“I’m gonna break out in fucking hives if I have to stay in this fucking country for another day.”

As you can probably tell, I was angry at my flight being cancelled due to a storm. I’m happy they didn’t just recklessly takeoff and potentially kill all of us, but this country is not somewhere I want to be for long.

What country was I talking about? The land of the Definitely Not Free. The good ol’ United States of Racists and Bigots.

I lived here when I was a kid, but let me tell you, I did not have a good go of it. Constant bullying, coming home with cuts and bruises that made me want to cry. my parents were total flaming cunts, telling me to ‘man up’ and while I am most definitely ‘manly’ looking now I fucking hate it. I still have scars from all the cuts I ended up with. No, not because I indulged in self harm, but because those psychopathic fucking kids brought knives to use on me like goddamn torture devices. Self harm sounds energy consuming, and I already hated myself enough to not have the energy for that.

I would grow my hair out only for it to get ripped out of my fucking head by those kids.

After I got to eighteen and people were still like this, I decided that enough was enough. I studied a ton of stuff while just avoiding school. My parents couldn’t give a shit, they never really did. Eventually I emancipated myself and flopped from couch to couch, making friends as I went. Dating apps came in handy during those times, actually.

I wasn’t going to date anyone as long as I was male, because I had already figured out I hated the damn thing I had dangling there. But for finding people that would be willing to hang out and chill it was pretty good. I made friends that I still have to this day.

Eventually I moved away to the UK because I was sick of this country for personal reasons as listed above. Don’t get me wrong, none of those dating app people were bad, and I actually have a few people I definitely want to get back in contact with when I’m female.

How did I manage to move to the UK? I got a visa from becoming an MMA fighter. Why an MMA fighter when that job would obviously worsen my dysphoria? Being strong was something I definitely wanted. Even when I was thinking of my ideal female form, they still had toned muscles. Plus I had locked away all my emotions that got uppity from dysphoria. Sadness was tiring.

Why can I somehow lock away those emotions? No idea. I just cut off the energy supply that was fueling those emotions I guess.

I was back in this ptsd-latent country because I had a match today. As usual I ended up playing with my opponent because that was the persona I ended up building after a few matches of constant snark and laughing at my opponent.

One of my ribs still hurt because he smacked me really good in a soft spot, but I still managed to win after my usual snarky attitude kicked in. I still have no idea why I get like that during fights, but I start hurling sarcastic jokes around and puns come out like water out of a dam, I always zone out in fights and let instinct carry me. And my mouth. Apparently my fighting instinct is really good, because I still win most fights. Or maybe my manager is just good at matching me with people I can beat.

When the first Emergence happened I was trying to sleep in a George Bush intercontinental airport terminal when I suddenly heard a loud noise and felt searing pain and woke up. All was white around me, then it cleared and I checked my ribs, worried that they were getting worse.

Nope, in fact, they were completely healed. Also something felt… off.

Why are my clothes so big, and my hands are so small? I quickly grabbed my phone out of my pocket and checked the camera function. Believing what I saw was hard to say the least. 

First of all, I went from a tall and very muscular man, into a girl who doesn’t look to be past 15. It’s gonna be a pain in the ass to explain my identity now. Fuck. I’m gonna be stuck in this country aren’t I? Well, at least I’m a born citizen, even if I don’t want to be. I kinda hope they’ll deport me. No, wait, nevermind. I don’t have to deal with shit from anyone from my previous life here. With looks like this I can cleanly break it off.

My muscles were kinda toned, but definitely not as much as I wanted. My face, this is the hardest thing to believe. I have red eyes, long white hair, pale skin. The pupils in my eyes looked catlike and my ears were pointed. I stood up, which I should not have done, or at least not as fast as I did. I seem to have shrunk by a foot. And my body was definitely not as weighed down by gravity as I was used to. I almost launched off my chair into a wall.

I managed to save myself by shifting my center of gravity straight down. Bringing me feet first onto the ground before hitting the wall. Luckily nobody was around to see the super-vamp, nearly put herself through a wall.

Seriously though, what the fuck happened to my body? And why is it so vampire-esque? Don’t tell me I have to drink blood? It might taste good now but that doesn’t mean I’ll find that kind of kink enjoyable dammit.

Ugh, my snark is somehow invading my thoughts now. Whatever, I should probably get out of here. People here are never friendly to new people.

My pants were for obvious reasons no longer a good fit, so I grabbed some underwear and a hoodie that was bigger than me in my muscle-bound state. It felt like I was wearing a tent with how big it was, granted I felt I looked cute as hell, so I don’t mind. I also grabbed a laptop bag that was hanging on my suitcase and left. I already had my wallet in the sweater pocket, though I guess my ID won’t be believed even if I tried.

How am I strangely calm? I have had dreams of situations like this before, so I planned just in case. I didn’t believe it was going to happen, but predictive dreams are a thing. Plus I have pretty wishful thinking sometimes. How do you think I got out of my first american experience with sanity?

Well, proving my identity might be easier than I thought now that I think about it, but I’m not gonna do that for a while.