Uploaded Fairy [ Editing ]
I had dreamed that one of the girls I knew in grade school, visited me at night wearing a summer camp outfit and Birkenstock sandals; I developed the association with girls who were mean to your face in front of their friends, but were creepily nice to you when they were not around. I probably had more girls crushing on me than I wanted to admit, do to my lack of self-esteem at the time. "You know, I would like you. But you're kind of ugly. Not that ugly, but kind of ugly." She was the one wearing Jesus sandals.
In school I largely tended to keep to myself, avoiding most friendships. It was a time when I still had to wear boys clothes, despite early indications of my gender issues. A unique issue for trans women in general, yet this girl in Birkenstocks, with her long raven haired ponytail, and her beautiful smile and the dimples on her cheek, left lasting feeling of hatred for cis women in general that I still struggle to come to grips with.
A blond girl who would always smile at me in typing class in my Freshman year, there was something about her that I couldn't trust. While I had sexual fantasies of unbuttoning her type b cup bust; spreading my seed from New York to Paris. I couldn't put my finger on what it is that made it me hesitate to ask her out, except for the fact that there was some part of me that wanted the government to black bag her at night, take her to underground facility, giving her only bread and water. Then, without telling her where to take her, she would be shot in the back of the neck with a guillotine blade right at midnight.
I developed my first hard on.
Freaked myself out the first time, then at other times it became common for me to fantasize about her being beheaded by Guillotine in a government prison. And yet there was a part of me that never believed in Capital Punishment for anyone. Because I knew deep down, we were all little girls chasing after the light. But she would always smile at me, and I hated when girls smiled at me. I hated the tap dances they did, making fun of my shoe fetishes; and other personal desires. They were simply unaware of how much it hurt me.
All one needed to do was pull the trigger, lock them in a Lunette; there life would soon come to an end at the edge of a knife. Ones final stare into their innocent expressive eyes, watching as the blade falls down. It was thought that the Guillotine was the most humane way to go; but this did not influence my emotions much, when I knew that Charlotte's death was a breach of justice, a practice that continued to this day.
My high school years changed me.
I longed for the dead.
Until that is I met Anna-Marie.
Who gave me an actual chance in life, and yet the government took her away from me at the slice of an angled blade. At night I dreamed about the memory of hers eyes continuing to make around. Her eyes would constantly crying do to some pain she only has in her neck but cannot vocalize. When I saw her head in the basket, I was lost and didn't know myself.
It was the first time I ever cried. The girl that died feeling heart broken, because of my sexual interest that she found out about me. I found out for the first time in my, the state did not care about humanity. They only cared about vengeance. Vengeance against who you might ask? I had no clue, I simply wanted to go and off myself somewhere, so I could be with my darling Anna-Marie again.
I remembered the pictures in cyberspace, grabbing pictures of anime girls getting it in the neck. I remembered the women who would be paddled in school, I wanted everything to melt all away. I tried writing about this experience the first time, but it was suggested I get rid of it by my father. He didn't want me to became a famous writer, if I ever could, and didn't want me drawing undo negative attention on our family. It wasn't like we already got great attention, with the news occasionally drawing attention to physical abuses down to my brothers and sisters.
I held it all inside, stayed away from the world.
It was the first time that I felt truly alone. I felt that my life had no purpose to existence besides to rot. I began to neglect my own body, and staying in bed for so long after high school. I began to dream of blond women at night, haunting the nature of my reality. I began to rot and become psychologically prone to suggestion. Among those was coming to terms with the question why I had not yet decided to dig up Anna-Marie's body and fuck her.
Well obviously because that's morally wrong. As I said, there was some conditions society refused to talk about. For long time even homosexuality and gender non-conformity was considered something rather taboo. And at times I would be alone imaginary little fairy girls and elf girls saying pick-a-boo. I would role play in my mind little stories about fairy girls getting it in the neck.
There was something deep inside me, that wanted something different in my life. It was difficult to articulate. I had always wanted to write middle-grade novels, but my parents would always tell me how books for children were not considered art. And they knew that I had briefly dated Anna-Marie before she died. But I knew that for her there were some aspect of her childhood she never told me herself. Over time I gave it up, and learned to restrain my tears.
I just wanted people to be happier.
Even if it meant writing a novella about a parricidal killer. I would change her name slightly, toiling on the project nightly. I would work all the way through my despair. My condition was subtle, and yet apprehensible. Yet over time I found there was something inherently different about me and my relationship with other people that could not simply be described as a mere case of necrophilia. I wanted to be with Anna-Marie in death and the afterlife.
I just didn't want to open her tomb.
Not pry it open with a knife.