BABY GIGOLO.

All Hell broke loose.

It felt fantastic to step into the fresh air after being cooped up in that cramped, dingy, and stifled atmosphere for such a long time. The wind had picked up some speed, blowing my hair around my face and leaving the skirt of my dress fluttering around my knees. I loved the effect. As I drew closer to the small soccer field aka “the battlefield of Bontas”, where all gang-related issues were settled, I heard the distinct sound of gunfire. It is such a common sound in my part of the world that I paid it no mind. I did however hurry along, for fear of being hit by a stray bullet. These fights regularly involve the settling of old scores, the beginning of a new one, or the elimination of an encroaching narcotics rival in an already overcrowded trading area. Either way, it was none of my business.

I reached a lamplight and its cold misty brilliance shone a static spotlight on the surface at its base, deepening the surrounding darkness, and creating a sinister and threatening atmosphere. Suddenly a heavily wounded figure came stumbling off the field; dizzy with the heavy blood loss he sustained while engaged in battle.

I froze on the spot, thinking that he came to shoot me. He did not say a word and I became convinced that he had no idea where he was. For a few seconds, he, like a ragdoll, swayed limply on his feet with his head hanging to one side. Gun in one hand, his hands hung loosely by his sides.

Without warning, he folded silently in a heap onto the tarred pavement and the gun clattering out of his hand landed a few feet away from him. I stared at the convulsing body at my feet.  Gurgling blood, and, hearing the death rattle, I  somehow knew that he was breathing his last breath on earth.

The sight left me cold. I did not know what to feel. A few seconds later he left this earth the way he lived in it; by the barrel of a gun. I recognized him as a fellow drug mule. On the battlefield, the guerilla war was still raging furiously and showed no signs of abating. Gunfire rattled continuously and the air was filled with the putrid smell of spilled blood and gunpowder. Cries of agony and ecstasy rose and fell in tandem with loss and gain, victory and defeat.

Unconsciously I bent down and picked up the dead man's gun. I folded the palm of my hand around its butt and hooked my right forefinger around the trigger.

The cold touch of the steel brought me back to consciousness and my immediate surroundings. The safety catch was still released. Like a somnambulist I stepped, gun in hand and with my arm stretched straight in front of me, out of the light and into the darkness of a murderous madness and unchecked chaos, where flying bullets reigned supreme.

My flowing dress shone like a beacon, inviting anyone to take a shot at me. I pulled the trigger and fired a shot in the direction from where I thought the enemy's fire was coming from.

A shock blasted through the length of my arm and a ringing sound exploded in my ears. The effect threw me off balance and left me reeling. I stumbled against an inert body on the ground and fell flat on my face. I tried to get up but could not.

Someone pinned me to the ground. Through the fog in my head, I faintly heard frantic voices shouting, "Stay down you stupid bish. What do you think you're doing? Give me that gun. Get out of here…" I stayed down and, lying flat on my stomach, I used my elbows as a form of support to stabilize myself, as I've seen in the movies.

I clutched the gun with both hands and with a cool but clumsy precision took better aim at the opposition. I completely ignored the angry cursing voices around me. I pulled the trigger repeatedly. The feeling was sensational. My heart leaped with this new and undiscovered joy. With every bullet I discharged, I felt a strange sense of release. Every one of them dislodged a negative emotion from deep within my soul and sent it flying in the direction of the flitting shadows in my line of vision.

Fear, anger, rage, disappointment, jealousy, timidity, and every form of abuse rushed from within, through my arm, into the muzzle, and finally pumped into the dark where it belonged. Feelings completely unknown to me - feelings of happiness, joy, peace, and confidence came and settled in the vacuum formerly inhabited by their predecessors. Like a woman possessed I still pulled frantically at the trigger long after the last bullet had left the chamber, and all I heard was a clicking sound instead of the usual loud bang. The emotional turmoil combined with the shocking experience proved too much for my frazzled nerves.

At some point, I lost consciousness. I have no idea how I got home that morning but when I eventually woke up, the sun was sitting high and I was lying prostrate on my bed where I was dumped. With a pounding headache, I slowly dragged myself into an upright position facing the mirror. The splintered image that confronted me looked like that of a circus freak. I sighed resignedly.

Make-up smeared all over my dirty face: check. Artificial blond wig, disheveled, hanging skew but still on my head: check. Stunning dress; dirty, torn, and never to be worn again: check. One borrowed stiletto missing: check. One tired and traumatized transvestite desperately in need of a long hot bath and a new life: check.

I couldn't remember having ever seen a shack with a bath.

But then again… If a fool could dream, then so could drag queens.

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