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October 27, 2023

Two Transformations

C. C. Rayne

On Halloween, We Dress in Drag

except we don’t. We know this. We’re all trans. This is just our selves. But it’s too difficult to say it around here. And honestly? Tonight, we just want candy. 

So around the block we go. A parade of girls in mustaches and boys with their lips sticked-red. The neighbors applaud, hid in their comfortable yellow homes, crosses hung on the walls. They tell us how good our costumes look. We smile big shark grins and bear it, fingers crossed behind our backs. And our tooth-gritting gets us the grail. Bags of chocolate and candy bars. Worms so sour they’ll melt our tongues.

We’ll bring the bounty to our hideout and feast. The neighbors tell us to be careful as we walk away. We cackle to ourselves. They don’t know: we’re the things in the dark. We’re in hiding, but still happy to be their monsters. Nails chipped, hair braided, holding each other’s secrets like final oaths. Down the block, hand in hand.


Possession Narrative

Demon, I miss you. You left at the wrong time, slid your way out of my body like a surgery while I was asleep. Never even left me a note. Anything would have done. A burn, a scream, a scar. My eyes rolling back in my head. Some proof that you were a part of me. That you cared enough to cause lasting damages.

And still I want you back. Unfair, to possess a body so closely, and then let it go. Of course I fell in love with you. Didn’t you know? We are unnatural, but not unusual. I’ll open up my ribcage. I’ll squeeze my heart like a sponge into the inkpot. I’ll write a letter, a contract, a spell to bring you back to me. Enter through the gap in my chest, goddamn it. I’m open. I don’t want to be myself again. I want you warm in my bones.