Condemned to the Freak Camp

 

He shuffles and looks down at his feet. He’s afraid. He knew this day would come. But, he tries to keep brave.

“What sex were you assigned at birth?” they sternly ask.

“Female.” He replies with a stern glare. “But, I am a man.”

The butt of a gun connects fiercely with his jaw.

“Then be a man. Get up and fight like a man.” replies the man.

He spits out blood. A couple of teeth feel loose. He groans and gets up to his feet.

“Fuck you. I’m a man.” he replies.

The rifle butt connects again. Stars fill his vision.

“Fuuck” He sputters and spits out a mouthful of blood. “Fuck you….motherfucker”

The man grins and laughs.

“I’m going to fuck you in the pussy. Teach you how to be a woman again.” The man growls.

He laughs. “Fuck me hard? Just like I fucked your mother last nite! Gonna have some trouble getting to my pussy with my big fat dick in the way.”

He is kicked hard between the legs and drops to the ground. Blows land on his ribs and he holds up his hands to protect his face from further damage. It hurts. Oh god it hurts. The kicks keep coming. Raining down upon him an endless volley of pain. He pleads in his head for Santa Muerte to help him. To be with him in his time of need.

“Get up. Get up. You fucking man.” He says.

He staggers to his feet. Everything hurts. But, he will never surrender.

“Fuuu…uuuuuck.” he stammers. “Fuuuck…youuu. Fucking kill me. Fuuucking…..fucking do it. You….pussy.” the man stammers.

The man grins. “No. You’re going to the camp with the rest of the faggots and freaks like you.”

The man spits bile and blood directly on the man’s boots. He starts laughing. A soft chuckle, and slowly it crescendos into a large belly laugh. Laughing with all his heart and soul, every ounce of his being.

“Shut the fuck up!” shouts the man.

“I’m going to Sangri-La tonite. And Flakita will guide me there. You’re not taking me anywhere!” he laughs, blood dripping from his maw.

A bullet cracks. He collapses, his face obliterated. His face is nothing but meat. More bullets follow. A few rasping breaths issue forth.

“Another fucking faggot dead. Good.” he hears as his consciousness fades.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Flakita, Santisima Muerte, please help me.

His vision is filled with light. Santa Muerte is there, glowing in all her beauty and loveliness. She kneels to him and softly says “Ven conmigo, hijo mío. Es el momento ahora.” He smiles. He gets to his feet to follow his Mother.

There’s a sudden burst of lights all over. The smell of popcorn, elephant ears and cotton candy fills his nostrils. Music drifts to his ears, he hears “Livin’ La Vida Loca” as a spinning Twilt- A -Whirl comes into his vision. He grins broadly, it’s one of his favorite rides.

“Santa Muerte, is this where I’m meant to be now?” he asks her.

“Sí, hijo.” She smiles a skeletal smile. “You’re home now.”

He jumps up excitedly. “Do they have the Himalaya here? It’s my favorite ride!”

Santisima Muerte gently grips his shoulder with her skeletal hand. “Bienvenido!”

Santa Muerte fades away as he’s enveloped by all the magic of the Dark Carnival. Shangri-La. He’s finally made it. No more pain. No more suffering. No more worrying. Endless rides on the Himalaya, the Tilt-a-whirl, The Scrambler. Wrestling matches every nite. Faygo on tap and all the Moon Mist he can drink. Never a line for his favorite rides. Forever and forever.