Negai – Prompt #1
願い/ Negai: Japanese – meaning wish, desire, or prayer.
John hasn't felt as if he abided by the laws of 'normal' at all during his life; he hopes to find comfort in the possible solution, but when forced to re-examine himself he cannot help but question how he will appear not only to others, but to his former self.
John took a deep breath as he step out of the door of his shower room. He had often believed that he disliked the way that the water was jetted harshly onto him like hailstones to the waters of the oceans, or the heat and musty-ness that came with hot steam. But he inwardly acknowledged his true reason for disliking showers, particularly in his bathroom.
The shower room took up half of the space in the bathroom, separated by a sheet of clear glass that could be decorated by one's own finger patterns on the condensation. Facing the glass on the wall of the bathroom was a huge landscape mirror, in which one could see oneself at all times provided that the shower had not steamed its surface first.
It was this mirror that John particularly despised.
John loathed seeing his own body like this, it was not even the vastness of the mirror which made John so uncomfortable, it was himself. It was not that John feared mirrors, this would be quite incorrect, he simply feared having to see his body in this mirror every single day.
Not on one day of his life had John felt confident with the way he was. He had been constantly feed with the voices of people telling him to be 'happy the way you are' and to 'like your body the way it now!' But as all may know and as many have tried, sound cannot quench a thirst. But the way John felt about himself could just be broken down by weird diet or a daily run, the notion was ingrained into him, he lived and breathed it and it had carved its way into his skin like the weather does to the side of a great mountain.
This body simply wasn't his, it was not really anyone's to tell the truth; but it certainly did not belong to him.
John grabbed the towel that hung over the door of the shower and wrapped it around himself tightly, trying to cover as much of himself as possible as he prepared to cross the valley of tiles underneath his feet that meant the long path between him, the mirror, and the door. The water trickled down his skin and fell to the cold floor beneath his feet as he went, and John tried to focus on the drops of water rather than the hallowing silent call of the mirror.
He had once imagined them to be raindrops, and himself a cloud. He was not as light or as free to fly as a cloud, but he did feel as cold as the ice that constructed such a spectacle.
But this time he was made to stop in front of the mirror, its din was too clamorous for him to turn away from. John looked at his reflection as the condensation began to climb the glass cliff and reveal him to his own vision. He stared at himself like a small, obscure creature, as if he were a curious being from an alternative universe where seeing himself was such an alien experience. He gazed at his build, his figure, his face; and he heard the voice in the back of his head whisper: 'wrong.'
John dropped the towel that enveloped him. He gazed vacantly at the crevasses and ravines that slipped and slopped throughout his anatomy. He glided his hands across the meadows of his skin and felt the air at the back of his throat solidify and swell, choking him as the water rose in front of his eyes. He leant over the sink to look away from his form, as if he was going to be sick. John rested his forehead on the chilled ceramic wash basin as a single tear began to slide down his face. He gripped the sides of the bowl tight, until his knuckles were white; choking back his sobs and praying that nobody could hear him.
John begged whoever he might have believed was sitting in the skies listening to him for an answer to whatever this horrible pain was. It hit him, as if it were lightning on a quiet day.
He envisioned a solution that had come to him in his moment of epiphany and he turned to slide his back down against the wall and sit on the tiles. Any jubilation that John might have had was soon short lived. He had discovered this cause, and thus the solution. But he could not imagine this solution solving every problem.
What of his brothers? The rest of his family? How would this affect them? John questioned. Despite this, the true question should been if this could even possibly affect them. 'As long as you're happy,' he had always been told.
This revelation was one he had considered many times previously and yet he had always refused to believe it. Regardless, it was not a choice and it was true, it was a simple fact.
John stood up to look at the reflection in the mirror again, and directed a stare at the eyes that faced him.
"Yes," John breathed, as if this were the beginning of some great soliloquy.
"I am in fact-" John slowly drew a careful breath with a finally strong stature of being.
"Female."