Posted in transgender

The Story of a Boy

I am sorry, readers. I am just not able to post more than once a week with college classes and a job search in progress right now. Maybe I will get better at posting more often once my schedule becomes more stable.

Anyway, here is a post which I intended to make several weeks ago.

Some prose for your reading pleasure:

There was once a girl. This girl was unhappy.

Everyday she looked in the mirror. And she did not understand what she saw there.

When the girl looked in the mirror, she saw there a boy looking back at her. This boy smiled at her and he seemed quite happy. She did not understand why he seemed so. She was sad and felt trapped in her life.

A boy stared through a mirror at a girl. She did not seem happy. She never smiled, and her long blond curls were limp and dejected. No sparkle showed in her luminous green eyes. 

The boy knew why the girl was unhappy. But he could do nothing to help her. He was trapped within the mirror. He understood her pain. He only wanted to make her free. But he was not free himself to tell her these things.

Day by day the girl looked in the mirror and saw the boy looking back at her. He seemed sadder each time she saw him and his reflection grew dimmer and more fractured. 

Eventually, she could no longer see the boy in the mirror. She only saw a drab girl who did not understand herself. She saw sad eyes and limp curls. She saw a fake smile of glossed lips and a falsely bright and painted face. She saw lies and a facade put up by herself to try and protect the broken and bleeding soul within.

One day the girl went to the mirror and looked. A girl with painted face, bright jewels around her neck, fancy clothes, and freshly washed and done up curls. But the eyes within the face did not reflect the sparkle of the jewels. And the soul within rebelled against the paint and clothes without.

“I cannot live like this! The parties and fine clothes, the make-up and the manners. Everything I must do as my parent’s daughter is a lie!” the girl screamed at the mirror.

With that, the soul within the girl screamed for freedom. The girl found a blade, the flesh of her wrist was soon dripping red. “I will die before I pretend once more to be who I am not” she whispered.

She laughed a wild and hysterical laugh, putting the blade once more to her skin, thinking to finish what she had started.

But then she looked at the mirror and screamed. The boy, whose image had so long ago faded from reflection, was there. One of his wrists also oozed red. 

She heard a distant whisper which seemed to eminate from within her head, “If you kill yourself I will die, too. I want to be free. Please help me to be free.”

The girl stared at the mirror for a moment and then asked, “Who are you?”.

“I am you.” the reflection answered simply.

The mirror shattered. The boy stared at himself and then at a peice of the mirror which was lying on the floor. He gasped. He did not see a drab girl with dejected curls and tragic eyes. He saw a boy. In a frilly pink dress with make-up and jewels on, yes. But a boy, none-the-less.

He smiled back at his reflection. “I know what will make things better.” He washed off the make-up, locked away the jewels, hung the dress in a far corner of the closet. 

Then the boy put on his favorite t-shirt and jeans. They had been his brother’s. He loved them because he felt closer to his now dead brother, and because they felt right somehow when he wore them.

He took the same blade with which he had attempted to take his own life and cut his hair short. He put on some hiking boots and a leather jacket that used to be his dad’s and a hat he felt particilarly handsome in.

He went to another mirror and looked at the reflection staring back at him. The boy in the mirror smiled back at him with the biggest smile and he heard a faint whisper, “Thank you for believing in yourself.”

The End



I am a writer, a dreamer, and a realist. I enjoy music of most types and never write without some tunes.

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