Long black hair, an androgynous face, and tall stature—a quality that is befitting of an effeminate male. Such trait belongs to the person standing in front of . Looking down at with cold, mischievous eyes, he smiled incomprehensibly.
I am shaken, and bewildered; my hands that are firmly grasping my M762 7.62 NATO Rifle couldn't even move a single inch. My hand is not hurt, nor is sothing holding it. My mind ... My mind is convinced that I shouldn't move it.
I, too, am effeminate, but unlike , this man in front of has an incredible aura. It is undeniable and absolute—it is terrifying; the effeminacy he possesses doesn't diminish his presence in the least bit.
An ordinary effeminate dude like will never be able to match this man. Furthermore, he has that thing that I don't have—horns. He has horns on his forehead. Maybe that is what makes us different: I am human, he is not.
For what he is, I don't know. For where I am, I don't know either. For how I end up here ... Maybe, I can tell. Of course, I can't provide any explanation about what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen.
What I can only tell is the story.
...
My na is Layland Kleinhaus. My father was Arican, and my mother is German. Yes, you heard it right; my father is dead. But before I tell you what happened to him, I will tell you about my life first.
A child's na is how their parents hope them to be. Mine, Layland, is taken from a Greek na which ans the protector of n; by saying n, it ans the entirety of humanity. My mother wanted to be a gentleman to the people around —she wanted to be a strong man.
I know, it's a little bit of a stretch to give that na. However, in my mother's defense, every hope must be a stretch; it's always the exact opposite of what the reality often presents us.
Lo and behold, I ended up getting diagnosed with hypogonadism—low testosterone levels. That ans, I can't be strong enough as a man, and which further justifies why my mother's hope was not wrong.
Having low testosterone levels usually ans you got less hair than normal male, you got less muscle mass, and a higher pitch voice—you're different, but not very apparent. But, the world seems very fond of screwing over.
I was born with an androgynous face—I am effeminate. With my small stature, and soft-spoken nature, many people often mistook as a female. It was okay in primary school, but when puberty hit everyone ... The situation changed.
Yes, it's as you have predicted—bully. Those pricks bullied so hard, I had, more than once, thought of killing myself. Luckily, my mother was always there to stop . Still, the bullying didn't stop.
If you ask what is the worst type of human, I will confidently say teenagers. They are just the worst. Their underdeveloped brain that causes them to act impulsively is one of their traits that I abhor—they are irritatingly dumb.
Now, I am not so different than those teenagers; I am one too. However, if you compared my brain's developnt rate and theirs, you would definitely see how mine completely outclassed them. Still, I was, and still am, dumb.
"Layland, I think I fell in love with you ... Do you want to be my boyfriend?"
It was just an ordinary Saturday noon in one of the many high schools in California—my school. My classmate, Brianna, had told a few minutes prior to et her at the school garden, one of the quietest places of the school.
"R-Really?" I just didn't expect things would go that way. "Yes, really. So, do you want to be my boyfriend?" It was so real: her nervousness, her expectant expression, and her body gesture. I believed her instantly—we ended up dating.
I am not bad looking, and I am aware of it. However, none of the girls saw as a man before; all of them either treated like air or just their another female friend. Being seen as a man was my first, and I was so happy that day.
I was glad I had made an appointnt to visit my mother in Central California Won's Facility—yes, that's a prison. As for why my mother was there, the story dated back to the ti when I had just finished primary school.
4 years ago when I was 13, a huge fight broke in Kleinhaus household—my family household. It was not just a married couple fight; it was a REAL fight. My father had been abusive toward and my mom, and she just had had enough of it that day.
My father was completely drunk coming ho—with an unknown woman at that—and he kept yelling at my mother for whatever reason.
At first, an ordinary quarrel occured where mom was yelling at my father, asking what the fuck he was doing with the bitch he had brought ho. Being a genuine bastard he was, he carelessly answered that the bitch was his girlfriend.
Mom, just like usual, could only cry and receive all of the unethical words my father threw at her. I didn't rember what my father commanded back then, but he was enraged my mother didn't do as he said; he hit mom.
The bitch he brought ho even had the audacity to laugh at that. I don't know what happened to back then—being an effeminate boy, I was usually submissive—but that ti my mind went blank, and I could see nothing but darkness.
I had never once disobeyed my father. Even whenever he hit , I gladly took the beating, and choked back the tears just like what he had ordered. But that day was my breaking point; I couldn't watch him hurt my mom anymore.
By the ti I realized it, I had jabbed a knife at my father's stomach. No one had expected that, and all of them were terrified. My father, who registered the event late, stared at the knife dumbly, before punching my head, breaking my temple in the process.
My head hurt so bad at that ti, but I am sure I was smiling. My vision went blurry, but I could witness the scene where my mother took out a pistol, and aid it at my father and his girlfriend.
Bang! Bang!
That's how my mother ended up in prison; she took the bla for . I didn't know why she did that at first—why would soone jail a 13 year old kid?—but upon growing up, I understood her reason of doing it.
No one would jail a 13 year old kid, but no one would also believe a 13 year old kid could murder his father. In other words, my mom would still take responsibility of my action at the end of the day.
Rather than being jailed for sothing she didn't do, it was better to do it with a blast, right? No, that wasn't her reason. Even up till then, she kept telling that I didn't do anything to my father; it was all her.
I can proudly exclaim she is the only woman I love; that is absolute!
Rang!
"Alright, young man. You only have 30 minutes to talk to your mother, so use it well."
"Yes, ma'am!"
I had just arrived at the prison, and I was giddy to et my mom—to tell her about my girlfriend. I sat on the chair provided in the visiting room, and waited for my mother to enter the room.
It didn't take long until I could see a brown haired beautiful middle-aged woman coming inside. She was slightly skinny and unkempt, but she was my mother; she was perfect in front of my eyes.
"Mom!" I cried elatedly. It was sad I couldn't touch her directly due to the glass separating us, but seeing her was enough for . "You look good, Lay." As always, mom greeted with the smile that I never got tired of.
"Mom, how are you? Are you eating well? Did you clean yourself well? What about your friends? Are there—"
"Hold on, Lay." My mother laughed. "I am fine, and yes, I eat and clean well. As for friends, I have so. But, this visit shouldn't be about ; I want to hear about you." Her smile seed eternally etched on her face.
"Oh, you won't believe it, but I got a girlfriend!" I was very eager to tell that to her. She listened to my story with a smile the entire ti, and gave her two cents in from ti to ti.
Ti moved so fast whenever I talked to her, by the ti I knew it, the visiting ti was over.
"Mom, I will definitely et you again next week. Stay healthy!"
"See you again, Lay. Stay well!"
With a smile, I went ho. Next day, when I ca to school, everyone was suddenly aware of my relationship with Brianna. As I have said in the beginning, I, too, am a teenager, I was dumb; I didn't think it was weird.
That was the beginning of my endless suffering ... On Earth.
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