Wednesday, 26 June 2013

working mica3

I was accused of being a lesbian and being a lesbian was just as guilty as being the rapist.

I didn’t smoke, I just collapsed and ran.

I just wouldn’t stop running, seeing rainbows disappear and all until I’d end up running into a big purple door. I stood there pounding my own heart, trying to get my breath back, shaking, I was guilty, I could get prison because if I am a lesbian he gets it off, I’m a lesbian, I’m no one and they have enough proof, words of a man, no matter which.

Then it didn’t matter for a second and I stepped in, feeling my hair blow behind me, seeing women kiss and hold hands and men act like men. Men were with women, women were with women, men with men and people just sitting reading some colourful newspaper. Clothing was handed to me.

I was shaking.

I was wasting my life outside.

I started vomiting, I just bent in two and vomited, snot coming out of my mouth and I felt as if I was bleeding, silence breaking the music in my head as three females held me as I poured everything out until only coughs would come. I don’t recall the girls, maybe they left, I just recall talking to people, stories told by me in blur and I’d blame myself for being an ugly, disgusting lesbian, if there had been a window I would have collapsed outside, never holding the bars, not to end life, but to end the noise and go black into soothing covers where you will never recall anything.

Like they say to a rape victim here, giving water

“The worst is past you, besides you only sky.” The sky is covert in cobwebs this afternoon but then we have days when we have stars, but our place is the sky, you are surrounded by covers which mute out the noise of a man’s throat. A man which is outside, not a lovely young man which you can find here. Unfortunately I can’t think from the top of my head but in the end the other disgusting men blur out and you remember the candles you’d set on the river for flies to see.

I will close my mouth on heterosexuality when they will close theirs, but then, my hate is too wide that if I could I would just make them collapse, they are the ones who ruined my life and who sew women, they’re the ones who invade dreams and they are men who push you on the sidewalk and the myth of men being in a lower number so we have to cling onto them.

I’d kill the men if I’d kill the women who love and hunt themselves down for men, it’s like a lost child, we can do abortion and we have the rights then why don’t we have the rights to kill those who want our death? They become so useless and insignificant that I don’t see the point, sometimes they even match criminals in my eyes, if they could they would do the same my brother did. He’s not even my brother, even if we have the same blood, but then why does blood matter? Why does age matter?

“Why does age matter?” I ask Margaret as she fixes her hat to one side, looking at me and smiling while eating toast, women with their hands holding lace hanging from the ceiling, doing different tricks, making this like a circus with no tackiness which the circuses hold and with a discussion no clowns were allowed, it’s funny how we don’t have comedy here, but rather just sexual acts, even if people laugh in conversations or movies.

Laughter becomes like a conversation between individuals in the end, something which you can share with two.

“You know, sex with women is inspiring.” I say, recalling. “My first time I had sex was when I just walked in and it had been with a woman, who was claiming that she was wedding in this place and that I could be her bouquet.

She was lovely.

I recall her white dress and when I asked her, why does she have a white dress, all she did was answer, reaching out for my hand, that in the world, a white dress is supposed to show innocence of the bride and in China it’s a funeral colour, a snow which never melts, like death. Well, the point is, a wedding is a death of a beautiful woman, sure, she can come back from the dead, but she is stuck with a man for a legal amount of time.

So she said, she is celebrating her death, her death from patriarchy and society.

And I was her love for that night.”

“But just like this place has a thousand nights, so do we have a thousand loves here.” I smile at Margaret.

“Speaking of heterosexuals, they say that you should never start a relationship from sex, but rather earn it and then maybe end it. Post-break up sex, really?” Margaret jumps on the train, bashing heterosexuals. “Let’s celebrate!”

She calls a nude waitress, I wonder if it’s to make me jealous, but I’ve slept with as many women as she has in this place.

We order champagne with bubbles which fly onto the ceiling, turning into balloons and at night into stars, our sky still day.

“To a relationship from sex.” She says and we cling.

“Actually, back in the world, I read an article, suggesting that “we heterosexuals” should start our relationships from sex, because then we’ll know what to expect, as if love is only sex. Sex is only sex, it comes with love, but it’s just like kissing, kissing is kissing, it’s in the love drawer and that’s it.” I say as Margaret drinks.

“Heterosexuals are awful, is this a gay club?” She laughs.

“You can say that, in the end, when you realize you can’t reproduce here, heterosexuals lose their meaning, because let’s face it, they only want to have children, not even the children themselves, but just the fact that they will reproduce, as if they want the pregnancy and the birth, everything the government cared about, nothing beyond, when it becomes a life. So then everyone choses love in the end, which is homosexuality and there is no our sex is bad, well, I don’t know about the men, but I know about the petals of women. That’s all what I care about, really. But we’re not isolated, no, instead, we live together, just like I don’t have sex with my friend and her girlfriend, just because I don’t fancy them. I think the world killed any reason we should be pansexual, even if it’s a good suggestion and orientation. I don’t think either of us will ever want to mix and I’m grateful.” I smile, waving at Mitch and his new boyfriend Paul. “That’s how we stay, happy and so gay.”

They wave back and we keep our distance, yet our lawn is the same with our sky.


Looking at it now it kind of has the atmosphere of Sarah Water's Tipping The Velvet, I like Sarah Waters, but I don't like her too much if to be honest. I like reading her, but I know that it will be a good read and that's it, oh, and that it will have lesbians. But it's a good summer read, no, they are good, just not outstandingly amazing which leave you thinking.

There aren't that many good lesbian novels, well, I'm still raiding XD but ones which really inspired me and actually left me thinking and I would reread would be the Well of Loneliness, which everyone should read.

I was eager to post this chapter, so sorry if it ended short and took me a while, I'm still pretty knackered from my exams -.- it's been a while and I'm dead XD

anyway, I'm falling asleep

I stayed up watching the premiere of Rizzles

Oh and shameless advertisement, again. If you want a story in print, ask over there or  here :O

Thank you, good night and please request the next chapter :D


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