Untamed

Feelings of anxiety stirred within, anticipation and hesitation. The sound of the crowd’s chanting, applause and bursts of cheer made their way down the backstage passage, into the dressing room. It sounded even more daunting, even more loud than it possibly could have been; from this distance, it should have been no more than a soft echo. Yet it felt more than that, as though the vibrations of many vocal chords were coming from within the room, only inches away from one’s ear. Oh, how it would make a head spin and stomach to twist and leap with giddy recluse. It had been a while since the operation, a while since the uncertain return; the days were supposed to be over, or at least, that was the thought which occupied many a mind.

A smooth application of deep plum lipstick lightly covered the surface of lips both full and sensuous. The shade emphasised the perfect appearance of the expressive flesh, and exsentuated the finer features elsewhere. Hands, though ready, show signs of nerves, weakness and slight suffering with their tiny jittering of unsteadiness. A brown curled lock of hair fell slowly out of place, just near the fringe, resting beautifully beside the coloured lips as eye liner, eye shadow and mascara was gingerly being applied; a light shade of purple mixed with a skin-tone cream. It made a point of showcasing brown eyes. “Ladies and Gentlemen…” came an amplified voice, drifting into the room and into the eardrums which anticipated this precise moment.

“…the incomparable…” the smooth voice continued, familiarly and dauntingly. The entire community knew what to expect, they greatly loved what they paid to see, yet the community of such supporters is tiny, close knitteded and just as ‘out-cast’ as everyone else they surround. They too felt the bearing eyes of the world, even if it was not exactly in such a similar way. As always, there will be a few who pay to view, though not to support but instead to entertain themselves with their own performance of humiliation and taunts. Oh, world, would it not be more simpler to merely feign death and start a-new? If only that option were possible. Not now, though, time has expired and the ability to renew has died. Unlike the phoenix, it shall never be reborn within its own death. Not for I.

“…Lucilia Foxtrott.” A burst of cheer errupted, with the occasional booing mixed well within the audience. The light shone only on a lavish red leather thigh-high boot as it stepped out onto the stage, followed by another as the slowly introductory music began, and a sweet voice wonderfully crafted its song, “Where have all the good men gone and where are all the Gods? Where’s the street-wise Herculese to fight the rising odds? Isn’t there a whight knight upon a firey steed? Late at night, I toss and turn and dream of what I need….” the lights turned on full and the music picked up the pace and intensity, to show Lucilia Foxtrott. Not entirely woman, and not entirely man.

Ah, yes, the small community of transvestites. We are the freak show, baby.