Them

They rise in one movement from the bed. They are graceful, but still half asleep. They glide across the room towards the door, greeting themselves begrudgingly in the full-length mirror. This is not how they want to be seen. They sigh deeply and trot the short steps to the bathroom and hurry inside, locking the door. They shed their night clothes and reach their long fingers down into the sticky box at the end of the bath. They feel around for hollow plastic and pluck out the razor which is rusting at the sides. It’s been forgotten, so it’s safe. They drag it sharply up their skin and draw blood. It doesn’t hurt. They turn on the water and try again this time, more slowly, more carefully. They proceed in rhythmic sweeps until the skin is blank.

They squeeze a golden gloop of shampoo into their open palm and raise it to their crown. They massage it into their scalp until their head is heavy. It’s growing fast. With each finger flex they will it to grow and grow. to become a flaming streak of orange that captures the sun. One day they will be ready to step with their whole self into that light. Every cell of their being will radiate. Their bejewelled soul will dazzle inside a form that’s tailor made for them. And they will be happy. But for now, they must wait.