Recently was pointed to the the Transgender Stories Archive 
(www.fictionmania.com).  An amazing unity of theme there...anyhow, it 
"inspired" this...comments and MSTs welcome....




			PASTEL ANGEL
			copyright 1998 by Scott K. Jamison
			Chapter One:  Angel Rising


	Mitch turned the key and opened the tiny door.  He stuck his hand 
inside, and felt the presence of an envelope. *Please let this be a 
check.  Please please please.*
	He took the envelope out of his post office box and was pleased 
to see that the return address was Bell Publishing, and even more 
encouragingly, the window showed the aqua color all Bell's checks were 
printed on.
	Mitch tore open the envelope, then took a few moments to savor 
the sensation.  His name, Mitchell Cole, on the "Pay to" line, and on the 
amount line, "Fifteen Hundred Twenty Eight Dollars and Ninety Two 
Cents."  The "Notes" line had the word "Royalties", and handwritten, 
"Good job, Mitch!"
	He smiled.  Life was finally looking up.  The third Mark Thyme 
paperback was selling even better than the first two.  Sure it was just a 
drugstore rack pulp novel, but it was a popular one.  The series was his 
breakthrough, and soon he'd be able to publish his serious novel.  Heck, 
he might even stop having to take grunt jobs to earn a living!
	Of course, it was those grunt jobs that had inspired him to write 
the Mark Thyme books in the first place, listening to his co-workers' 
fantasies.  Mark was everything Mitch wasn't; rippling with muscles, 
possessed of ruggedly handsome features, and expert in all forms of armed 
and unarmed combat.  He was the consummate man of action.  Plus, Mark got 
laid at least once a book by a gorgeous woman.
	Mitch, conversely, had "gotten lucky" exactly once, with a woman 
who'd been just as desperate as he was.  Neither of them had been 
thrilled with the results, and they'd broken up immediately thereafter.
	He'd always had trouble finding women willing to date him, so 
Mitch compensated by making Mark into a babe magnet that women begged for 
sex.  It was cheesy and kind of misogynistic, but the target audience of 
young men ate it up.
	An elderly man bumped into Mitch from behind, muttering about the 
Trilateral Commission, which roused the writer from his reverie.

	Mitch had deposited the check and was on his way to the library 
to research fish (the girl-of-the-week in the next Mark Thyme book was 
going to be a marine biologist) when things went seriously wrong.

	At first, no one really believed it when the monster appeared out 
of thin air on Block E.  After all, twenty-foot-tall octopi with bat 
wings and three mouths bristling with fangs simply did not exist.  And 
they certainly did not suddenly materialize on busy city streets.  The 
more imaginative people assumed they had somehow been slipped 
hallucinogens.  
	Thus it was that the creature was pointedly ignored until the 
first pedestrian was picked up off the street and slammed back into it.  
The splattering blood convinced the humans that the monster was indeed 
real. 
	They immediately went into panic mode.

	By the time Mitch realized what was going on, the monster had 
already grabbed two more people in its tentacles and tossed a car into 
the largest concentration of humans.  Its peculiar high-pitched warbling 
mixed with the screams of the dying.
	*Oh shit* was Mitch's first reaction.  People were running around 
like chickens with their heads cut off, often into each other or directly 
towards the monster.  A woman in a security guard uniform was vainly 
trying to explain to several hysterical men that she wasn't a real police 
officer and didn't have a gun.
	*Not that the cops are going to be able to stop that thing,* 
thought Mitch.  *Maybe the National Guard.*  Several more cars went 
flying into buildings, and the monster began shambling towards the heart 
of downtown.
	*What Mark Thyme would do in a situation like this is grab that 
sheared-off lamp post, jump onto the creature's head, jam the sharp end in 
its eye and ride it like a bronco until it croaked.*
	It was too bad Mark Thyme wasn't there, because Mitch couldn't 
even lift a lamp post, let alone handle the rest of the plan.  But somehow 
he knew he had to do _something_.  He was a man, he should be able to be 
the hero!
	Mitch's paralysis finally ended when he saw a teenaged girl in 
baggy jeans get clipped in the head with a piece of flying masonry.  He 
might not be up to fighting monsters, but there was no way he was going 
to leave that girl to be trampled by the fleeing crowd.
	He ran up to the girl, brushed back her hair to see that the 
wound didn't look _too_ bad (scalp wounds bleed a lot) and started 
carrying her towards a nearby alley.  Mitch was soon panting with the 
effort.  *I have got to get in better shape.*
	He could hear pistol shots behind him, followed by a particularly 
ugly scream.  Mitch shuddered and tried not to think about it as he 
checked the girl.  His minimal first aid training couldn't find any other 
sign of injury, so barring concussion, she'd be fine when she woke up.  
He ripped his shirt to make a crude bandage.
	*Where's that music coming from?*  Mitch was hearing what sounded 
like a choir, almost drowning out the police sirens in the background.  
He looked up to see a glowing light appearing in midair.
	There was a woman inside the light, a tall woman with chestnut 
hair spilling down her sides, and wearing a white gown that went below 
where her feet should be.  Given the filthiness of the alley, it was 
perhaps for the best that she was hovering in midair.
	At a guess, Mitch would have placed her in her late forties or 
early fifties; her face showed no wrinkles, but the woman had a definite 
matronly air about her, and...what was that word?  Yes, a Junoesque 
figure.  He thought he saw something behind her, but the light made it 
impossible to discern.
	Mitch met this latest affront to reality with all the wit and 
eloquence his female acquaintances had come to expect of him.  "Uh, hi."  
	As if reading a prepared speech, the woman began, "Greetings, 
child of the Human World.  I am Klintara, the Bearer of Light.  You have 
been chosen as our champion in the Human World, our warrior against the 
creatures of the Monster World.  Will you accept this grave 
responsibility?" 
	Mitch hesitated a moment, staring at Klintara.  He'd never been 
too big on comic books, but he'd read enough of them to know there was no 
turning back.  If he accepted her offer, his life would never be the same 
again.  *Then again, who wants the "same" life?  I'll be good-looking, 
superpowered, and fighting for a worthy cause.  Heck, it might even 
improve my luck with the ladies!*
	With that thought, Mitch straightened up and said, "Sure!  Er, I 
mean it would be an honor, milady."
	For the first time she actually looked at him.  Klintara looked 
positively shocked.  "But you're--I mean--this isn't..."  There were more 
screams, and her face settled into a grim mask.  "Well then, we'll just 
have to make do with the materials at hand."
	She raised her hands vertically in front of her chest, about a 
foot apart, and began chanting in a liquid-sounding language Mitch didn't 
recognize.  A light formed between her hands, even brighter than the one 
behind her, but Mitch found himself able to look at it without 
discomfort. 
	The chanting was almost hypnotic, and Mitch stepped closer.
	Klintara switched back to English.  "To receive the power, child 
of the Human World, say `Angel Rising!'"
	"Angel Rising!"  Mitch felt, rather than saw, the light pass from 
between Klintara's hands into his body.  His eyes were dazzled by colors, 
his ears filled with driving music, his nose and throat were drowning in 
peach nectar, and his entire skin tingled.  But the most intense 
sensation was at his back, where it felt like something was trying to rip 
its way out of his shoulders.
	Mitch gave a long, shuddering gasp as whatever it was tore free, 
exquisitely painful, but at the same time a release.  His eyes cleared, 
and he saw the tips of something with huge white feathers.  Mitch 
shrugged slightly and the things flapped.  He had wings!
	Klintara smiled.  Was that a touch of pity?  "You'll need to make 
some...adjustments.  For now, let the power guide you."  She faded from 
view.  "Good luck, Pastel Angel."
	Mitch barely noticed; the power was urging him to join the 
battle.  But first, he touched the unconscious girl again, and a bit of 
power healed the scalp wound.  His skin tone looked a bit off, but this 
wasn't the time to think about that.
	He flapped his wings, and Mitch enjoyed the thrill of flying for 
the first time.  There was no awkwardness, no loss of balance; the power 
had it well in hand.
	
	Mitch flinched when he saw the carnage the monster had caused so 
far.  There were at least a dozen visible corpses, three in police 
uniforms, and probably as many more buried under the rubble.  It was 
pretty amazing; he wouldn't have guessed even a twenty-foot-tall creature 
could have torn down a parking ramp that fast.
	The SWAT team had arrived, not that it was doing much good.  Even 
the heaviest caliber rifles did no more than annoy the monster.  Its 
warbling had taken on a distinctly hostile tone, and it was shambling 
directly at the barricade.
	Mitch felt nauseated and not a little afraid, but the power 
within him radiated confidence and fury.  He let it flow, and words came 
to him.
	"Halt, abomination!  You shall cause no further harm!"  
Amazingly, the monster stopped and looked up at Mitch, whose mouth 
continued to move as if of its own volition.  "Such creatures as you are 
not welcome in the Human World, so I, Pastel Angel Pink, will send you to 
the Netherworld instead!"
	There was something off about that speech, but Mitch wasn't in a 
mood to think much about it.  The monster extended three of its tentacles 
towards him like telescoping spears, and Mitch fluttered out of the way.  
Wings were fun!
	He dodged several more blows, which allowed the SWAT team to 
bring a harpoon gun (borrowed from the river police?) to bear.  _That_ 
hurt the monster.  With the creature momentarily pinned, Mitch knew it 
was time to finish the matter.
	Mitch gained some more altitude, and began spinning like a top as 
the power built up inside.  Then he raised his hands above his head and 
shouted "Peach Blossom Hurricane!"  A pinkish glow flooded from his body 
in a spiral pattern, with tiny flecks in it that looked for all the world 
like flower petals.
	The glowing spiral struck the monster, which warbled in pain as 
the "blossoms" tore it apart.  Just when its volume was becoming too much 
to bear, the creature dissolved in a cloud of foul-looking smoke.
	There was a moment of stunned silence, then a ragged cheer went 
up from the survivors.
	"Yes!" crowed Mitch, pumping his arm in the air.  "I did it!  Me, 
Pastel Angel...Pink?"  With the destruction of the monster, the power 
inside him was ebbing, and his thoughts were clearing.  *Something's not 
adding up here.*

	He flew over to a building that still had its mirrored facade 
mostly intact, and looked at his reflection.  Strike that.  _Her_ 
reflection.  
	The person who had to be Mitch, since there was no one else 
flying around up here, flapped her large white wings lazily.  Mitch was 
pretty sure that several laws of physics were being broken.  She was 
obviously in her early teens, no more than five feet tall, not counting 
the wings, with a boyish figure.  She had long straight black hair, tied 
back by a huge pink ribbon, and a vaguely Asian-looking face that Mitch 
instantly classified as "cute".
	She was wearing a white blouse cut to emphasize her small bust, 
with short pink puffed sleeves.  A gold belt held up a pink pleated 
miniskirt with white lace at the hem, and golden sandals with pink laces 
to the knee completed the ensemble.  All in all, she would have been very 
pretty, if it weren't for that distraught look on her face.
	*I'm a _girl_!?  What did that bitch Klintara do to me?  I can't 
live like this!*
	At that moment, Mitch heard from below, "Hey, you're right, pink 
panties.  I owe you twenty."  He flushed bright red, and flew off towards 
a less traveled part of town.

	Mitch looked around and didn't see anyone under the railroad 
bridge.  He threw himself against a wall.  *How the hell am I going to 
explain this?  No one's gonna believe I'm me.  I want _out_ of this 
stupid angel body!*
	There was a flash of light, and Mitch stumbled as the weight of 
wings was suddenly off his shoulders.  Even better, when he looked at 
himself, his male body had been restored!
	"Thank you, God!"  He began the long walk home.  *That was kind 
of fun, for a bit, but I'm glad it's over."

	Elsewhere, something sniffed the air.  Something green.

				End Chapter One

Next time:  Mitch learns it isn't over, when his new best friend comes 
calling!  Be here for "Rat"!


SKJAM!
"Revengefics R Us"