Queer Demons: A Short Story by Julie Langston

Content Warnings:  This is a short story I wrote that deals with transphobia and other disturbing issues.  This story contains graphic violence as well as transphobia, homophobia, misogyny, physical and mental abuse of minors, religious themes including religious indoctrination and abuse, self harm, and suicidal themes.  This story is intended for an adult audience.

“You are going to die and go to Hell! Do you want to die and go to Hell because of your gender confusion and sodomy?” Pastor Ducarr stood over Rissa as she sobbed, curled in a ball, her knees held up to her chin tightly by her arms. She did not want to live anymore. There could be no place worse than this. The pastor frowned when she did not respond with naught but a muffled sob, so he kicked her hard in the side and repeated, “I asked you if you wanted to go to Hell, boy? Because that is where you are headed if you keep up crying like some sissy girl. I know you like to think you are a girl, but you are not a girl. You have a penis, so you are a man! So man up, or die and burn in Hell!”

“I don’t care…” Rissa whispered. It took all of her strength just to give that simple response with out screaming and crying. “If going to Hell would mean I would never have to put up with you and people like you again, then I don’t care!”
“What did you just say to me?!” Ducarr kicked her again, this time harder than before and Rissa sprawled out of her ball. She did not bother going back into it, she just laid there, flat on her back staring towards the ceiling, but at nothing at all.

Ducarr spat on her and laughed. “Finally going to stop trying to hide? Prissy little bitch. You’re lucky to be born a man. As a man, God says that your place is to follow him and lead women. Not to sit there on the floor crying. I wish you were a girl too. If you were I would teach you what it means to be a woman. But, you aren’t a girl. You are a man with a cock. And, I expect you to get up and stop acting like a bitch.”

Rissa did not budge an inch. She hated him. She hated Ducarr. She hated the Church and Pastor Montgomery. More than anything, though, she hated her parents for forcing her to come here.

Her memory flashed back to two weeks prior.

It was her sixteenth birthday, and she had spent the morning in tears. For the last sixteen years Marissa Abrams, a girl, had been forced to live as a boy. Her oppressors did not know what they were doing. To them, she was a boy, and they had no reason to think otherwise. On her birth certificate it said male, and in all the anatomy books her genitals were also listed as male. This did not however change the fact that she had known that she was a girl for at least thirteen of those sixteen years. She may have even felt this way longer than that, but she had no memories prior to three years old, and even those were faded and few.

Still, every day that she could remember she had felt that she was a girl. She remembered even at four or five saying as much, but just being laughed at and told that she was a boy. After a while she started to believe that she was a boy. But, no matter how many times she told herself that she was, she could not believe it. Something inside of her shouted female, and that shout could not be silenced by the billion other shouts telling her otherwise.

When Rissa had reached puberty the shouts from both sides grew infinitely more intense, and she fell into a deep depression as other girl’s started to develop in womanly ways while she grew more and more masculine. As other girl’s started to grow breasts, she started growing hair on her upper lip and fuzz on her chin, and she realized that her body was a traitor to her.

Since then she had been in a constant depression. She begged with her body not to do what it was doing. She tried to starve herself, punish herself, cut herself in order to take away the pain. Nothing worked. She then started to beg God to cure her. At first she begged Him to make her into a girl. She prayed that she would fall asleep and the next morning she would wake up with a vagina and learn that all of this was just a horrible dream. When that failed, she begged for God to make her happy being a guy. She even started working out and hanging out more with her guy friends than her girl friends to play the role, but this did not work either.

Eventually she even turned to witchcraft. Her family was deeply religious and always taught her that the occult and magic was evil and forbidden, so at first the idea scared her. But, as time went on and her pain grew deeper and deeper she decided it was worth a try. If God would ignore her pleas, perhaps the Devil would not.

She had first looked to Wicca. Several of her friends were witches and practiced the religion. This held her interest for close to a year before she grew weary of it. She learned quickly that her conservative Christian view of Wicca, and paganism in general, was wrong. She also learned that magic did not work, or at least if it did, the results were no more observable than the results of prayer. She enjoyed the nature worshiping aspects of her practice, but it was not what she was looking for.

Thus, she turned to Satanism, to black magic in order to try and achieve her goals. Here too she was disappointed. Satanism was nothing like portrayed in Christianity with midnight dances with demons and secret knowledge of the occult. Most of the Satanists she knew were simply atheists who admired the figure of Satan. There was magic, but even her fellow practitioners admitted it was purely ritualistic, so she dropped that idea more quickly than she had even dropped the idea of Wiccan magic.

When magic had failed Rissa focused back on living her life. She learned on the internet that there were people like her; they were called transgender people. People who were assigned one sex, but whose gender did not match that sex mentally, emotionally, socially, nor in any other way other than raw parts and labels. She also learned that these people could eventually be happy and live as themselves, even taking hormone supplements and other treatments to make their body more suitable to their mentality.

If she could only make it until she was eighteen and out of the house, she could finally be herself. That became Rissa’s new plan. To just survive until she could make it on her own, and then she could transition and live as the woman she always knew that she was.

She quickly realized that surviving until that point would be a task much more challenging than she had first imagined. Every day seemed like an eternity, and while she at first had hoped that time would go quickly, when it did not she found herself hoping again for death. Perhaps eighteen years old was four years… three years… two years away, but it seemed no closer and the effects testosterone were having on her body were not slowing. Rissa realized that she could not wait any longer to be herself.

So, she set herself a new goal with resolve. On her sixteenth birthday, Rissa would come out to her family as herself and tell them that she was a transgender girl. Perhaps they would be understanding. The prospect was terrifying, but the possibility of acceptance and being able to start living as herself and maybe even go on testosterone blockers gave her hope. Her family was always a bit conservative, but they loved her – or at least they loved “him”, so there was hope.

Two weeks prior to Rissa laying on the floor of a “Pray Away the Gay Camp” crying and bloodied from being abused and beaten by a monster disguised as a man named Pastor Ducarr, that day, Marissa Abrams sixteenth birthday had come.

She remembered the anticipation that morning as she woke up and went to her closet to prepare herself for what she was about to do. At first Rissa’s plan had been to write her family a letter detailing how she felt and about her identity, but as she sat down to write, the words did not come. So, she then resolved herself to tell them, but she knew that if she were to try and have a sit down like that she would lose her resolve and change the subject as she had when she tried to tell her best friend, Tammy, about this. About her. That she was a she and not a “him”. If she could not tell Tammy, who had been one of her two best friends since elementary school, the girl who knew that Rissa was “gay” and had made out with a boy in the eighth grade, there was no way she could tell that to her family who saw her as their heterosexual son.

With writing how she felt and saying how she felt out as options, Rissa decided that her best choice would be to “show” how she felt. She had girl’s clothes and make up that she bought over the last few years – a garment here, a powder there – that she wore when her parents were out of town. Today she would wear them in front of others for the first time. Once she appeared down the stairs in a dress and make up, there would be no turning back. Any spur of the moment lie she could make up to excuse why she was dressed like that would be worse than the truth. Thus, with this knowledge, she set herself to her decision.

She picked a cute black and white striped dress that she had picked up from a bargain from a thrift shop she had to volunteer at for her tenth grade leadership class. It was high cut on top, hiding her shoulders which were too wide for her liking, but still had short sleeves making it appropriate for the summer. The skirt came down to just above her knees, enough to show her freshly shaven legs, but still long enough to likely be considered appropriate; at least appropriate for any ordinary girl her age to wear – how appropriate her family would find it on her would yet to be decided.

The dress was neutral against her light freckled skin and medium length brown hair which she usually styled in a way to make her face look boyish. Today she would brush it out and part it in such a way to bring out the femininity in her oval face. She picked make up to match, or rather she picked the only make up she had, which fortunately did match her complexion well with this dress. She had an ivory foundation and natural powder which were just a tone darker than her skin. She outlined her green eyes with shades of brown and black eyeliner before finally layering on as much mascara as she possibly could in order to make her fairly short eyelashes noticeable. Last she smacked on a light red lipstick and covered it with a pink gloss to blend the colors to make her lips look almost natural colored, but still shimmer in the light.

When all was done she looked at herself in the mirror, and she was beautiful by anyone’s standards. She had only done this a few times a year the last few years, as that was all that was afforded to her, yet, never before had she matched how she looked now. Right now she radiated femininity and beauty. She would have been happy to look this cute if she had been born female, considering her circumstances, her reflection astounded her.

Rissa’s thoughts and feelings of self admiration quickly dissipated as she remembered the reason why she was all done up. In a few moments she would be confronting her parents and sister for the first time as a girl. She knew her sister suspected that she was a gay guy, and in fact would not have been surprised if her parents thought the same, but she knew none of them would ever see this coming. She swallowed air hard and waited to be called down the stairs.

After what seemed like hours, but was likely just a few minutes there was a light knock on her door, and her mother’s voice called out, “Tom, wake up! It’s time for breakfast!”

Rissa cringed. She hated that name, Tom. Tom Abrams was the name given to her at birth, and what she had been called for the last sixteen years, but it was not her name. Her name was Marissa, or Rissa – which is what her friends on the internet called her as a pet name. Maybe, just maybe after this she would never have to be called ‘Tom’ again.

Her heart beat a million beats per minute from inside her stomach as she stood up and patted out her dress, trying to remove specks of powder foundation that had fallen onto it while she was applying her make up. She wanted to faint, but somehow she did not. She managed to take one step towards the door, then another, then another, and then finally opened it. The hallway was empty, and she turned and went to the stair case. Each step down the stairs her heart beat grew heavier and she almost turned and ran away, but she forced herself to keep going.

Then, suddenly, Rissa found herself standing at the entrance to the dining room kitchen confronted by both her parents, her sister, and her maternal grandmother. All of them turned to greet her and in unison expressions of shock overcame their faces, except her sister. Summer bit her lip and raised one of her eyebrows when she saw her brother standing there in a dress done up like a doll, it looked like she was trying not to laugh.

The next hour or two was a blur for Rissa. After the initial shock, her family each reacted in their own way. Her grandmother, who she had not expected to be there at all gave her a kiss on the cheek and left quickly, saying something about chores she had to do, though Rissa was sure that she just wanted out of the situation as badly as Rissa did. Her mother started crying and asking no one in particular where she had gone wrong, and her father started yelling at her.

Eventually they calmed down enough for her to tell them everything. Summer was the only one to remain the least bit calm during the entire situation, commenting that she had suspected that Rissa had worn some of her clothes before but never said anything. Her father, a heavy man with a mustache that reminded her of a real version of a certain Italian video game plumber managed to stay red as a tomato, but after his initial outburst said nothing. Her mother asked question after question trying to understand, tears in her eyes.

“So,” her mother said, “You’re gay?”

“No,” said Rissa. “I like guys, but I’m a girl. So, I’m straight. Well, maybe bi, I’m not sure. But, I’m definitely not gay.”

“I just don’t understand, Tom,” said her mother. “Are you confused about your gender?”

“No,” her father mumbled, “he isn’t confused about his gender. He’s just going through a phase. This is what happens when you let a kid spend hours a day on the internet, they meet crazy, mentally ill people and then try to be mentally ill themselves to fit in. Sick world we live in.”

“That’s not it!” Rissa exclaimed angrily. “I am not confused, and I am not going through a phase! This is who I am! This is always who I have been, and that isn’t going to change!”

“He always has been kind of a dandy,” Summer commented.

Their father roared, “Enough! It is bad enough that you are a faggot! In this house we follow the word of God which states that homosexuality is a sin! But, if you were just a regular queer, then I might be able to tolerate that! However, I will not tolerate any son of mine wearing a dress under my roof!”

“Good!” shouted Rissa. “I’m not your son! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I’m not your son! I’m your daughter, and this is who I am!”

“Get out!” the patriarch shouted. He grabbed Rissa by her hair and dragged her to the door before slamming her face into it. “Get out you cock sucker! I won’t have you under my roof!”

Rissa felt blood rush to her head from being dragged by her hair along with tears rushing to her eyes. She stared at her father, scorn on his face, and she returned the scorn with her eyes. “Fine,” she whispered.

“John, wait,” begged her mother. “Don’t make him leave, we can talk this out…”

It was too late, Marissa had already left the house and ran as quickly as she could to Tammy’s. She had not been planning to show up to Tammy’s house in a dress and make up smeared by tears. No, she had hoped to be able to tell her friend the truth about herself in her own time. But, showing up at her door dressed as a girl would have to do.

Rissa held back tears as she knocked hurriedly on her friends door. She prayed that Tammy would be the one to answer, and not her mother or brother. The last thing she wanted to do right now is explain everything to even more people. After a few moments Tammy’s older brother Trey answered the door. He looked Rissa over from top to bottom before asking her, “Can I help you?”

He did not seem to recognize Rissa as Tom. This was the one convenient thing that had happened so far that day. Rissa mumbled under her breath, “Is Tammy here?”

“Hey, Tamara!” shouted Trey. “Some girl is here to see you!” He turned to Rissa and smiled, “Come on in girly, make yourself at home.” Rissa nodded and stepped inside and waited for Tammy.

“Tom?” came Tammy’s voice. Rissa looked up from staring awkwardly at the floor to see her friend looking at her completely confused. Tammy was dressed in pajamas and her hair was messier than usual. It was obvious she had just woken up. Rissa opened her mouth to reply, but instead of words, only a sob came. Tammy came over and gave her a huge hug and held her. “Oh my god, Tom, what is going on? Here, baby, come sit. Sit.”

The two went to Tammy’s room and sat on the edge of her bed for a bit as Rissa cried. Tammy sat there stroking her hair and not saying a word before Rissa finally gathered herself together enough to talk. She told Tammy everything. She told her about her gender identity, the pain it had caused her, her plans for the future, and about her telling her family and their reaction – everything relevant up until Trey had opened the door to her crying not an hour ago.

After Rissa had spilled everything, the two friends sat in silence for a few moments before Tammy finally spoke, “So, Rissa? That’s going to take some getting used to, I’m not going to lie. But, I’ll try. Just, you know, I’ve known you as Tom for like eight years.” Rissa sobbed. Tammy patted her on the back, “Don’t worry girl, you know I’m here for you. I’m still going to call you Rissa, like you said, just could take some getting used to is all I’m saying.”

Rissa nodded and said, “Thank you.”

“Hey! Of course! You’re my bestie! You don’t think that’s going to change just because you’re trans, do you?” Tammy forced a smile. “I kind of thought you might be honestly. I know you said you were gay, but you just didn’t come off as a guy. Not even as a gay guy, you know? So, don’t worry, I accept you, even if your family does not.”

“Thank you,” Rissa said again. She sobbed.

“Oh, come on. Don’t cry, honey! Don’t cry. They aren’t worth it,” Tammy grabbed Rissa’s face and forced her to look her in the eyes. “Listen to me. If they won’t accept you for who you are, they are not worth it, okay? I accept you, that’s what matters.”

“I know,” said Rissa. “And I love you so much for that… It’s just, what am I going to do? I can’t stay with you, and I have no where to go.”

Tammy sighed, “I don’t know. But, look, my mom’s staying at her boyfriend’s place for the last few days, and Trey is just doing whatever Trey does. So, you can stay here for a least a couple days and we’ll figure it out.” Rissa nodded. Tammy patted her hair, “Besides, now I get to play dress up with you. I’ve always wanted to play dress up with a white girl. Can’t wait to style your hair, love.”

“I would think you would hate hair styling with how much you complain about styling yours,” Rissa remarked jokingly.

“Girl, I have to style this mess every day,” said Tammy. “I am a pro at styling. If I can take this frizz and make it look fabulous, imagine what I can do with your hair! Now, go clean off your make up, it’s smeared from you crying. We’ll reapply it.”

“I didn’t bring any make up with me though, and I think your foundation is probably too dark for me,” said Rissa.

Tammy rolled her eyes, “No shit, Sherlock. We’re gonna go shopping. Every girl deserves a shopping trip, besides I was gonna bring you to the mall later to buy you something for your birthday anyway. At least now I won’t be bored doing it.”

The rest of the day went much better than the beginning of it had, and had it not been for the mess that was coming out to her parents, Rissa may have even considered the day her best birthday yet. She got to spend the rest of it dressed as herself, and she was close to happy. Yet, the events of earlier in the day kept biting at her, keeping her from truly relaxing and enjoying it. Still, even if her family had not accepted her, her best friend had. That was worth something at least.

The next day as Tammy and Rissa were getting ready to go out again there was a knock at the door. Rissa went with Tammy to answer it and found two police officers awaiting them. Tammy sighed and shouted inside the house, “Trey, what the hell did you do?!”

One of the officer’s gave her a weird look and said, “We are looking for a Tom Abrams. We received a call that a minor had gone missing and were tipped that he might be here.”

Rissa stepped up and said, “I’m Tom Abrams. I was kicked out though, so I don’t know why my parents are looking for me.”

The officer looked her over. “Your name is Tom? Okay then. Anyway, unless you have been legally emancipated, kicked out or not I have to bring you back to your parents. They are worried about you.”

“I doubt it,” Rissa muttered.

“Hey,” said Tammy. “Maybe they calmed down some. Just go ahead and go back, and if things get heated you can come stay here again tonight.” Rissa nodded and hugged her friend before going with the police.

Soon enough they pulled in front of her parents house where her mother was waiting for her on the lawn, her eyes drenched with tears and face scorned with worry. As soon as Rissa stepped out of the car, her mother ran up and wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. Rissa did not return the hug.

“Oh, Tom,” said her mother. She then turned to the police, “Thank you so much for bringing him back!”

“Him?” the officer was still obviously confused. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Just don’t go kicking out your kid and then ask us to bring them back for you again. We have more important things to do than track down kids who went missing because their parents told them to get lost.” The cop turned and left with out saying another word.

Rissa’s mother looked at her, “Oh, Tom! Why are you still dressed like a girl? Your father is going to throw a fit!”
“Let him,” said Rissa.

“Look, he may have acted inappropriately, but he is still your father and you have to respect him!”

“Oh, like how he respected me, yesterday?”

“You know how your father is! He’s just trying his best. Now come inside and change into something else. We have something to discuss with you.”

Rissa wanted to ask what they would do if she did not change back into boy clothes. Are they going to kick me out again? Because that worked so well. Yet, she held her tongue. She had faced enough drama for the time being, and putting on a t shirt and jeans would not kill her. So, she hurried upstairs, took a quick shower to wash out her hair which had been done up by Tammy earlier in the day, and wash off her make up before drying off and throwing on a t shirt and jeans. She picked her pink t shirt that she knew her father hated in order to spite him. If she could not present as a girl, she would at least present in a color associated with girls.

Rissa walked down the stairs and went into the living room to find her mom and dad sitting on the couch. Her father grimaced at her when he saw the color of her shirt, but did not say a word. Her mother broke the silence, “So, Tom, your father and I were talking and we have come up with a solution that will benefit all of us.”

The only solution that will benefit me will be to allow me to live as myself and be the girl that I am, thought Rissa, though she did not say anything aloud.

Her mother continued, “We understand that you have homosexual feelings and gender confusion, and we really hurt knowing that you suffer from that. So, we want to have you treated for it.”

“Excuse me?” asked Rissa.

“There is a program that Pastor Montgomery recommended to us that is ran by the church for people like you. It’s called “Jesus Saves Youth Corrections Camp”.”

“You want me to go to a pray away the gay camp?!” asked Rissa, completely appalled.

“I told you that I won’t allow any faggot cock suckers under my roof,” her father mumbled.

Her mother glared at her father, “What your father means is that this camp could really help you to live a normal life. That’s all we want for you. To be happy.”

“If you cared about my happiness you would accept me as your transgender daughter and not force me to go to some place that will try to torture me into being who you want me to be!” Rissa said. “I’m not going.”

“Yes you are,” her father roared. “Your mother and I already made arrangements for you to go!”

“And, if I refuse?”

“Honey,” said her mother, “trust us. This is for your best.”

“I’m not going to go.”

“Then run away again, become some faggot whore and die of AIDS if that’s what you want,” said her father.

“John!” her mother shouted at her father, appalled. She turned back to Rissa, “Tom, listen. I know that right now this sounds like a lot, but trust us, we prayed about it, and we believe that God wants us to get you help. You have to go.”

Rissa stormed off and went upstairs, slamming her bedroom door. She heard her father screaming at her for slamming the door shut, but she ignored him and started packing a back pack. She would not go to a pray away the gay camp. She would not. Maybe her father was right, maybe she would have to become a prostitute to survive, even though she dreaded that possibility. Anything would be better to be stuck here being forced to be someone she was not.

Later that night she ran away through her window. She told Tammy what she was doing, but she refused to go stay at her house again. The police would just find her there and take her back. Instead she went off to the bus station and slept there while she figured out what to do. She had enough money for one cross country bus ride, but she had yet to figure out where to go. She had friends and allies on the internet that would help her, so she decided to contact them.

Before she had anything set up the police showed up at the bus station and arrested her. This time they brought her to their station for holding where her mother found her several hours later. The police agreed not to press charges if she would not run away again. It was no use. Rissa gave up. She had been defeated. Completely and utterly laid to waste by her parents, her church, and her local law enforcement.

The only choice she had, Rissa decided, was to go to this camp and pretend to be healed. Then she would go back to her original plan of waiting until she was eighteen before being able to move out and live as herself. She had faked it for this long, she could fake it two more years. Or at least, that is what she told herself.

A week later, after having her head shaved, and being beaten and bruised by her father for running away again, she arrived at this place. The Hell which she was now in, lying on the floor as a so called man of God stood over her mocking her as she cried. The last few days were worse than she could have ever imagined.

When Rissa first arrived they put her in a room with a gay boy her age named Immanuel. Immanuel was a nice enough person, though he probably was more flamboyant and feminine in his mannerisms than even she was. He was from a different church – a Catholic one, but his family had sent him here because it was the closest camp like this to them. At first he had as much resolve to not be broken by this place as Rissa had, but each day the light in his eyes faded, and Rissa knew that he, like her, was losing himself.

They would have to wake up early in the morning and go straight to a prayer group. Instead of praying for blessings or giving thanks, they were forced to pray to be cured of the “demons of homosexuality”. They were forced to say this out loud and could not pray silently, to ensure that they were saying what they were instructed to say. This was probably the most enjoyable “treatment” given at the center.

Besides that, Rissa was forced to watch gay porn and be shocked by electrodes hooked to her body as she watched it. While the shocks were painful, at first she was amused because they were treating her as a gay man, when she was not a gay man, she was a woman. She thought to herself that his sick treatment had to get off someone’s jollies, and that thought was humorous for a short time. But, now, several days later there was no humor to be found, even forced humor.

She had been dehumanized, her identity invalidated, physically and emotionally abused, and even denied meals. There was no hope left, Rissa decided. No hope at all. She only had four more days of this Hell, but she did not believe that she could make it that long. She had decided that she did not want to even if she could.

Before leaving she had to pack a bag that was searched thoroughly with boys clothes, hygiene products, and other necessities. In a hidden pocket she put a knife that she had been given by her father for her fifteenth birthday. It was a hunting knife that he had given her with the hopes it would get her interested in going hunting with him, and very capable of killing a person. She never used it for hunting, only to cut her wrist when the pain became too much. It would not take much to use this knife as an opt out if it came down to it.

Laying on the floor with Pastor Ducarr standing over her, she realized it was time to take up that option. She should have before even being forced to come here.

“Get up,” said Pastor Ducarr, sneering.

Rissa laid on the floor and ignored him. He could not hurt her anymore than he already had. The pastor, a tall and burly man, grabbed her arm and forced her up, “I told you to get up you prissy bitch.”

Rissa stood and stared at the pastor coldly. She felt no life nor light in her heart. She felt nothing but a deep chill that penetrated her being. When people said that someone was a “cold person” this was the epitome of what they meant.

“Finally, standing up, like the man you were created to be,” said Ducarr. “I’m sorry that I had to hit you, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that you left me with no choice. Now are you going to let me hook you up to this machine so that we can do your treatment or will I have to hit you again?”

“I thought Jesus said you should turn the other cheek,” said Rissa.

“Yes, he did,” said Ducarr. “Which is exactly the lesson I am trying to teach you. I know that you think that I’m hurting you, but I’m not. I’m hurting the demon that has control of you. It’s not me or your folks or God that is your enemy, its that demon. That demon inside of you which is making you all gender confused. We will cast it out so that you can live as a good man of God!”

Rissa scowled. This so called demon that they kept talking about here did not exist. The only demon here was Ducarr, and he was worse than any Devil in the Bible. Rissa thought back to when she tried to learn black magic to grant her goals. She had once tried to offer her soul to any demon that would take it in exchange for a working vagina. None had taken her offer, but she was being punished for it anyway.

If only demons were real, she thought, and I had one. I would turn it to kill you.

She reluctantly sat and allowed her treatment to continue. Ducarr would not let her leave until it was over with, and she could not take the knife and end this horrible existence until she was able to leave.

“That’s a good boy,” said Ducarr. “God rewards those who are obedient. I think that we are loosening the grip that the Devil has on you.”

The only Devil here is you.

An hour later Rissa wandered back into her room, bruised and burnt from electric shocks. She did not care anymore. The physical pain inflicted on her body was nothing compared to the sea of emotional turmoil which had consumed her very existence. It would all be over soon, she thought. She would just have to take extreme physical pain one last time, and it would all be done with for eternity.

Immanuel had yet to return to the room. That meant now was probably her best shot at ending it, before he could come back and interfere. She grabbed her back pack and reached deep inside of it, to the hidden pocket that they had not found, and soon her hand found the hilt of the knife that she would use to end this farce called her life.

She drew the knife out and stared at it. It gave her a strange sensation, this instrument of her demise. It was the tool of her death, and of her liberation.

Rissa had always believed that anyone who committed suicide was doomed to an eternity in Hell. But, she was also raised to believe that she was doomed to an eternity in Hell just for being who she was. It was not her choice to be a transgender woman anymore than it was her choice to be here right now. Ending it all, that was her choice. The one choice she felt she had.

She gripped the knife and sobbed. She did not want to die, but she did not want to live either. How could it come to this? Everything she had worked for, everything she believed in, it was nothing. None of it meant anything now. She would die, another statistic. Another transgender teenager whose life was ended by suicide because of how evil the world had been to her.

Rissa knew that she did not have much time. If she was serious, which she was, she had to act now or risk her roommate coming back and stopping her. She took the knife and braced it to the side of the wall. All she would have to do is drive her head into it once and it would be over and done with. She was terrified, but she told herself it would be quick.

She stopped for a moment and sobbed, “This shouldn’t be me. I shouldn’t have to die. Ducarr should die. My parents should die. I shouldn’t have to die because of their sins. I shouldn’t have to…” She thought back to Tammy, to Summer, to her best mate George, all of them would be devastated. Still, she did not see what other choice she had in the matter. This was her best option.

Rissa felt queasy as she looked at the knife. “If there is any god or being out there that will help me, please help me. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to die. I don’t deserve to die. Please don’t make me die. Please don’t. Please.” She was crying, tears streaming down her face. She did not know who she was pleading with nor why. She had made her choice. “I have to die because of transphobic pieces of shit. I’m sorry.”

Rissa had one flare of bravery and took her last breath and cursed the world and everyone in it before hurling herself headlong into the knife.

All went black.

Then she woke up.

Immanuel was standing over her looking worried, “Yo, Tom. Hey, Tom, wake up!”

The world spun around as Rissa realized she was still in that god forsaken room. She was surprised to find that she was in her bed, with no pain in her head or neck where she remembered the knife entering. She felt herself, yet there was no blood. Was I just dreaming?

“Tom! Get a hold of yourself!” Immanuel looked frantic. “Something happened, we need to go.”

“What?” Rissa was completely lost. “What happened?”

“Pastor Ducarr, he’s,” Immanuel gulped, “someone killed him.”

The news was shocking to Rissa, but she shook it off. She must have been asleep this entire time. Her suicide must have been a nightmare. It had to have been.

She stood up, still feeling around her head and neck for a wound, “What do you mean someone killed him?”

“I don’t know,” said Immanuel. “The police are here. They are questioning everyone. Come on, we need to go talk to them.”

Rissa slipped on her shoes and followed Immanuel out through the hallway of the clinic to the main room where all the other queer youth that were being tortured by the camp, as well as a number of camp employees were waiting. Sure enough the room was filled with police, going about questioning people and scourging the area for evidence. Ducarr is dead? Who killed him?

It was not that Rissa was surprised, nor sympathetic at Ducarr’s death. He deserved to die, and every single person at this camp would gladly have done it if they had the chance. Nevertheless, Rissa had no idea who actually would have gone through with it.

She tried to get closer to where the police were standing to see what happened. She was not allowed to be close, but she managed to catch a glimpse of Ducarr’s body laying on the floor next to the wall, and her heart dropped.

On the wall was blood smeared out to say, “TRANSPHOBIC SHITS MUST DIE FOR THEIR SINS” and below it was Ducarr’s lifeless and blood covered body.

Out of the side of his head stuck the handle of Rissa’s hunting knife.


Why Homophobic and Transphobic Christians Do Not Love LGBT People (According to the Bible)

So, a lot of anti LGBT Christians claim that even though they are against various LGBT people or actions, they still “love” those people. Well, there is a verse in the Christian Bible that I actually like that describes what love means. Let’s take a look shall we:

1 Corinthians 13:4-7New International Version (NIV)

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Now let’s compare the way homophobic and transphobic Christians who claim to love LGBT people’s love to the love described here:

-Love is patient:

Well, looking at how quick anti LGBT people try to make laws against LGBT people in reaction to laws for their rights, this obviously isn’t true.

-Love is kind:

Is it kind to keep two people to love each other from marrying? Is it kind to tell a trans person they should pretend to be something they are not even if it makes them miserable? Is it kind to tell your child they are an evil sinner who is going to Hell because of something they can not control? No. It’s not kind. It’s sick.

-It does not envy:

It’s all too often that the anti LGBT right says how somehow LGBT people have special rights (which we don’t), and how Christians should have more special rights. That’s pretty envious.

-It does not boast:

Unlike those who boast about how just and godly they are for their homophobic and transphobic words and actions.

-It is not proud:

Tie in to the last point.

-It does not dishonor others:

I would say taking away and denying rights from innocent people and refusing to let them love or live as they see fit is greatly dishonoring them.

-It is not self seeking:

Trying to oppose people’s rights, lives, and identities certainly isn’t helping those people, so who are anti LGBT Christians and other anti LGBT people helping with their cause if not LGBT people? Not society at large, certainly. Many of them say it’s serving God, but I think that simply means they are serving their own interests. Check.

-It is not easily angered:

There is no way easier to anger an anti LGBT conservative than than to argue in favor of gay or trans rights.

-It keeps no records of wrongs:

Do I even have to explain this one? All these people do is keep the wrongs of LGBT people. Or at least their perceived wrongs.

-Love does not delight with evil, but rejoices with truth:

While I know many of the people I’m addressing say they are the ones with the truth (the Bible). However, let’s look at the facts. Study after study on LGBT people has shown that it is not a choice. That gay couples can raise children just as well as straight couples. That transgender people are mentally the gender that they are. etc, etc. Yet anti LGBT people ignore these truths in favor of their own which goes against all common sense, science, and available evidence. Not to mention they delight when they can take away or deny happiness from LGBT people, which sounds pretty evil to me.

-It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves:

Homophobic and transphobic anti LGBT rights people do not protect nor preserve LGBT people. In fact we need protection from them. They definitely don’t trust us. And, the only thing that they hope is that we go away.

There, in the words of the Bible from a man who was a homophobic person himself. This homophobic misogynistic pharisee (Paul the Apostle) who wrote this verse is who most of the anti LGBT Christians look to instead of Jesus (since Jesus didn’t say anything about homosexuality, but Paul did) disagrees with the claim that these people love LGBT people. By his own words.

Anti LGBT Christians are not patient. They are not kind. They do envy. They do boast and are proud. They dishonor and hurt others, and keep a record of their alleged wrong doings and sins. They delight in their misery and ignore the truths presented to them. They do not protect, trust, or preserve us, and they hope for us only to go away or stop being the way we are.

This is not love. By the Bible the way anti LGBT Christians act towards LGBT people is NOT love. Not in one way shape or form. So, hate LGBT people if you want, but don’t say you love them when your own gospel tells you that you don’t.