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Author's note: This piece is the most disturbing thing I have ever written. It might be the most disturbing piece on this site that doesn't have any hard language or violence. Please take care reading.


There was only darkness.

Then with a burst of light and sound, I am.


I know a word.


I can’t remember where I heard the word, but I think it is not a good word. I wish I could remember why.


I remember where I heard my word. There were two voices, talking nearby. One was a soft, high voice, and it said something I could not understand. Then the other voice, which was deeper and louder, responded by saying my word.

The soft-voiced one did not like the word. I heard it crying. I don’t want it to cry, because the voice reminded me of something happy.


I am learning more words. Or maybe I am remembering them.

I know, for example, that I am in a “room”

It has “walls” and a “floor” and a “ceiling” and a “door”

I want to remember my new words. I wonder how I can?


I now have a way to remember my words.

There is a a “desk” and a “chair” and “paper” and a “pen”

I write down my words, so I can remember them.


Do I have a name?

It seems like I must, but I don’t remember it.

I should know my name.


I remembered something odd.

I think I had not one name but two.

One other people called me, and one that I called myself.

That seems strange.

I wonder how that could happen?


I learned some new words.

“Man” and “Woman”

I like these words, so I add them to my list.

I think they are opposites.

I am glad I remember.


The soft-voiced one came to see me today.

She is a woman, I remember that.

She seems very sad, but she tries to say nice things to me.

I like listening to her voice, but I wish she wasn’t sad.

I also wish she knew the name I called myself.

She knows the other one, but it makes me feel funny.

I like the name I called myself better.

I wish I knew what it was, so I could add it to my list.


There is a mystery about my names.

Something was bad about the name I like

Something connected to “Men” and “Women”

It made the soft-voiced one sad

I do not understand.

I don’t want to make her sad, I just like the name I called myself.

Maybe I was bad for liking it.


I think I must have been bad.

That is why I am here.

But they are kind here, so maybe I wasn’t bad.

It is very confusing.


I feel something different today.

I feel very close to remembering things.

Maybe I will even remember what happened to me

What my name I liked was.


Oh God, oh God. I remember. The name they called me was a man’s name, and the name I liked was a woman’s.

They wanted me to be a man, and I needed to be a woman.

It hurts so bad.

Please, I don’t want it to hurt.

I can’t be a man.

They wont let me be a woman.

I can’t.

They wont let me.

I can’t.

It hurts

It is like dying.


Please someone help me…

I… I …..


I need to forget again.

It hurts too much to remember.

I will tear up my paper.


There was only darkness.

Then with a burst of light and sound, I am.

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This story is 630 words long.

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And so the cycle continues...

Writing is certainly a good way to exorcise some demons. My most ambitious story came from a similar situation. I just had to get something out of my head, and the paper was the next best place for it to be. I just added to it as time passed, and in a couple of years, I had a novel on my hands. It isn't on this site, however.

Now... on to the story itself.

What you've written here is terrible. Not in the way it was written, or the feelings it was meant to convey. Rather, the word describes the narrator's plight, although there may be better words for it. She is the victim of an unaccepting world, and she has been trapped in limbo. An endless cycle of awareness and breakdown.

I wanted to think that this involves a child, and the man and woman are her mother and father. Yet, your designation of "mature/thirty+" challenges this. Perhaps it is the situation that I describe, except that the child is actually much older. The woman seems sympathetic to the narrator, but it is sympathy toward the breakdown itself, not toward the cause of it. Neither the man nor the woman want the narrator to remedy the source of the problem... and this is why the narrator's mind has fallen apart.

This is a tale of the dark side of the transgendered world. Granted, the dark side is becoming smaller as tolerance becomes a less controversial topic, but things like this still happen. This is why people must be reminded of times when everything isn't all sunshine and daisies. This is why some people have to write the stories that make others, and especially themselves, cringe. You are brave for bringing this tale to the eyes of others.

You wanted someone to give you an opinion on this piece, and here is one such opinion. It is my hope that your life never again spawns the demons that can create such a saddening tale, as every person deserves better than this.


I would put a signature here, but I'm too busy writing other things :)

Oh, Dorothy . . .

Honey, you've got to get control of this. I'm sure you are probably already seeing someone to help you deal with your feelings, and if not, do it! All I can do is sit here and cry for you, my sister. I'm already praying for you.

Love from me!

a purgator in present tense

This story needs to be printed out, then upside down on the copy's other side, the page given a twist and fastened together into a mobius strip. Broke-down indeed. The numb, simple language pulls you into the wasteland of this person's head. Reminds me of my one & only experience with Haldol. Great story. Now treat yourself to the writing of a wish-fullfillment fantasy story of your choice. You've earned it after creating this.
~~~hugs, Ronni

Hope I got my visualization of the mobius strip right, or every comment that follows this one is gonna be about that.
Gotta love this place <:)

Andrea Lena DiMaggio's picture


It hurts

It is like dying.

I can't get that image of the Mobius strip out of my mind...never ending...horror.

Dio vi benedica tutti
Con grande amore e di affetto
Andrea Lena
Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later,
and then you still have to decide what to do. ― C.S. Lewis
Love, Andrea Lena
Kristina L S's picture


Wasn't he the guy on forbidden planet, the wild ID? Hmm maybe not, but this has a similar feel. A dull, quiet bleakness. Invisible danger or hidden or something. I do hope the cycle can be broken at some point. Sigh.


SuZie's picture

It COULD be a Mobius strip, but then

it could be a new beginning. In AA we like to say that doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result is the definition of insanity, but there is a flip side to that, as well. Doing the same thing over and over again expecting NOTHING to change is also delusional. Things change. You can step off the merry-go-round. An imperceptible difference might do the trick, or even a slight change in perception. Playing this over and over is NOT the answer.

There is a burst of light and sound, and you are...Dorothy.

You have those who care about you here. You have a partner in your life who cares about you, even if you think it is only that other side of you. Believe me, much of what you are, no matter how you show yourself to the outside world, comes from Dorothy. She is you, and you are her. Just as aspects of that other person you show the world are parts of you. Trying to separate the two totally…well, that truly could tear you apart. Please don’t do that dear. And please, please talk to people.

There is a burst of light and sound.

Only you can decide what comes after.

Love, SuZie



How can anybody hurt another so much and still have a soul?

May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine

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