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By Melanie E.

A dark, disturbing little something that popped into my head this morning while I was thinking about Pearl Jam's "Alive."

Anyone familiar with the actual connotations of that song should have plenty of warning: others, this is very, very disturbing. Read at your own risk.


Father, forgive me. It's been twelve years since my last confession.

Twelve years. Wow. I was thirteen then. It's surprising how quickly one can lose one's faith when you wake up and witness the betrayal of everything you are in the mirror every morning. That was the year I decided god was either deaf, dead, or had never existed in the first place, because there was no way any caring spirit would have done what He had done to me. I can pinpoint the day for you, even: it was the first day I'd woken up with soiled sheets, a racing heart, and that ache in the pit of my stomach and in my groin. The day I became a man.

"Became a man." Hah! Like some biological process you have no control over decides who you are for you. I knew it was wrong then, and I know it's just as wrong now. I wasn't a man, I never have been, as much as others may have told me otherwise. Do you know what that's like? Being looked down on by everyone you thought loved you, who YOU loved? Your own mother, your own sister and brothers. Having them look at you with those wild, angry, hate-filled eyes...

It was the eyes that attracted me to Linda. We'd talked a few times at the laundromat, just idle chatter really, two people wiling away the time while they wait for the spin cycle to finish. She was a little dumpy, and her hair was always a mess. She said it was because she didn't have time to take care of herself anymore, not with the kids keeping her busy, but through it all she still had those amazing blue eyes, the kind of eyes that told you she could forgive anything.

The eyes lied, though. I told her, father. I shared who I was with her, and watched in agony as those beautiful, friendly eyes changed. I saw it, father, I saw the hate, the disgust, began to build, and I couldn't stand it, not again.

I'm still not sure what happened that time. All I remember is blacking out, and when I came to there she was lying on the floor of the laundromat, the sheet around her neck and her beautiful eyes glassing over as her flesh cooled. I knew I had to get out of there, before someone caught me, but I just couldn't leave those eyes, so I took them with me.

It was the same with Carrie, too. That night in the bar, she came up to me and talked to me. She talked to me, father! I'm always left alone when I go places, but she came up and sat next to me, in her little dress and fishnets, and we talked. Her eyes weren't kind like Linda's, but they were full of life and a hunger for something. I thought it might have been companionship, or maybe just casual sex, something I learned long ago to ignore the pain and violation of and simply accept for the release it gave.

No. It was money. Sure, she told me, the companionship could come later, or the sex, whatever I wanted. All I had to do was fork over five hundred dollars and she'd be there for anything at all.

It was disgusting! How could someone with eyes like that be so callous? She was no different than the others, was she? So I gave her her money, and in exchange I took her eyes, too.

I think that's the first time they I remember seeing my name in the paper. "The Oedipus Killer." Idiots, not even understanding what they were saying or how incorrect it was. But it was a catchy name, nonetheless.

They were the first, but they weren't the last. I wanted to stop, I tried to stop, but what else could I do? I couldn't bear the thought of showing myself to the world again, being rejected again, and money's just always so tight, father, you know how it is. I couldn't afford the help I needed to make my life my own, to escape it all.

But I could find eyes. Such beautiful eyes, father. Brown ones, blue ones, green and grey. There was something about them that calmed me, that made the pain go away.

That's how I met Tommy, too. When his exhibit opened at the gallery, "In Your Eyes," I just knew I had to meet him. I found out quickly he was gay. I'd never been with a man, father, not before Tommy, but isn't that what women do? Man and woman, husband and wife, it just made sense! His actual eyes didn't touch me like the others had, or like the ones he painted, but I could look past that for how he made me feel.

Until last night. See, I decided to tell him last night, father. I invited him over to my home for the first time ever, and told him I had a surprise for him. While he waited in the living room I went up to my room and put on my prettiest dress, did my hair as best I could and put on my makeup before heading back down. Surely HE would accept the me inside, the me I'd hid from everyone, right?

When I came back down he was stood in the middle of the room, admiring my eyes. I kept them on a shelf above the television, in their own jars, each one labeled with the lady's name. I knew he'd appreciate them, and I wasn't disappointed, his eyes wide as he sat there entranced, until I walked into the room. He'd jumped father, and when he looked at me it broke my heart. There in his eyes, in my Tommy's eyes, was that same hatred, that same fear and disgust as everyone else.

I didn't wait for him to say anything; there was nothing to say. I simply did what I had to do, and sat his jar on the shelf with the others, as a reminder of why I can't ever open up to anyone.

Except you, father. I've been watching you for a couple of months now, I even started attending services again because I wanted to hear you speak your message of love and acceptance, to feel you look at me the way you do the children and congregation you love so much. You've changed so much since mother died and you found God again, father. Maybe now you can accept me, can embrace the daughter you always had but never wanted to acknowledge.

But you can't, can you father? There's no reason to lie. You see, I can see it in your eyes.

Forgive me father....



Weird, right? Sorry for this, I've just been working on a collection of non-TG horror stories here and there so when a little pseudo-TG plot presented itself I figured why not? Anyway, lemme know what you thought in the comments, good, bad, or whatever. I was unsure what all tags to use here.

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This story is 1240 words long.