Sweet Transsexual
Sometimes, when nostalgia and longing threatened to consume her, Magenta would escape from this world, retreat to a place which cushioned her against the harsh blows reality dealt. She always knew that her place was imaginary, and so she never allowed herself to become too caught up in it… but the concept was beautiful. The place that materialised when she opened her eyes after a minute of blackness made her feel safe and content, if only for a little while. But it was better than nothing. Better than the strange sensation that clawed at her lungs so often. She masked it with a smile, and occasionally she meant it, felt glad enough to let the corners of her blood-stained lips to turn upwards. More frequently, it was a lie. And, creating an impressive illusion, she found it hard to care whether or not the other occupants of the castle truly believed it. That decision, to believe, was theirs - she provided the opportunity, not the lie.
The red-head’s cracked, wavering smile served to demonstrate the unspoken anguishes that stole the castle. Each resident had their problems, which struck such a fear in them which they refused to justify with speech. But they didn’t need to. Here, in this dank prison, everyone knew everything about everyone. Words were trivial, unnecessary things, uttered only to discuss things that nobody had any interest in. It was false and suffocating, and so, when Magenta felt her lungs fill up with the black lies they were all too happy to swallow, she retreated to a place where things were easier.
And that night, like always, each of them watched her in unorganised turn. As Columbia rambled on about Eddie, dropping hints at Frank to release him from the deep freeze, as Frank felt his patience begin to escape him, as Riff Raff silently brooded and schemed, Magenta felt the infection enter her once more. Coughing, she excused herself from the pompous dinner table, all but running towards the back of the castle. It was an odd vice to have - they all thought it - but it worked. Once, she would’ve starved herself until she passed out, or lashed out at her brother, or shadowed the lines of her palms with a blade until their perfect white was disturbed with crimson. They’d judged her for doing those things, and so she forced herself to stop, to find something else.
This was it. She smiled as she stepped outside, the cold air harassing her body immediately. They judged her for this, too. As she’d run from the dining room, she’d seen their knowing eyes follow her, as if she was engaging in something damnable. But this time, she didn’t care what they thought, because this method was successful in making her forget the horrendous predicament they were in. It took her home; she wouldn’t relinquish that pleasure for the sake of approval. She found she didn’t need it when she was in her chimera. And so she felt no guilt as she made her way to the lake that owned much of the land behind the castle. Contrariwise, as she neared the glittering pool, a rose veil lowered over her eyes as a weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Even as the ground shook with the tremors of sudden thunder, Magenta did not flinch, for she was no longer with this world. As she dipped her toes into the icy water of the lake, a slow smile spread over her face. The sky was no longer a dull black, but a deep purple, infused with clouds of swirling navy, and it crackled and buzzed with electricity. The darkness was no longer choking, but an intimate, long-missed friend. The water was still cold, but it was fresh and clean. It was home. She waded into the lake, protected only by a worn sheer-black nightdress over flimsy underwear, until she could no longer see far below her breasts. She gasped, imagining the water clear and crystal and perfect.
Slowly, her legs resigned their duties, and she turned onto her back and just floated there. Lightning shattered Earth’s inkiness, but Magenta acknowledged it only with a vague awareness that something had flashed. The woman reasoned that the cause was a Transsexual spacecraft returning from a mission, or one leaving the beautiful galaxy for one far less impressive. For several minutes, she reminisced about the night she and the others had left their glorious planet for this dreadful one. Transylvanians had gathered to watch them go, a common occurrence at the Terminal…
But not like this. Never before had so many assembled to salute the ship as she rose - almost satanically - into the air. As she stared down at their gradually shrinking forms, Magenta understood that this was not to be a short, average mission. They’d be gone for months, years, and maybe even longer, and she knew that it would be ghastly. She was not surprised to find herself living her prediction.
A hollow scream tore from her lips, mingling with the screeching thunder, serving to intensify her disorientation. Frustration raged through her, and as another pitiful cry threatened to break free, she sank beneath the water, where the sound would be stifled. Tiny bubbles took the place of the denied shriek.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed under the water, emerald eyes disrupting the peaceful enigma. But even a world so rose-stained that it morphed into another fought back sometimes, and Magenta eventually had to break the calm surface once more. Mercifully, the rose veil descended over her and she was granted the blissful illusion of home again, with its purple heavens and chilling, comforting breezes. She lifted her gaze to one of the bottommost windows of the castle, where light framed a small silhouette. A frown flitted across Magenta’s features as she lay back, kicking her feet gently to propel her towards the centre of the water.
Columbia watched the action from her position at the window, sighing wistfully, as though sharing in Magenta’s temporary elation. Once, she’d tried it herself. Like she so often watched Magenta do, she had strolled into the lake and floated on the biting water, attempting to evict all thoughts of Earth and invite only those of Transsexual. But in place of the happiness she’d expected came some panic and mild case of an earthly illness called ‘pneumonia’. She’d returned to the castle feeling very disappointed and, frankly, quite pissed off. From then on, she’d settled for the infectious affect that watching Magenta, lying back on the water and praising the heavens, provided.
Magenta rolled her eyes as the silhouette walked away, letting out a short, breathy laugh. It was quite endearing, that the younger woman took such delight - because although she never spoke about it, Magenta saw how Columbia seemed more carefree when she returned from the water - in Magenta’s vice… but she felt she couldn’t leave the planet and return home when she was aware of an audience. As the figure disappeared, she relaxed again, feeling completely alone.
But that was all it was: a feeling.
For, from a second floor window, the master watched, singing to himself, his usually so-powerful voice gentle and melancholy as thoughts of his home planet stole him. Frank N. Furter knew that every one of the castle’s inhabitants had their own way of dealing with homesickness, but he always found his maid’s the most enchanting. With her soft body and vibrant hair, it was hard to acknowledge the fact that the water wasn’t the same shade as on Transsexual, that the moon was dull and weak here...
He almost got lost with her. But the truth was inescapable: he had no idea how to complete his mission on Earth. And so he made the most of his zealous lifestyle, a futile attempt to distract his assistants. They knew. They all knew. What the transvestite was oblivious to was that his most faithful servants were biding their time, and that his actions in the coming weeks would determine whether he lived or died. Whether he ever got back to the place he so sorely missed.
Magenta dipped her head beneath the water, causing her untameable red mane to stick to her face and black mascara to streak across pale skin, forming odd tribal markings. Riff Raff liked her like this: innocent and natural and lost. He leant against the rough stone of the castle wall, having sighted their liberators and feeling content to wait for his sister. He was to save her, finally take her home, where she deserved to be. He smiled, she sighed. The moon of Transsexual kissed the crystalline water, sending a shiver of absolute pleasure through the woman who lingered between the two pairs of lips.
Making her way out of the water with half-closed lids, Magenta smiled. Even as the rose-veil was pulled, harshly, from her eyes, she sensed her brother’s presence, his excitement, and she knew she needn’t mourn her planet anymore. She took the towel from him silently, tiny smile playing across scarlet lips as her eyes met his. He nodded, smirking. “Listen closely, sister,” he whispered as she pressed herself to him, his hands stroking her bare arms slowly, “the guests are arriving. The Earthlings will be joining us… shortly.”
They stared at each other as they brought their hands together, raising their arms in unison and lowering them again, a sign they’d invented as children and used to signify the approach of something important ever since. She arched into him until he pulled away, stalking into the castle without a word. She stumbled, and laughed to herself, breathing, “Not for very much longer.”
The red-head’s cracked, wavering smile served to demonstrate the unspoken anguishes that stole the castle. Each resident had their problems, which struck such a fear in them which they refused to justify with speech. But they didn’t need to. Here, in this dank prison, everyone knew everything about everyone. Words were trivial, unnecessary things, uttered only to discuss things that nobody had any interest in. It was false and suffocating, and so, when Magenta felt her lungs fill up with the black lies they were all too happy to swallow, she retreated to a place where things were easier.
And that night, like always, each of them watched her in unorganised turn. As Columbia rambled on about Eddie, dropping hints at Frank to release him from the deep freeze, as Frank felt his patience begin to escape him, as Riff Raff silently brooded and schemed, Magenta felt the infection enter her once more. Coughing, she excused herself from the pompous dinner table, all but running towards the back of the castle. It was an odd vice to have - they all thought it - but it worked. Once, she would’ve starved herself until she passed out, or lashed out at her brother, or shadowed the lines of her palms with a blade until their perfect white was disturbed with crimson. They’d judged her for doing those things, and so she forced herself to stop, to find something else.
This was it. She smiled as she stepped outside, the cold air harassing her body immediately. They judged her for this, too. As she’d run from the dining room, she’d seen their knowing eyes follow her, as if she was engaging in something damnable. But this time, she didn’t care what they thought, because this method was successful in making her forget the horrendous predicament they were in. It took her home; she wouldn’t relinquish that pleasure for the sake of approval. She found she didn’t need it when she was in her chimera. And so she felt no guilt as she made her way to the lake that owned much of the land behind the castle. Contrariwise, as she neared the glittering pool, a rose veil lowered over her eyes as a weight was lifted from her shoulders.
Even as the ground shook with the tremors of sudden thunder, Magenta did not flinch, for she was no longer with this world. As she dipped her toes into the icy water of the lake, a slow smile spread over her face. The sky was no longer a dull black, but a deep purple, infused with clouds of swirling navy, and it crackled and buzzed with electricity. The darkness was no longer choking, but an intimate, long-missed friend. The water was still cold, but it was fresh and clean. It was home. She waded into the lake, protected only by a worn sheer-black nightdress over flimsy underwear, until she could no longer see far below her breasts. She gasped, imagining the water clear and crystal and perfect.
Slowly, her legs resigned their duties, and she turned onto her back and just floated there. Lightning shattered Earth’s inkiness, but Magenta acknowledged it only with a vague awareness that something had flashed. The woman reasoned that the cause was a Transsexual spacecraft returning from a mission, or one leaving the beautiful galaxy for one far less impressive. For several minutes, she reminisced about the night she and the others had left their glorious planet for this dreadful one. Transylvanians had gathered to watch them go, a common occurrence at the Terminal…
But not like this. Never before had so many assembled to salute the ship as she rose - almost satanically - into the air. As she stared down at their gradually shrinking forms, Magenta understood that this was not to be a short, average mission. They’d be gone for months, years, and maybe even longer, and she knew that it would be ghastly. She was not surprised to find herself living her prediction.
A hollow scream tore from her lips, mingling with the screeching thunder, serving to intensify her disorientation. Frustration raged through her, and as another pitiful cry threatened to break free, she sank beneath the water, where the sound would be stifled. Tiny bubbles took the place of the denied shriek.
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed under the water, emerald eyes disrupting the peaceful enigma. But even a world so rose-stained that it morphed into another fought back sometimes, and Magenta eventually had to break the calm surface once more. Mercifully, the rose veil descended over her and she was granted the blissful illusion of home again, with its purple heavens and chilling, comforting breezes. She lifted her gaze to one of the bottommost windows of the castle, where light framed a small silhouette. A frown flitted across Magenta’s features as she lay back, kicking her feet gently to propel her towards the centre of the water.
Columbia watched the action from her position at the window, sighing wistfully, as though sharing in Magenta’s temporary elation. Once, she’d tried it herself. Like she so often watched Magenta do, she had strolled into the lake and floated on the biting water, attempting to evict all thoughts of Earth and invite only those of Transsexual. But in place of the happiness she’d expected came some panic and mild case of an earthly illness called ‘pneumonia’. She’d returned to the castle feeling very disappointed and, frankly, quite pissed off. From then on, she’d settled for the infectious affect that watching Magenta, lying back on the water and praising the heavens, provided.
Magenta rolled her eyes as the silhouette walked away, letting out a short, breathy laugh. It was quite endearing, that the younger woman took such delight - because although she never spoke about it, Magenta saw how Columbia seemed more carefree when she returned from the water - in Magenta’s vice… but she felt she couldn’t leave the planet and return home when she was aware of an audience. As the figure disappeared, she relaxed again, feeling completely alone.
But that was all it was: a feeling.
For, from a second floor window, the master watched, singing to himself, his usually so-powerful voice gentle and melancholy as thoughts of his home planet stole him. Frank N. Furter knew that every one of the castle’s inhabitants had their own way of dealing with homesickness, but he always found his maid’s the most enchanting. With her soft body and vibrant hair, it was hard to acknowledge the fact that the water wasn’t the same shade as on Transsexual, that the moon was dull and weak here...
He almost got lost with her. But the truth was inescapable: he had no idea how to complete his mission on Earth. And so he made the most of his zealous lifestyle, a futile attempt to distract his assistants. They knew. They all knew. What the transvestite was oblivious to was that his most faithful servants were biding their time, and that his actions in the coming weeks would determine whether he lived or died. Whether he ever got back to the place he so sorely missed.
Magenta dipped her head beneath the water, causing her untameable red mane to stick to her face and black mascara to streak across pale skin, forming odd tribal markings. Riff Raff liked her like this: innocent and natural and lost. He leant against the rough stone of the castle wall, having sighted their liberators and feeling content to wait for his sister. He was to save her, finally take her home, where she deserved to be. He smiled, she sighed. The moon of Transsexual kissed the crystalline water, sending a shiver of absolute pleasure through the woman who lingered between the two pairs of lips.
Making her way out of the water with half-closed lids, Magenta smiled. Even as the rose-veil was pulled, harshly, from her eyes, she sensed her brother’s presence, his excitement, and she knew she needn’t mourn her planet anymore. She took the towel from him silently, tiny smile playing across scarlet lips as her eyes met his. He nodded, smirking. “Listen closely, sister,” he whispered as she pressed herself to him, his hands stroking her bare arms slowly, “the guests are arriving. The Earthlings will be joining us… shortly.”
They stared at each other as they brought their hands together, raising their arms in unison and lowering them again, a sign they’d invented as children and used to signify the approach of something important ever since. She arched into him until he pulled away, stalking into the castle without a word. She stumbled, and laughed to herself, breathing, “Not for very much longer.”