Life 2.0. Vol III: One More Collection Of Mostly Short Sweet Stories

Dreams and Shattered Reality

For the past several months, I have been plagued by strange and disturbing dreams. In these dreams, I am no longer myself – a rough and tumble 12-year-old boy named Robbie – but rather, a skirt-wearing, makeup-loving, ponytail-sporting girly-girl named Rhonda, who loves painting her nails, reading romance novels, shopping, and struting around in high heels..

At first, these dreams were simply strange and confusing. I woke up each morning feeling disoriented and out of sorts, unsure of who where these thoughtscame from. But as the nights went by, the dreams became more and more detailed, delving deeper and deeper into the life of this mysterious girl named Rhonda.

I tried to shake off the dreams and ignore them, but it was no use. They continued to haunt me, night after night, until I felt like I was losing touch with my own identity. The dreams creeped me out and instealed fear in my heart. I became irritable and short-tempered, lashing out at my friends and family for no reason. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know how to fix it.

Every time I saw an attractive girl and I thought about what it was about her that attracted me to her; her physical attributes, style, personality, etc. Whatever it was,  that night,  the girl in my dreams became that girl with those attributes. I became that girl.

And then, one night, the dreams took a turn for the worse. I found myself in the middle of a particularly feminine dream. In this dream i found myself backstage at a beauty pageant; surrounded by dresses, heels, hose, glitter, and sparkly jewelry. I was a contestant in the pageant. I found myself to be excited about going on stahe and competing, but as my mom put the finishing touches on my hair, i suddenly fely strong pains in my abdoman, cramps. A few moments later i began to feel like i had peed myself. I was wet. I jumped up to discover my dress was blood stainec. My mom delightfully anounced to me me that I was having my first period and that this meant I was now a woman. She was trying to help me out ofcthe dress when suddenly, everything went dark.

I woke up the next morning to find that the dreams had become a nightmare – I was no longer Robbie, the boy, but rather, Rhonda, the girl, for real.

I was shocked and terrified, unsure of how this could have happened. I tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, that I would wake up any minute now and everything would be back to normal. But as the days went by, and I continued to live as Rhonda, I realized that this was no dream – it was my new reality.

I struggled to come to terms with my new identity, feeling lost and alone in a world that seemed determined to tear me down. Every day felt like a battle against the reflection staring back at me in the mirror—a reflection that felt foreign, alien even. The delicate features, the cascade of hair that fell around my shoulders, the softness of my voice—all of it was a stark reminder of the life I never chose. I wanted to scream, to shake off this new persona that clung to me like a second skin I couldn’t peel away.

I fought bitterly against this reality, my resolve hardening with each passing moment. In my mind, I was not this girl; I was Robbie, an identity that seemed to only exist in the shadowy recesses of my mind like a faded photograph. I wanted to reclaim it, to wrest it back from the clutches of this new existence. Late at night, when the world was quiet and my thoughts were loud, I would plan my escape. Researching the impossible - I didn’t care how wild and erratic my ideas became. I’d scour the web for any clue, any whisper of magic that could undo this cosmic joke.

But amidst my rebellion, I had to navigate this strange new world without raising suspicions. Every social interaction felt like a minefield. I would catch myself instinctively adjusting my posture, trying to mimic the graceful way that the other girls moved. I wore the clothes that were now expected of me, the soft fabrics that felt foreign against my skin, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just an actor in a role I never auditioned for. I practiced laughter in the mirror, attempting to make it sound natural, trying not to sound too much like the boy I still thought I was inside.