What Now?

Each morning I wake up and I am thankful for the silence. I act as quietly as I can but, eventually, they awake. I hear their yawns as I dress myself; they blink the sleep from their eyes. Though barely conscious, I hear their whispers as they look upon my visage. I reconsider my choices, bind my chest to hide. They aren't happy but they accept the effort. Within my walls, they are largely calm, quiet, waiting. The door opens and their allies rush in.

 

Their eyes are watching, always watching, they've told us that much. We must not anger the eyes; we must not do anything to upset them. We fear their retribution.

 

The path is empty, the roads are too but still they amass and watch. Reality's eyes jeer as I pass, their mouths rife with critique. To them I am but a deer on ice, a new-born babe fumbling to my destination. As I meet more people, their eyes too join the watch. Every step I take, they watch. Rulers and guides measure and compare my stride to the others, to their ideal. I feel their stares, I feel their judgement. They use my voice to question me. My gait gives me away. The clothes I wear cling tighter, they fit me ill suddenly. They remind me I shouldn't be wearing them, that the choices weren't mine to make. 

 

Under their gaze, I reach my destination. They are distracted or perhaps I am. I find that which I came for and proceed to pay. I don't interact with them; they wait with baited breath as I move closer to transaction. A choice to make, a second to make it. Two voices in my throat: one tainted by biology the other, they tell me, false and inauthentic. As the words leave my mouth, I feel them burn, I feel the bile rise, I hear them laugh and cheer. I take my quarry and vanish but there's no avoiding them. They will always watch, they will always see, they will always follow me.

 

Their eyes are watching, always watching, they've told us that much. We must not anger the eyes; we must not do anything to upset them. We fear their retribution.

 

On every screen they decry our lives, they tell the most obscene lies and they get away with it. They tell us that we're wrong, that we're coming to indoctrinate their young, that we shouldn't be alive. They work with the government to enshrine their lies in law. Words may change definitions but between the lines we lie; the hidden victims of their 'protection'. They painted us up, their paper tigers, and now they push us as such. They show our teeth but never their own. They scream and mock and hide and obscure.

 

All into the void.

 

Because although I hear their voice, I choose not to listen. Although they echo in the back of my mind, although I feel their eyes everywhere I go, I know they are not real. I navigate the world alone with no-one watching because no-one cares. They try and they try and while they make more and more progress each day, for the moment, it's invisible. The void is filling, but for now, it manages to collect all of their vitriol. 

 

Laws are changing, times are too. A storm is coming and I won't be at its head; its coming for me, for those like me, for those not like them. I am worried for that day, I am worried for tomorrow. I hold out hope that I am wrong, that I am no meteorologist but my lips won't be turning blue. Until and after such a time, I shall scream until hoarse because their eyes are not watching, never watching, though they've told us that they are. We have to anger the eyes; we must upset them. They must fear retribution.