Short Short Stories
She Dead, Honey
UN-UNK-some time in the 2010s
“She dead, honey, ain’t nobody got time for your sorry ass. Just ‘cause she tolerated you, don’t mean the rest of us did.” The door slammed shut on Winston’s face. He knew that none of them except for her liked him very much. She was his only friend. They had a routine of sorts. Every day for the past year and a half, he would go to her house at 3:17 pm, ring the doorbell, and wait until 3:29 pm for her to open the door with a wide smile on her face and arms wide open to bring Winston into a hug. She, contrary to what her sisters have said, liked Winston very much. She considered him to be her best friend, like the beloved little brother she never had. Today, like clockwork, Winston showed up at her door at 3:17 pm and rang the doorbell. Instead of waiting twelve minutes for someone to open the door, one of her sisters opened it immediately and promptly shut it in his face after spitting out those hurtful words. Regardless, Winston stayed on the porch until 3:30 pm and when she didn’t show, he turned around and left. He always hung his head just a little when he climbed down the steps of her porch and made his way back home. But he would always return the next day and the day after that and the day after that. The truth was that she had been dead for a month. She died in a fire at her school. She was evacuating when she noticed a younger child shocked motionless in the back of the burning classroom. Of course then, she had to go back into the flames to rescue the young boy because that’s what she would do if it were Winston stuck back there. As she ushered the child to safety, several structural beams collapsed and she burned. The police arrested the arsonist a week later and everything went back to normal, almost everything. “Child, did you go over to her house again? I told you before that she’s not there anymore,” his mother said to him as he walked into his house. Seeing the teary eyes on her son, she softened her tone. “Oh my baby boy, come here, I know this is hard for you and you’re grieving in your own way.” Winston shuffled his feet to the couch and sat next to his mother with his head leaning on her shoulder. “Why is everyone lying to me? Everyone’s saying that she’s dead, that she isn’t here anymore,” he whispered with a whimper. “Everyone’s lying to me, even you. If she’s not there anymore, where did she go? Why didn’t she tell me she was leaving or say goodbye?” The whimper had turned into a sob. This was the first time he had expressed any opinions about the whole ordeal. And it was then that she realized her son didn’t comprehend the idea of death and it broke her heart even more. “Being dead means going away forever and never coming back. It means going away alone, without any friends or family. Sometimes, people know when they’re dying so they can say their last goodbyes and other times, they don’t. They’re just dead all of a sudden and they can’t do anything about it,” she explained. Winston’s sob turned into a sniffle. “She didn’t say goodbye because she couldn’t say goodbye. She didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. She died all of a sudden in that horrible fire at the school and had to go away forever.” “If I am dead, then I will go away forever too,” Winston mumbled to himself. “I will go to where she is.”
Transformed
UN-UNK-some time in the 2010s
“Boobs.” He waited for her to finish. “Boobs, breasts, mammary glands, boobies, teats, tits, titties, melons, boobs. Wow, there are so many ways to say “boobs”, to refer to these two masses of flesh and fat and skin and nerves that sit on top of my chest. And soon, these boobs,” she dragged out the word with air quotes gesturing around her chest area, “are going to be gone. Vanished, like the night in day’s wake. Over time, I might even think their absence is normal.” She let out a sigh, almost as if she were daydreaming the day that she would wake up and not realize that her boobs were gone because she forgot they even existed on her body in the first place. “Well, they won’t completely disappear. You’ll have scars on your flattened chest to replace your breasts,” Dr. Farah explained marking a line on each of the breast area. “The double mastectomy will be a modified radical mastectomy. Again, what that means is…” She was paying more attention to the clock on his wall and the ticking sound that it made than his explanation of the procedure for the umpteenth time. She had done her research extensively even before going to the clinic and scheduling a consult to begin the procedure. A modified radical mastectomy would remove the entire breast tissue including the auxiliary contents like lymph nodes and fatty tissue. But the pectoralis major and minor muscles would be spared. And that was exactly what she wanted. She had spent several years binding her chest to appear flat on the outside and complete her look. However, it grew harder to bind her chest and more painful to breathe as her breasts grew larger and larger. It took her a while, but she finally came to the decision of getting surgery so that her outsides could match her insides, and the first step will be the top. Of course, after her full transformation, she will no longer be a “she”. She will be a “he”. And she was so excited. She had saved up enough money to get her top surgery and was determined to work hard to save money for her bottom surgery. The boobs were priority because no one would take her seriously as a “he” if she still had massive breasts. She had resisted the urge to go on testosterone because a deep voice and body would not go well with a big pair of knockers or so she thought. “Dr. Farah, I’ve listened to your explanation hundreds of times and each time I’ve agreed to the circumstances and procedure. Please, this is the big day, can you put me under and start this thing already?” she said exasperated with a small smile. Dr. Farah agreed to getting things started and by the end of the day, her boobs would be no more. She had a smile on her face as she fell in an anesthetic slumber. He was ecstatic to get life started as William instead of Eileen.