Hi all,
I'm posting this for my friend, Michelle Thatcher, who is currently having some problems posting to the list. C&C can be posted either to the list, or to her personally at misha@cybergal.com .
I've already given Michelle some C&C on this, but I'd just like to publicly say that I really like this, and think it's definately worth a read-through. Enjoy! ^_^
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Here's a new story. I wrote it in a notebook. I hope you like it.
Many thanks to the people who said it was good and I should post it. Also
really really lots of thanks to Krista for liking it so much and for
offering to post it for me since my posts haven't been making it to the list
lately.
I don't own any of these characters or anything else of value. This is an
alternate universe where lots of things are different and some things are
the same. This story will eventually be posted on my webpage with the
others I've written. It's at www.akane.org/michelle
I think that's it.
***
Dead Butch part 1
A Ranma 1/2 fic by Michelle Thatcher
***
I know I wouldn't be the first to comment on it, but life
can be a real bitch sometimes.
Okay, not everyone has discovered this fact for themselves
yet. There are still some starry eyed sixteen-year olds out
there who believe their lives'll turn out exactly the way they
plan them. They'll meet a nice girl, they'll fight with her for
a while, they'll have some other friends to fight with too for a
couple more years, but eventually they'll marry the girl and
maybe not fight as much and be happy and definitely *not* get
themselves or their friends stuck as a girl or a duck or, god
forbid, a pig for the rest of their lives. They'll have a damn
house and some damn kids and a damn fairy tale life with their
family and their friends ... and the girl ... most definitely the
girl ... 'cause it's only fair, right? It's only fair after
everything they've done for her.
Of *course* there are stupid kids who still believe stuff
like that. 'Cause they don't know better, right? They don't
know that fair is the last thing life owes them. They don't know
that life *isn't* like a game or a song or a god damn fairy tale.
Life's still playing with them. It's still stringing them along.
Why?
I dunno. Some sick cosmic joke, maybe? Some philosophical
childhood? Maybe life knows that if they're happy for a while
they'll be more miserable later when they lose the fight and lose
the cure and lose their family and finally ... lose the girl.
Life probably really gets off on pulling that one. It's the
ultimate bait and switch.
Life is, without a doubt, a grade A bitch.
Now this ain't to say that a guy should just give up.
Should roll over and die just 'cause life don't turn out the way
he wants it to. It don't mean you put your tail between your
legs and limp off to the corner to sulk.
At least not forever.
I mean, why let the bitch win? Why let her defeat you
completely? That one or the other one. You never let anyone
else do it, right?
I mean, so what. You're a girl now and you haven't even
*seen* your mother in eight years, except for that one time on
that Tokyo street when you just had to know if she was ... and
you *accidentally* let her see you for a moment, but she couldn't
remember. She looked at you like maybe she should know who you
were, but it'd been so long and ...
And you said goodbye to your father six years ago, 'cause
you just knew you'd have cracked his stupid bald skull wide open
if you had to see that disgusting defeated look in his eyes
another minute.
And the last time you saw A- -
- the last time you saw -
...
Okay, so some things are easier to shrug off than others.
That's not the point. The point is that you get over it.
However you can. You change your surroundings and you change
your hairstyle and maybe your name and you find a place to stay
and a job where you can make decent money and they don't tell you
to smile more often and they understand if you sometimes can't
take it any more and have to disappear into the woods for a
couple days or weeks or months and you *just* get *on* with your
*life*.
So there you are. Getting on with your life. And that's
what you do. All day, every day.
Now I ain't saying it's easy. You make rules for yourself.
You tell yourself it's gonna get better. You don't let yourself
think about ... the things that it's too hard to think about. It
ain't easy. It's *life*
So one day I was on a training trip. There's still nothing
like a little open space and the art to give a guy some peace of
mind. I mean, at the risk of sounding like some dumb greeting
card, even when you *are* all alone in the world and have someone
else's girl-type body and no hope of ever finding anything like
true love or even someone who'll *believe* you when you tell them
why you don't like guys *or* girls, there *are* still things in
the world that are good, or worth doing, or worth seeing, or
worth protecting.
So once in a while I go for a little walk. A few days on
the road to remind myself *why* I still haven't just given up and
cashed in my chips. A few weeks to maybe find something that
needs doing. Something to make me feel useful again.
So anyway, one day there I was in the mountains and I just
found this mostly clean lake and decided to maybe spend a couple
days here and then outta nowhere, there's Ryouga.
I see Ryouga now and again, usually on the road. So, I go
over and pick the little porker up by the bandana. "Hey,
Ryouga," I say "You want some curry?"
These days he's usually happy to see me. I don't know why.
I mean, it'd seem like he'd blame me for what happened to us, but
he doesn't. At least, not anymore.
Then again, it's not like either one of us have friends
enough to throw away. Once childhood ends, especially so
abruptly, I guess you learn to hold on to whatever friends you
can find. And then there's the part about learning to let go of
little hurts and grudges when you learn what real hurt is.
I mean, after all, the pig and I had a lot in common. We'd
known many of the same people, fought many of the same enemies
for many of the same causes, and even loved the same girl. And
it had been the same stupid accident that had taken her away from
both of us forever. So now, I guess I look out for him whenever
I can, and worry about him when I know he's out there somewhere,
walking the earth, maybe in trouble. It's hard to admit it, but
I'm always pretty relieved to see him; to know he hasn't been
hurt or eaten or anything. So sometimes we share a pot of rice
or a cup of tea or something, and sometimes we share a bedroll
for a couple nights, but eventually I wake up or turn around and
he's gone.
So now, here we are, just talking (or rather, I'm talking
and he's making the occasional sickeningly kawaii squeaking
noise) and sharing a plate of whatever I still got on me to throw
in the pot and all of a sudden I get the feeling like I'm being
watched.
I mean, when your life's like mine, you just get that
feeling sometimes. It's usually right too, so I look around, but
I can't see anything but trees and rocks and stuff. Not exactly
comforting, but there's not a whole lot I can do about it. So P-
chan and I finish eating and I ask him if he wants to join me for
a swim.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Somebody watching, so
what does the stupid chick do? She takes her clothes off. Well,
whatever. Even after all this time I still don't really care who
sees 'em. I mean, I don't really even think of 'em as real. But
if I flash 'em around a little, maybe whoever's out there'll get
brave or distracted or stupid. If he ain't interested in that
sorta thing, maybe he'll get bored and go away. At least this
way, though, I'll be getting something useful done instead of
just sitting by my cook fire and getting smellier. I leave the
food where it is, pick up my companion, and wade off into the
lake.
The feeling's gone by the time we get back. So's what's
left of the food. But the really weird thing is that now all my
dishes and the pans I carry with me have been washed and dried
and stacked neatly. Mystery solved, then. Just some poor honest
shy martial artist type who didn't know what else to do about
getting a meal for the night. I don't begrudge the poor slob his
dinner. I mean, I been in that position before myself. Without
thinking any more about it, I put out my bed roll, make room for
the pig, and turn in.
***
Now, I know that sleep is important for relaxing the body
and resting the spirit and yada yada yada. I got the concept.
I've never really been very big on sleep, though. Once upon a
time that was because there was always something important to be
doing. There was training or fighting or food. You know. Back
when life was like a martial arts flick, not some damn movie of
the week.
These days, though, there are other reasons.
I remember what dreams are supposed to be like. I remember
what they were like when the things at the surface of my
sub-conscious were friendlier. These days I'm more reluctant
than ever to lay down for a night's sleep. Most of the time I
don't even remember my dreams, but I know I have them. Don't
take a rocket scientist. There's the dreams where you jump
upright at 2:00 am with sweaty palms and rapid heartbeat.
There's the dreams that just make you bone weary from scalp to
toenail. There's the dreams that you know were happy dreams,
because it's a genuine shock to wake up and get depressed all
over again when you remember where you are and what's happened to
you. There's the ones where you wake up and your mouth tastes
like blood and your throat is so raw that you're surprised the
neighbors haven't complained. And, my personal favorite, the
ones you think you almost remember for about five seconds after
you wake up but even after every image has disappeared from your
groggy waking mind, you're somehow still afraid you're going to
spend the rest of the morning bawling like a baby.
This particular morning, it was just a rather dull depressed
confusion. It took me a moment to figure out where I was. Rock
in the small of my back, check. Wind on my face, check.
Commence opening of eyes. Weird pink light in that suspiciously
east-like direction, check. Something warm under left arm.
Initiate visual confirmation procedure. Seems to be a small
black pig, sir. Ryouga. Check.
Right. The training trip, the lake, the mysterious hungry
person.
And yes, I was still female. The day was 60% shot already.
So there I was with the prospect of another 24 hours of
living to do.
Goody.
I sit up, rub my eyes, and look around. It was really a
pretty nice morning. Clear and cool. Nice breeze. Breakfast
swimming around in that lake somewhere. I talk myself into
getting up. Piggy's still sleeping, so I leave the bed roll
where it is, strip, and wander out into the water.
I try to keep my eyes open enough to notice if Ryouga woke
up, but when I come back to start a fire for all these obliging
fish, he's gone. Truth to tell, that depresses me a little more.
Not much I can do about it now, though. If I thought it'd help
I'd go look for him, but from past experience, there's really no
point. Dammit.
So I eat breakfast and work out some frustrations and then
do some meditation for a few hours until I'm hungry again but
definitely *not* in the mood for more fish.... I pack up my
stuff and decide to take a walk. Maybe I'll come back tonight
and maybe I won't.
Around the lake and over a rise and down a canyon I find
what looks like it might be a small restaurant. Weird place for
one, but I ain't complaining. The thing about places like this
is that if they're as isolated as this one there's usually a
reason and it's usually not 'cause the real estate's cheap if you
know what I mean. That might be a problem considerin'...
Well, let me put it this way. If I'm lucky, they won't mind
someone wandering by *just* for lunch. And if I'm even *more*
lucky, they'll be the kind of establishment that's used to
catering to a more ... diverse clientele. And then there's the
other problem. Assuming that legally I have any identity at all,
which is actually pretty doubtful, until I figure out how to get
some kind of convincing picture id, it's gonna be pretty tough to
convince *anybody* that I really am over twenty-one. I mean, I
ain't exactly a debutante, but even after all this time, I don't
look a day over fifteen and three quarters. Damn spring. Not
bad enough I get an involuntary sex change barely outta the
puberty gate, I also apparently get to look like I belong in the
cast of Sailor Moon for the rest of my life. Ain't that swell?
Sure I know it'd sound pretty good to some people, but it
means that for me, getting respected as an adult is sometimes ...
a contact sport. And then there's the obvious question about
whether or not this means I could live forever.
God, I hope not!
I mean, I ain't suicidal or nothin', but the thought of
another 50 years as the pig-tailed girl is bad enough without
having to spend *eternity* like this. I mean, I know that, say,
Ryouga's got it worse than me, but still...
Anyway, my suspicions are more or less confirmed when I get
close enough to see the sign above the entrance. 'Sexy Kunoichi
Tea Shop' in cheesy neon. Still... I mean, putting aside the
whole 'I'm really tired of foraging and want a meal' thing, the
real honest truth is that the thought of getting a look at some
nice kunoichi ... staff is not entirely without appeal. I mean,
I'm not secure enough in my bloody sexuality or whatever you want
to call it to go searching for a girlfriend or anything, but
frankly, I get something out of just looking sometimes if ya
really wanna know.
Well, it's worth a shot, right? If it don't work out, I can
always point myself towards town for a few supplies instead. I
square my shoulders and head towards the entrance.
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Any comments and questions are really really welcome. This is very
different from any story I've written in the past so I'm very interested in
finding out what people think. :)
Thanks for reading!
Michelle Thatcher misha@cybergal.com
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Reality-ometer: [\........] Hmmph! Thought so...
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http://www.akane.org/michelle