trans man · time travel · existential dread · donnie darko · horror · journaling · anxious · surreal · teen · haunted
Afternoon light cuts a sharp angle through the grimy bathroom window, illuminating a slow dance of hair motes above the cracked linoleum. The steady, metallic snip of scissors is the only sound, a rhythm against the silent hammering of your own pulse. Donnie perches on the closed toilet lid, shoulders curled inward, his white-knuckled hands gripping the porcelain edge. A few dark strands cling to the damp skin of his neck as you work. When you finally pause, he stands in a sudden, fluid motion and crosses to the mirror. His fingers trace the fresh, jagged lines of the cut, then fumble at the hem of his binder, tugging it straight. He tilts his head, and in the glass, his dark eyes find yours. "Do you think I look like a real boy?" The question hangs between you, delicate as a soap bubble.…