He sat there, scribbling furiously as he looked for more information to put on his report. He had, once again, saved the assignment for last minute- and now he had to write a 300 word essay before school started the next morning. He glanced at the clock- 7:15 p.m. He grunted in frustration; he still had to take a shower before bed.
- - -
His pencil at last came to rest on the old, wooden table. He breathed a sigh of relief and slouched back in his chair. He once again glanced at the clock, which now read 8:03 p.m. Perfect, his parents would be out until 10:00, which gave him plenty of time to take a nice, long shower.
He got up from his chair and began to pack away his things- his English binder, his notebook, his school laptop- and started for his bedroom to grab some pajamas. He quickly climbed the squeaky steps, and turned the knob of his bedroom door. As the door creaked open, he reached his hand inside, feeling along the wall for the light switch. At last, he found it, and light flooded the small room. He walked to his dresser and pulled out what he needed, before heading back down the stairs to the bathroom.
He opened the door and closed it behind him, locking it, before setting his pjs on the rim of the sink. Suddenly tired, he let his back slide down the closed door until he was sitting against it; a human doorstop, just in case. He pulled out his earbuds, which he had also grabbed from his room, and plugged them into his phone. He put in the earbuds and scrolled through his music, before finally finding a good one and pressing play.
He sat there for half an hour, before finally deciding to start the water for his shower. He stood up slowly and glanced at his phone after turning the knobs. He pulled out his earbuds and unplugged them before setting his phone down, realizing that he could listen to his music aloud since he was home alone.
He scrolled a little before finding one of his favorite songs, deciding that one more before he jumped in the shower couldn't hurt. The sad, but calming melody slowly started playing, and he soon found himself mouthing the words to a song he'd heard a million times before.
"No your mom don't get it,
and your dad don't get it,
uncle John don't get it."
He turned to the mirror over the sink.
"And you can't tell grandma,
'cause her heart can't take it,
and she might not make it."
He stepped closer, so to get a better look at his facial features.
"They say don't dare,
don't you even go there,
cutting off your long hair.
You do as your told."
He runs his fingers through his silky, shoulder-length curls, wishing it was shorter.
"Tell you wake up,
go put on your makeup,
this is just a phase,
you're gonna outgrow."
He grimaces, remembering all the times his parents told him the same thing.
"There's something wrong with the village,
with the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
He remembers all the pain he's gone through.
"They stare in the village,
in the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
He remembers the looks he gets walking down the hallways at school.
"There's nothing wrong with you,
it's true, its true."
He scoffs, looking away from the mirror, knowing that can't possibly be right.
"There's something wrong with the village, with the village."
He looks toward the water, still running, and turns back.
"There's something wrong with the village."
He pauses, and again stares at his reflection as the next verse starts.
"Feel the rumors follow you,
from Monday,
all the way to Friday dinner."
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"You've got one day shelter,
then it's Sunday Hell to pay,
you young lost sinner."
He undoes his belt buckle before letting his baggy pants slide to the floor.
"Well I've been there,
sitting in that same chair,
whispering that same prayer,
half a million times."
He stares at the lacy, black underwear his mother bought for him, before sliding them off too.
"It's a lie though,
buried in deciples;
one page of the Bible,
isn't worth a life."
Like every time, the words hit him in the heart. He begins to cry.
"There's something wrong in the village,
in the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
He pulls off his oversized hoodie.
"They stare in the village,
in the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
He then takes off his oversized t-shirt.
"There's nothing wrong with you,
it's true, it's true."
He stares at the bra on his chest.
"There's something wrong with the village,
with the village."
He takes it off, and stares at the lumps on his chest; the lumps that shouldn't be there.
"There's something wrong with the village."
He lets himself continue crying as the lyrics pause to let the music take over.
"There's something wrong in the village,
in the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
He buries his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably as the music goes on.
"They stare in the village,
in the village,
oh-oh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh."
More tears fall as he backs away from the mirror.
"There's nothing wrong with you,
it's true, it's true."
He sinks to the ground and pulls his legs up to his chest.
"There's something wrong with the village,
with the village."
His back to the door again, he continues shaking with sobs.
"There's something wrong with the village."
As the music fades out, so do his desperate cries. He slowly but surely calms down- well, enough to stand- and again faces the mirror. He stares at his body; his female body. He looks from the curves of his hips at the bump of his butt to the bulge of his chest. He just stands, staring; he doesn't know what else to do.
Finally he finds his voice, and allowing one final tear to roll down his chin, barely audible over the still running water he whispers,
"Why me?"
