noveldepot Chapter 68 How did I become like this?
Chapter 68 How did I become like this?
Chapter 68 How did I become like this?
"How could this happen?"
Kula Kobe was sitting on the side of the road.
The cement floor was cold, and the chill seeped in through my thin trousers.
My fingers are trembling, not from the cold, but from a restlessness that seeps into my bones.
It looked down at its hands.
My fingers are thicker than before, with prominent knuckles, and there are light-colored hairs on the back of my hands.
There is black dirt under my fingernails.
It hasn't looked in a mirror in a long time.
The last time was two months ago. In the bathroom mirror of the apartment, the face was swollen, with new stubble on the chin, and dark red scabs on the cuts from the razor.
Now those exogenous hormones have been stopped.
Initially, the pharmacy said they were out of stock and needed special approval.
Then the clinic I frequented closed down.
It was tried on the black market, where the price tripled, and its purity was questionable.
Last week, we used up the last injection.
My mind cleared up a bit.
It was like a layer of fog being blown away, but not the kind of clear-headed clarity you get from.
It was a painful awakening; all the emotions and memories that had been soothed by chemicals suddenly surged up, unfiltered, crashing directly into consciousness.
"Why did I become like this?"
A rough sound came from his throat.
Why do I eat these things?
Oh.
It's because I don't have money to go to school.
The wind blew from the end of the street, swirling up plastic bags and waste paper on the ground.
Kula began to recall.
Memories welled up on their own.
I started by working odd jobs on the street.
After saving money for two years, plus scholarship loans, I transferred from community college to state university.
Then I ran out of money.
Tuition fees increase every year, and textbook costs are another factor.
It applied for more loans.
That was right when the Black Pharaoh came to power.
It remembers those policies.
Executive orders and funding programs concerning diversity, inclusion, and identity.
Suddenly, the campus saw a surge in seminars, support groups, and special scholarships.
It went to an event.
The organizer was an African American woman wearing a suit and skirt.
She presented data showing the systemic barriers that transgender people, especially transgender people of color, face in education and employment.
She then introduced the empowerment pathways, including medical assistance, legal support, and "visibility building."
"Your story has value."
She said to Kula.
Kula had long hair and wore a skirt at the time.
It recounted its experiences: working, studying, and fear of the future.
Three months later, it became a representative face on campus.
The photo appeared in the admissions brochure, and the person was invited to speak at various conferences. Their social media account was verified and had tens of thousands of followers.
A sponsorship message came in from a pharmaceutical company.
The pay is good.
It accepted.
Then came more interviews, speeches, and consulting roles.
He moved to a new apartment, bought new clothes, and his bank account balance broke six figures for the first time.
It began receiving regular hormone injections.
The surgery was scheduled.
Then----
What happened to my job?
Memories become confused here.
It seems like it happened overnight.
The email notification stated that the contract was terminated; the wording was polite, but there was no explanation.
The organization manager I used to contact frequently is no longer replying to my messages.
Interactions on social media have plummeted.
What happened to the policy?
It vaguely remembers the news notification.
New executive orders, budget adjustments, and a shift in focus.
How come I have so many loans?
It opens the mobile banking app.
The numbers on the screen are very long, with a minus sign in front of them.
Student loans, medical loans, credit card debt.
The minimum monthly payment is twice its highest monthly income.
Why were they able to take my house?
The notice of foreclosure auction was posted on the door.
It tried to call a lawyer, but the lawyer's assistant said that consultation fees needed to be prepaid.
It was driven out with only a backpack.
Ugh.
A sound came from the throat.
The voice was neither male nor female, like a flute that had been sanded.
It covered its ears.
boom.
His head was suddenly pulled backward.
My already thinning short hair was held by a finger, and a stinging pain shot through my scalp.
It was forced to tilt its head back.
A face was very close.
Blonde hair, wears glasses, blue eyes.
He wasn't very old, just over twenty, with a wide grin and yellowish teeth.
"Oh wow~"
The blond youth said, his voice carrying an exaggerated cheerfulness, "Isn't this Ms. Kula? Oh no, it should be Mr. Kula. Oh~ no, that's not right either."
He tilted his head, as if deep in thought, "Bitch? No, don't insult bitches, you monster! Do you remember me?"
He raised his other hand, holding a pistol.
The gun barrel was pressed against Kula's forehead; the metal was cold.
Kula opened her eyes wide.
My vision blurred, and tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.
It was trying to see the face clearly.
"You are—Jack?"
It can't see anything clearly, so it can only speak based on its senses.
"Hahaha! Jack? Hahaha!"
The blond youth laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking, but his hand holding the gun remained steady.
"Looks like my major life event is just a small stepping stone for you to exchange money. Hahahaha!"
The laughter suddenly stopped.
He moved even closer, his nose almost touching Kula's.
Kula could smell the sourness in his breath, along with a certain sweet chemical scent.
Two years ago. October 17th. 2:30 PM. Sociology Room 201.
He said, enunciating each word clearly, "I raised my hand and asked a question. About your reading material on 'Structural Violence and Identity Narrative.' I used 'he' to refer to you because I fucking didn't know at the time!"
He made a hissing sound in his throat, like a deflated tire.
"You smiled then. Yes, that kind of forgiving and compassionate smile. You said we need to correct this kind of unconsciously hurtful language."
The muzzle of the gun ground against Kula's forehead.
"Then the following Monday, I received a notification from the Student Conduct Office. Based on an anonymous report, I was suspected of gender identity harassment." Hearing. Appeal. No use.
He spoke faster and faster, "I've been suspended! My scholarship loan is now just a loan! My internship opportunity is gone! I fucking carried that student loan burden for so long just to get into school! And all because you, you damn bitch, think you've been offended!"
Kula looked at him.
This distorted face, bloodshot eyes, trembling lips.
It doesn't remember.
I really don't remember.
It only remembers those years standing on the podium, in front of the camera, saying the words it had rehearsed countless times.
It's about harm, about inclusion, about creating a safer environment.
Each sentence is supported by data, theoretical references, and a well-placed personal story.
The words flowed from his mouth like water, into the microphone, into the notebook, and into a chapter of the grant application.
It never imagined what kind of crater these words would create when they fell to the ground.
"Charlie Hans".
The blond youth spoke softly, as if reminding himself, "My name. Remember it? Even though you probably don't."
He looked into Kula's empty eyes.
There was no fear, no regret, only the bewilderment after drug withdrawal and physical tears.
The faces he saw on his way here, lying in the alleys, clutching syringes filled with stimulants, were exactly the same.
He suddenly felt very tired.
All the words that had been stuck in my chest for two years, all the questions and roars I had rehearsed over countless sleepless nights, suddenly lost their meaning at this moment.
The monster doesn't even remember him.
boom.
The gunshots were loud in the empty streets.
Kula's head was smashed open on one side and landed on the ground.
Charlie Hans stood still.
The pistol was still held aloft, with blue smoke billowing from its muzzle.
He looked down at Kula's body.
Looking at that face that resembled neither a man nor a woman, and at that dirty, indistinguishable-original-color clothing.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through my stomach.
He then realized that he hadn't eaten for three days.
The old wounds from the intestinal ulcers are protesting.
He could feel his internal organs twitching, and a sour feeling welled up in his throat.
The craving for the enhancer surged through my nerves like a tidal wave.
That chemical calm that makes you forget hunger, pain, and everything else.
But he is gone.
The last one has been used up.
"never mind."
He whispered, "It's worth it."
He raised his hand, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his chin.
The angle is a bit awkward.
He made some adjustments to make the barrel more vertical.
Fingers were on the trigger.
boom.
A second shot rang out.
His body fell backward, crashing heavily next to Kula.
His head was tilted to one side, his eyes were open, and he was staring at the gray sky.
He switched to Gundam.
The streets were quiet.
Only the sound of the wind.
A tiny green glow flickered deep within the wound on Charlie Hans's chin.
Beside him, Kula's corpse's fingers twitched extremely slightly.
There seemed to be some thin, thread-like things wriggling extremely slowly under the skin inside the fingernails.
Just then, more gunshots rang out in the distance.
It's not a single shot.
It was the sound of continuous, dense automatic weapons firing.
From a few blocks away, in the direction of the state university.
Interspersed with the sound of breaking glass and muffled screams.
The gunfire showed no sign of stopping; on the contrary, it grew increasingly intense, like a sudden, unending downpour.
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