It was too much really. Precious memories was playing & I couldn't recognize anyone in the photo album. I needed help. I took the album and ran out the door. Only if anyone could accompany me right now. I was so lonely. My voice echoed back to me when I cried. My hands reached out to grab someone, but touched only the empty air. Who is going to save me from this emptiness devouring me from the inside out? "I will," a still, small voice came from somewhere. "Who's there?" I asked frantically. "Show yourself! HELP ME, for God's sake!" "Not for My sake, you fool," the voice Replied and slapped me upside the head. I couldn't explain to anyone how that shiner appeared on my face. It was embarrassing, like letting out a fart on the school bus. George farted on a school bus once, and now he was incel for life. I hid the shiner on my face with band-aids and said my cat had scratched me. He's a friendly cat, but he digs his claws into me when he's ecstatic, is what I told my teacher. But she could see the welt rising under the band-aid and sent me to the nurse. "Who punched you in the eye?" the nurse asked her magic 8-ball. "Ask again later." "Who punched you in the eye!" "The principal." I said. Astonished, the school nurse looked at me. "Punch him back." I was beginning to think the principal wasn't well liked by his staff. I made note of that for later. For now though, I had to get the nurse to let me go home. "It's my period," I pleaded. "You're a boy." The nurse was right:: Boys don’t get periods. I tried gender politics: “But I IDENTIFY as a GIRL, so I DO get periods.” The nurse, not wanting to anger the PC police, sent me home.



1 TarotGuy's photo

If FoldingStory forces its writers to adopt the usage of gender-neutral language and pronouns, I AM OUT OF HERE!

2 Zetawilk's photo

Writers know grammar. Telling us how to use words is like cultural appropriation.

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