Note: This is a side story/prelude to the main "Clothes Make The..."
story.  We're busy working on Part 8; don't worry.

-- Nick

*******

Oh my god... 

In an instant my motions stop, like a picture frozen in time, as I realize
what... what I'm doing.  I... why?  how?  I never meant for it to go this
far, never wanted it to go this far, never wanted it in the first place...
but I never had a choice in these matters.  I was pushed into this life,
knocked into this body, and seduced into this existence... this hell.  

Automatically the mantra comes back to me, a prayer said every day since
the cursed waters came to me.  "I am a guy, I am a guy, I am a GUY,
DAMMIT!"  I hit a fist against a locker door, feeling a reassuring crunch
as it surrenders to my reduced, but still formidable, strength.  I can
feel blood trickling from my knuckles, but I don't care.  For a fleeting
moment, I remember who I am... who I was.  I am no longer.

At least this body didn't take away all of my manhood... but, as I look, I
realize that it took enough.  The lower half of my body is an easy
silhouette, my petite feet soled in white sneakers and my... not my
privates remain encased in the tight shorts.  The top is somewhat loose on
me, though it stretches around my most pronounced assets.  The hair ribbon
is new, a part of a disguise... or was the disguise what I wore before?  

The problem is, I don't know anymore.  I... I find I _like_ the way I look
in the mirror, even though what manhood remains screams for help.  At the
same time, I hear a call to stay this way, to abandon all this stupid male
ego and ridiculous half-life.  I can hear its insistence, pleading to
my manhood... and pleading to an empty audience.  

I don't feel like punching doors now.  What good would it do?  Even if I
could make the world disappear, even if I could find some hot water and
escape from being me, it would still find me... and remind me.  It haunts
me, it does; it reminds me that I am no man, not now or ever.  It seeks to
bring me to full womanhood, to be emasculated in front of Kami and man.

An image of black hair flashes before my eyes, and I pale.  Akane.  God
help me... what am I going to do about her?  I am no longer a 'man among
men', I have become a woman among women.  Most of the people I hang around
with claim femininity as their banner: the Tendo girls, Ucchan, Shampoo...
and now I find the banner over my own head, above my reach.  I lash out at
myself, wishing to rip my own body apart, to keep my soul... what remains
of my soul... intact.  My body is not my own; its weaknesses and desires
have corrupted me to the point of no return.  

I can feel the energy seeping away from my body, and I fall down to the
floor.  Crying is such a girlish thing to do, a useless, pathetic release
of tears to appease some inward weakness.  I can feel the tears coming,
despite my best efforts; even more evidence of my frailty.  The cold 
concrete beneath me saps my strength, as any emotional control I had
crumbles to dust.  A new mantra whispers in my ear, and my blood runs cold.  

I am Ranma.  I am woman.

Dear God, what have I become?  

*****************************

Care to guess what kind of mood I was in when I wrote this?

Thanks to all those who were there to help with this - both on-computer
and off.

Nicholas Leifker
nightelf@thekeep.org
June 9, 1998