour of death, to show guilt and apology for his faulty fate.

People, except his family, who barely broke and swallowed down their teeth with bitterness and acclaimed to accept and support who he really is, began voluntarily to produce and spread rumors. The same cliché they had about that runaway priest who fell in love with a pregnant girl who confessed her sins every dusk sitting on that cleverish stool. Everyone felt betrayed and contemptible. It’s astounding that they should have revealed their sins and misconducts to someone who committed even more unforgivable sin and run away with all the sins. No one but that man should go to hell, they claimed with intense chagrin. Now it’s his turn to suffer, to bear those professional critics’ harsh endless curse and expletives. The vicious words are about to float on the air. Over and again, people chew and swallow and digest and then ruminate those obsolete meaningless words, like a tireless willing ox doing the rumination thing, without ever getting bored.

He daren’t walk on the street and face those sharp sights coming from all directions, of which the generators contain half aloofness and half contempt. During the day, he does all the things at home, all necessities that living creatures need to do in order to survive. Eating, sleeping, doing launches and dishes, planting sunflowers and chrysanthemums, while his wrenching heart slowly healing. Nights are the celebration of owls and them. Echoing with that gloomy, lonely yet sincere hooting sounds, he walks on the dimming street, constantly turning his heads around, trying hard to imagine what the scenery before was like during the day. Here around the cobblestone track people sit and talk and laugh, there must be gathering children playing skateboards.

The days he spends at home are like watching silkworm nibbling mulberry leaves. He listens to the clock tickling and sunflowers turning their head towards the direction where locate the sun. Then by the time he turns their head to take a look at the time, five minutes has just passed. He feels like finding someone who understand his pain and rejoice his rebirths, and now he have a new hobby—searching dating site, where he doesn’t have to meet with the virtual potential dating mate in person and thus feeling more comfortable with enveloping his secrets and guts feelings, and probably sometimes, lying about his genders, of which the past and the present. However, he filled out the form requiring about his background and stuff mostly honestly.

That they both like watching Happy Tree Friends and enjoy the bloody fun short animation and both just undergoing an excruciating rite brought them together. He likes to watch someone suffering without causing himself pains, or to use a better way to put it, to feel less painful about his own experience. As for the reason why the girl like the same thing, he doesn’t inquiry. Who knows? Girls are strange these days.

So very naturally they meet online, with both sides overlooking the other’s original decadence and shoddy appearance. They had smooth conversations. As their relationship gets more serious, they begin to date virtually, despite people increasing rumors. He knows that everyone in town knows his secret, but he innocently pretends to know that his accompaniment doesn’t know.

Apparently he doesn’t know about her secret, until one day he saw a picture taken when the protagonist looks like his girlfriend but wears a kilt and has her hair rather short like a man.

The revelation was astounding, to both of them. They felt cheated, but then have more freemasonry for each other. They know that a lying cheating guts are not residents of theirs, but a twain brittle hearts longing for love.

 

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