for him.
I'm trash.
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- Age 28
- Seen Aug 6, 2023
AN: Hey guys. So this is a rough draft of a short two page narrative I am supposed to write for class. However, like any rough draft, I need some feedback before I turn in the final product. I want to make sure I captured the right feeling in this story, so any way you guys can tear this narrative apart will help me out a lot. :D (I am working on a two page limit and the rough draft I have is exactly two pages.)
Malcolm is nervous.
The sound of the running water from the sink accompanies the intense beating of his heart. Sweat is running down pale face, lit by the orange-yellow light of the bathroom, and his brown eyes were open wide. He splashes water on his face and immediately dries it with a towel.
A knock comes from the door beside him, "Hey are you done in there?"
Malcolm lightly slaps his face, psyching himself up, "Yeah."
He opens the door to his best friend's, Kim's, bedroom. She is sitting cross-legged on the ugly grey carpet that covers the floor of her room, with a small, black strapless bag next to her.
"Don't just stand there; sit your ass down."
Malcolm hurriedly sits in front of Kim and lets out a nervous sigh. Kim stares at his face for a bit, and then runs her fingers along his face.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Kim whispers. She opens her black bag, pulls out concealer, dabs a bit on her left ring finger, and spreads the concoction all over his face.
For a long time, Malcolm felt this pressure pushing against him. He felt like he was being crushed by a car, and no matter how much time had passed, the pressure was still there. He hated feeling like he was trapped inside a life that wasn't his and honestly he hated himself for feeling like this. Malcolm never liked being naked. With all his clothes gone, he lost protection from the hatred of all the things that he didn't want to be a part of him.
He didn't want to lose the people that he loved. Malcolm was afraid of losing his friends. He didn't want their friendship to suddenly go up in flames if he came out. But most of all, he feared his parents. He would be disowned. It would be like the past 17 years of being their child would disappear. He shoved these feelings to the back of his mind, labeling them as unimportant and just lived his life as if he didn't hate himself whenever he removed his clothes.
Malcolm would have kept it that way, if he didn't have a mental breakdown during school hours. He was helping one of his classmates with an article she was writing for the school newspaper, which happened to be about the transgender community. Her page was filled with pencil scribbles from crosses to arrows. However, as he reached the end, he found out that one of the real life accounts of a transgendered person was tampered with.
He completely lost it. Everything he buried just blew up all at once. Kim immediately dragged him outside, and let him cry. She held him and stroked his back with her hands as he cried against her shoulder. For awhile, the only sounds were Malcolm's disgusting crying and sniffling as the cold morning air brushed against their skin.
"I'm not a man."
And now he's at Kim's house having his makeup done. For the longest time, Malcolm wished that his lips were painted by red lipstick and that his face was evenly painted by concealer, foundation, and various other powders. He always wished for eyeliner outlining his eye lids and for his eyelashes to look like they were going to pop off his face.
Kim finally puts her eyeliner back into her bag and hands Malcolm her compact mirror. He sees his red ruby lips, evenly painted face, the eyebrow pencil changing the direction of his eyebrow, and the fullness of his brown eyes.
And for once in her life, she feels right.
Her
Malcolm is nervous.
The sound of the running water from the sink accompanies the intense beating of his heart. Sweat is running down pale face, lit by the orange-yellow light of the bathroom, and his brown eyes were open wide. He splashes water on his face and immediately dries it with a towel.
A knock comes from the door beside him, "Hey are you done in there?"
Malcolm lightly slaps his face, psyching himself up, "Yeah."
He opens the door to his best friend's, Kim's, bedroom. She is sitting cross-legged on the ugly grey carpet that covers the floor of her room, with a small, black strapless bag next to her.
"Don't just stand there; sit your ass down."
Malcolm hurriedly sits in front of Kim and lets out a nervous sigh. Kim stares at his face for a bit, and then runs her fingers along his face.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Kim whispers. She opens her black bag, pulls out concealer, dabs a bit on her left ring finger, and spreads the concoction all over his face.
For a long time, Malcolm felt this pressure pushing against him. He felt like he was being crushed by a car, and no matter how much time had passed, the pressure was still there. He hated feeling like he was trapped inside a life that wasn't his and honestly he hated himself for feeling like this. Malcolm never liked being naked. With all his clothes gone, he lost protection from the hatred of all the things that he didn't want to be a part of him.
He didn't want to lose the people that he loved. Malcolm was afraid of losing his friends. He didn't want their friendship to suddenly go up in flames if he came out. But most of all, he feared his parents. He would be disowned. It would be like the past 17 years of being their child would disappear. He shoved these feelings to the back of his mind, labeling them as unimportant and just lived his life as if he didn't hate himself whenever he removed his clothes.
Malcolm would have kept it that way, if he didn't have a mental breakdown during school hours. He was helping one of his classmates with an article she was writing for the school newspaper, which happened to be about the transgender community. Her page was filled with pencil scribbles from crosses to arrows. However, as he reached the end, he found out that one of the real life accounts of a transgendered person was tampered with.
He completely lost it. Everything he buried just blew up all at once. Kim immediately dragged him outside, and let him cry. She held him and stroked his back with her hands as he cried against her shoulder. For awhile, the only sounds were Malcolm's disgusting crying and sniffling as the cold morning air brushed against their skin.
"I'm not a man."
And now he's at Kim's house having his makeup done. For the longest time, Malcolm wished that his lips were painted by red lipstick and that his face was evenly painted by concealer, foundation, and various other powders. He always wished for eyeliner outlining his eye lids and for his eyelashes to look like they were going to pop off his face.
Kim finally puts her eyeliner back into her bag and hands Malcolm her compact mirror. He sees his red ruby lips, evenly painted face, the eyebrow pencil changing the direction of his eyebrow, and the fullness of his brown eyes.
And for once in her life, she feels right.