A Semi Fictional Tale #byL
“I don’t want any babies.”
The friendly office ladies lunch, in our dirty corner went dead silent. It was as if just another 9-11 attack took place.
“I also do not want any marriages.”
If it was indeed a second 9-11 attack, I pictured it was a chaos, people ran away in panic, after understanding a terrorist just appear. Silently inside, the ones running on the street wishing they could take some senses into those criminal heads, wishing they would drastically change their beliefs, or to kill them altogether. Among those split seconds, I picture them playing God, the judge for the humanity, that the terrorist life does not matter.
Except it was not an attack, neither it was a criminal. It was just me, being radically different, totally against “nature,” harming the norm, the rules that has always been.
The voices around me were still ringing. I was never in the 9-11 attack, but I picture my situation was similar to the constant loud, alarming screams, accompanied by endless sirens.
I wonder if I was a terrorist. I wonder if my friends, both female and male friends, have ever wished they have never known me. I wonder if my parents have ever wished to never bring me to this world, for being “this different, this freak of nature.”
My body was still “mascaraed” at the ladies table, but my ear and attention were fleeing somewhere else. The male tables, in the centre of the building. The place which has been reserved for them since forever. The typical values they are tolerated to get away with: loud, obnoxious, free-minded, direct, never saying sorr.
I wished my ear wouldn’t have caught the dialogue. Of course, it did not happen.
“Last night I slept with two whore at once.”
“I slept with three.”
“Orgy foursome.”
“Man, I was not lucky. Her pussy smell like a hundred years old dead fish, I might have had permanent PTSD now. F*cking feminist, asking us to lick pussies. They are disgusting.”
“Aren’t you married?”
“Talk to yourself. Like you, my buddy down here is a hunter who does not take cage or restriction.”
They laughed. I bet it was joyous, and eternal. Theirs and the ones surrounding me close combined, felt like actual bombing to my inner system, loud, terrifying, lonely, dark.
Of course I could not comeback to mom, crying silently in her lap. Of course I could not go to my dad, because he would’ve laughed and said, “You women are so pathetic. You can not man up.”
The situation I was in was just an extension to my inner terror, or maybe my delusion. A persistent, constant situation, in which I could not run away from.
So this particular day, I did what I have always done: I laughed off my dried tears, in silence, all to myself.
The ladies in my table must had caught off guard for a moment or two, before they continued with the Lord’s preaching.
In case you did get it wrong, this was not the first time. This was what has always been. And as forever, my question, my voice, remained,
How is that I am a ‘terrorist,’ and the creatures with penises were being true to their nature?
Prominent Queen est. 1995 