tw: homophobic, xenophobic & transphobic language, death

You're sure your mother is pissing on your grave, if you get one. Maybe Hannah scrapped enough to get you cremated for an urn. Probably not, though. College is damn expensive and she's the first one in the family to do anything past high school. God knows you did jack. You also, y'know, did a Jack.

Weird experience, you've got to say, not completely unpleasant, but you'd rather not. Actually, the entire idea of sex is repulsive right now, though you can't imagine why.

Again, weird. Like, is this the rest of eternity? Just sitting here, in this void? At least you aren't hungry, you think you might've died hungry and hungover from something while high on something or other. Fucking Greg Ambulton. What a dickhead. This is all his fault.

That fuck is your scapegoat for now.

Well. To be fair it was actually his fault, because you were going to sleep the night (read: your hangover) off, but no.

Though it doesn't matter much, you reckon. Being dead and all, you don't think much matters right about now. So, yeah. Time is infeasible and you're floating in black. Everything is still peace.

Until, of course, it isn't. And that's a shocker, because the world is too bright and loud and too fucking alive for your taste. You'd rather it fizzles so you can go back. At least you're warm. At least.

Everything is spinning and blurry and you can't do anything. There are people sputtering around you, whispering in whiny voices. You tell them to shut up, but nobody can hear you. Hell, you can barely hear yourself.

It sounds like baby-babble, almost. Hah.

Wait.

Something claws up your that. It might be bile, so you spit it, and it's awful and bitter and― you're crying.

You don't cry, is the thing. Monds don't cry. You haven't cried since you were, Jesus, eight or something shit. Putting you at―something. Whatever. You were never all that smart. Kind of a dumbass, actually. Hannah was the smart one. Always was. Shithead, you think fondly.

She was gold where you were dirt brown. And you loved her for it. She was going to be something wonderful, even if you aren't anything at all. Dirt blondes, both of you, except her eyes were this shiny blue where yours were this awful mud color. You want to see your eyes now. Want to see if you've changed, if you're dreaming you something awful.

It makes your insides twist black.

You wonder if anyone's found out about the skeletons under your closet. About the secrets in your crooked floorboards. You hope it was your mother, she deserves something awful.

Maybe you're just going crazy.

Makes sense, your dear old dad spread his disease to you or someone shit. You like kissing boys after all. That's some shit you got from him. Fucking weirdo. You'll leave that fucking thought elsewhere. Throw it in that closet, dig up. The floorboards with all your secrets have one more added, to your shame.

You'll cry it out.

_

Time passes in awkward phases. You gain your sight in awkward phases, along with your mobility. Your cognition is wonky around the edges, and you kind of flit between being here and floating.

You have a mother here, you have a mother and a father and a big brother and a big sister and their names are kaasan and tousan and Tenko and Hana. You wonder if there's some kind of awful irony in being born the youngest.

(Maybe it's just tragic, a proper Greek tragedy. Maybe a Shakespearean play in which you are the star, in which you are born wrong―)

Whatever. You'll get over it. You always do. Always will. There's no choice in the matter. The world will move on without you if you blink to long, focusing on a problem will keep you stranded. You'd rather kill everything then deal with it. There isn't enough money in the world to get you to have a healthy coping mechanism or whatever the fuck Thomas Enderlin was obsessed with back in high school. Ambulton used to call him smartass, at least that's what he'd tell you. Turns out he was making out with Enderlin behind the bleachers anyhow -

Then again, Thomas Enderlin was a tranny and goes by Tammy Ambulton nowadays. You always thought that he liked Ellie Walace. Well. Everyone liked Ellie Walace. Except you, of course. Then, you didn't like Ashton Zuehl (voted as the prettiest pretty boy in your school) or Abigail Whang or Alf Nilsen.

You didn't really like any of them at all. Stephanie Benda tried to ask you to prom and you duked her.

Best night of your fucking life, you got high enough to forget your own name. (It's Samuel Mond, you think.)

They call you Eien-imouto here. You don't know what that means but they won't call you Sam. Fuck Sammy. You always hated that nickname.

_

"Imouto-chan! Imouto-chan!" Your new sister, Hana, walks up to you. "Imouto-chan I'm your neesan! Theres Tenko, he's your niisan."

"Hello imouto-chan, I'm Tenko." Tenko, your older brother, says shyly. Your head is too heavy for you to pick it up so when you tilt it you end up rolling over. You try to talk but it comes out as baby-babble and you hate it.

Of course, you're older than both of them. By three decades, in the least. You don't know how old Hana is, nor do you know how old Tenko is, but you know that they don't know what pain is.

You have a very fancy bed (you sleep with your mother, she does not sleep in the same bed as your father, who is home as often as you make noise. Almost never, that is to say), after all, and all their clothes are clean, you can tell.

_

"Imouto-chan! Imouto-chan!" Tenko is holding a toy dinosaur. You look at him like he's stupid - not that he can tell. He's a toddler. You want to tell him that you aren't Imouto-chan. You aren't a fucking girl. You're a man in a child's body and it's the wrong fucking sex, to put off. It can make someone a little homicidal.

Your name is Sam Mond. Your name is Imouto Eien or something. You hate this house.

Your brother passes you his toy dinosaur. You try to push it away. You want to stew in your own misery, thank you very much. Niisan doesn't seem to get the fucking memo, though. You scream at him, you want to him to get out get out get out get out―

(Tenko doesn't know what's going on. He just wanted to show his imouto-chan his dinosaur toy. Kaasan said that Neesan showed him all her toys, and Tenko is going to be the best big brother.

So the minute Eien starts crying, he does too. He knows he's a baby, Tousan said so, and so did Jiichan. Tenko doesn't like anyone but Neesan and Kaasan. Everyone else looks at him weird when he cries. And the only ones he can't hate are Imouto-chan and Mon-chan.)

"Oh Tenko." You don't know what's going on, but you want to be alone. You don't want to cry, you want to get out―you want your Hannah and and and―

You hate this fucking house so much.

"There there Eien, Kaasan is here. Kaasan is here. Shh." She sticks her nose in your hair and you hate that, too. Your name isn't fucking Eien. It's Samuel Mond.

You aren't a girl, you are a boy, and for a minute you wonder if this is how Enderlin felt his―her whole life. You thought it was a fucking hoax. Bullshit, the whole my body isn't right, but your body isn't right. You're twisted up inside something bitter and awful.

"Kaasan is here." Your not-mother whispers in your ear. You cry harder. You want her to go away. You want to disappear. Go back into the dark. "Shh."

You hit her. You hit and you kick and you want her to leave you alone. And she does, she places you on the bed and goes to fuck knows where, you don't care about her. Once the door closes you stop your tantrum and you go to sleep.

You're tired. So very, very tired.

_

Hana is six, Tenko is four, and you are barely a year old. Everything goes to shit.

You don't know what happened. Not exactly. You think Hana might've done something to get Tenko in trouble. Your mother might be laughing at you. Not your not-mother, your real one. The shithead one who's probably high off her mind wherever she is, is laughing at you. She used to laugh at you lots, way back when.

Like that time you started saving up for a decent high school, the ones where you have to where a uniform and pay to attend unless you were on a scholarship. You said you could make it, and she laughed at you. Studied for three nights straight. She was right. You live in a very, very ugly world, even if this one looks better on the outside. Your tousan locked your brother out of the house to sleep with the dog, and you know it must be typical if this is the reaction everybody has. Silent acceptance.

Neesan blabbers to you about it. You wonder if she can taste the disappointment in your mouth, too.

_

Niisan is standing over you, his eyes are twisted, awful. You would say they look like your mother when she was feeling particularly bad but even that isn't a proper depiction.

"Imouto-chan," he's grinning like your neighbor did. "Imouto-chan."

"White." You say, and he stares at you. You point to his hair, just to see if he's noticed, it's soft, almost. "Pretty white."

"Imouto-chan?"

"Niisan." You say, your thoughts aren't connected to your mouth. "Niisan pretty. Niisan white pretty."

"Imouto-chan." He says, grabbing you so carefully, like he's trying not to hurt you. You choke on the ogre to say you want him to. "You won't leave me, right? You'll never leave your niisan, never ever. You're mine, Eien." You hate that name, you hate it so much. You want to turn it to ash and let it rot until it becomes worm food. Your name isn't Eien, it's Samuel. "Mine."

"Niisan mine too?" You say instead, because you're trying to placate someone on a psychotic break. "Niisan! My niisan!"

"I'm your niisan, you're my imouto-chan. Mine mine mine—"

"Niisan mine!" You fake a giggle. Play off the child angle, or maybe it isn't fake. You don't know, not really, or maybe not at all.

"Good girl." He whispers. "My imouto-chan."