I walked away from Casper High last day of junior year my sort of girlfriend, Jessie, at my side. We were reserved about what we were afraid of what our friends would think and more worried how my parents would react to us. My dad was a huge part of the church and whenever we talked about the Pride parades that had gone through town a week before, he called us monsters.

Abominations even.

I was setting aside money for an apartment and the manager of the local apartment building said he wouldn't look to closely at my birth date when I signed the papers. He was like we were so he understands why I'm wanting to run away. His name is Chucky. He's good people.

I wanted my parents to still like me after I came out to them but so many things I did seemed to upset them. They hated my hair, my piercings, they blew up at me when I got my belly button pierced. Didn't hear the end of that for a month.

My mom was almost worse than my dad, he quoted Scripture and shouted but my mom stayed quiet. She just stared at my navel and when my dad paused to flip the pages of the bible to find another something an old guy said two thousand years ago to berate me with, she said she didn't care what I did with my body, then she called me a whore under her breath when she walked out of the room. I didn't hear another word my dad said. I just looked down, tried to unscrew the ring and let the word bounce around in my head.

I tried not to let it get to me that much but when I snuck out to see Jessie at the old warehouse I collapsed in her arms and cried. I cried and wailed until the sky turned pink and I had to leave. She kissed me before I left and I kissed her back.

I looked at her now, thinking about that. A crack in the ground grabbed at one of the laces on my shoes and tripped me. We laughed and she grabbed my hands to pull me up.

As I looked at her I had nothing to say and I had everything to say. I settled on hugging her tightly. I whispered to her that is see her tomorrow at the warehouse. She said she'd see me.

I turned the corner and went to my house. It was only a block or two. I had decided to myself after that night at the warehouse that I was going to tell my parents just how and what I was. And if they didn't accept me then I would leave that place. I had gathered enough money from the odd favors I could do for people and the small gigs I could get. Those gigs were my favorite, they were at bars so everyone was drunk enough to not pay attention to what bills they were putting in my guitar case. They were also mostly peaceful drunks so except for the rare brawl I was safe. I had ducked beneath enough tables to know that bars weren't always a safe place to perform though I didn't have anywhere else that a friend of a friend could tell my parents what I was doing. They hated my music. They hated anything that wasn't printed in a hymnal but they hated my music most. They threatened to burn my guitar if I didn't immediately give it to someone. They outright told me if I earned even a dime from that guitar they'd make me regret it. It was stored safely under some flattened boxes at the warehouse and a buddy of mine was watching out for it.

Thinking about my music was the only thing that kept my heart from beating right out of my chest.

It started with silence. Then screaming. Then crying. And more screaming.

My mom slapped my face. I screamed begging them to accept me.

"Why should we accept a freak like you?"

"I'm your daughter!" I choked out between sobs.

My mom struck my face again, harder.

"No daughter of mine would grow up to be a dyke! Get out of my house!"

"Dad!?" I looked at him begging him to change her mind.

"You heard my wife, get your things and get out of my house!"

In stunned silence I climbed the stairs and got a bag, pushing all the clothes I could into it.

I looked out my window. My eyes fell on the only safe haven I had left. My warehouse.

I sulked down the stairs slowly. I couldn't help but hope my parent would change their minds and accept me as their daughter again.

They didn't even look at me.

"Leave your key. You aren't coming back."

I put the key on the table near the door. It was blue with a purple "E" on both sides.

"What are you waiting for?"

I opened the door. Closed it behind me and collapsed. Holding my hands to mouth to muffle my sobs. When I had cried out all my tears and my backside was raw from sitting on concrete for too long I stood and walked to my warehouse.

Jessie didn't show. The sun rose and I fell asleep. I was woken by a worker.

I went to the apartment building and talked with the manager. I had just enough for a few months and the down payment.

June. July. August. September. My rent was running out, the gigs were few and far between, and so were calls from Jessie. It had been two weeks since the last one.

I called her. No reply. I left a message asking her to meet me at the warehouse. I brought my guitar. I had nabbed a gig for that night.

The case was heavy in my hands. My make up was sloppy and my tights torn. The boots I wore were rock star boots with skull engravings.

The walk was long. The road hard. My legs were tired. My emotions were strained.

The garage doors that they use for shipping trucks were open tonight. So I walked up the slope to the door and wandered around inside for a bit. I heard a series of massive crashes to my right and saw the huge shelves falling. Sparks flew as the shelves broke some lights. The sparks fell on the boxes that long ago hid my guitar case from workers. They caught fire.

I ran to the doors. The fallen shelves were in the way. There was no way I could climb them. All the shelves had fallen and the frames were far too steep for me to climb.

I tried to move them but they wouldn't budge. I tried screaming for help but I knew there was no one around.

I was trapped. I dropped to the ground as the smoke grew thicker.

The insulation in the roof started to fall off in chunks catching fire as they hit the ground. One of them hit me lighting my ponytail on fire. I started rolling around on the ground trying to put the fire out but only succeeding to catch my clothes on fire. I rolled with more frequency, inadvertently spreading the flammable insulation over my clothes.

My screams hurt even my ears. I continued rolling trying desperately to put out the flames. My hair burned away. My clothes seared my skin. I saw through the inferno a beam falling onto my guitar case which I must have thrown in my efforts to put out the fire.

I was forgotten. I was ignored. My parents hated me and my girlfriend and I hadn't talked in months.

The pain of the fire had ignited in me a fury. If I had been remembered none of this would've happened to me! I needed to be remembered, I would have been safe in my room if I had been remembered!

Did they even remember my name? Did they even care?

I would make them! Some how, I would make them remember my name!