And one, and two, and three.

“Harley Dyoff, that’s your cue.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lights were bickering. As usual, the bar— with its usual lemon aroma before it turns to stench of puke and vodka, colored blue and purple; the DJ— sound-checking, the bartenders cleaning glasses, and the drag queens, practiced in heels. This was the usual scene. 

And three and four, and five… spin! Pose, and smile, and spin, and one two…

The queen herself, the mother of ALL the performers in this bar. This is her— Harley Dyoff, government name undisclosed, dressed in a glittering gown of electric blue, and of course, stoned to the brim. 

I stood poised on the main stage, reheasing earnestly. And of course, my makeup was flawless— not a bump nor a skidmark, my lace front wig perfectly styled— teased to a few inches above my head and falling through my lower back like silk; the heels were sharp enough to cut glass. 

I took a deep breath, adjusting my voluminous wig and readying myself for the spotlight.

I know that each step measured and confident, my heels clacking against the wooden floor. I’m so excite— what. Wait! What the fuck?! A chaos spat over me. In my peripheral vision, I could see something— spilled drink had left a slick patch of the floor dangerously wet, a detail that had been overlooked in the frenzy of preparations. As I twirled with a dramatic flourish, my fabulous heel caught on the edge of the wet spot. My balance faltered, and in a split second, I was airborne— nothing to support me.

My fellow queens, a meter away, could not even bother to see me from the sparkles of my ozone-tinted dress. Time seemed to stretch as I flailed, my arms reaching out in a futile attempt to regain her footing. Every shimmering fabric only made me heavier— I am surrendering to gravity

I am in deep surprise and unfathomable horror. I can hear gasps— from my drag daughters as they witnessed the unexpected mishap. They could only notice now?

I hit the floor with a sickening thud, my head making sharp and brutal contact with the wooden flooring. Fuck! The glittering lights above seemed to spin and shimmer before my eyes— is this the end? The roar of my fellow drag queens fading into a distant, muffled buzz— like a flatline in a hospital. I haven’t even paid my loans yet… Won’t they post me in social media if there’s still wigs I haven’t paid fully yet… My beehive wig… But, is it mine when I only paid the down payment though?

The stage manager rushed to my side— I can still see, though blurry, pushing through the frantic crowd of performers. The DJ, sound-checking, cut the music abruptly, and the bar fell silent as people turned to see what had happened. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows over the fallen queen— me, by the way.

“Harley! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Can— buzz buzz buzz”

The glittering world now feels super behind— it seemed so far away, and the path ahead was shrouded in black— total darkness. So, this is how this fable ends? These false lashes were a hundred percent human hair though… What a shame. Even to death, I still worry about the material shits I have spent to look this good. I mean, it’s such a drag…

Echoes… “Brix, what are you doing? Pick the berries! The queen will kill you.”

Huh? I opened my eyes. The familiar weight of my body is now replaced by an unfamiliar— my hips? Gone? Fucking hell, where did my squats go? I could feel the oddly new rough texture beneath me. My once-glamorous gown was gone, replaced by crude, tattered clothing— Am I having a nightmare? Blinking against the harsh sunlight that filtered through a canopy of twisted vines and moss-covered rocks. The surroundings were alien—a lit cave with jagged walls and a damp, earthy smell— soil-scented berries on my hands. Huh?

Berries?

Ok, first and foremost, I collected my thoughts— and my first thought is: Ew, what the fuck? I looked at my once-stoned grippers, holy shit. My hands… they’re small, green, and clawed, and my limbs were shorter and stockier; I looked down only to see my once-svelte form had been replaced by a rough, green skin— and wiry. My acrylic nails… They cost a lot, you know; now, they’re gone… Did I…

Ain’t no fucking way. Did I die? I would have accepted to cease existing, just not this… No, no! Crap! Life is super homophobic.

A sense of disorientation washed over me as I tried to make sense of everything. The air was thick with the smell of soil and decay, and the soft, eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi with the mix of the seeping sunlight above cast lights no bar can provide. There were others… other goblins beside me— in fact, one looking at me?! A pervert? Am I beautiful in goblin standards. Ah… All others moved about in a hurried, chaotic manner, their actions driven by a rigid hierarchy and a palpable sense of desperation. 

“Have you gone mad, my friend, Brix? Why aren’t you responding?” I looked at a goblin?! 

Huh? “Are you talking to me?” I clarified.

“Who here isn’t picking berries? Are you being stupid right now?” the goblin responded. Odd, I kind of know his name. I could hear that he’s speaking a whole new different language, but… I understood. A whole dump of information ravaged through my mind— alien, but simple knowledge. Very simple. Like the mind of a… goblin.

I looked at the vast plantation beyond me. They call me Brix? Should I start doing my inner monologue in a third-person view? Brix stands at the edge of the berry orchard, her green skin contrasting sharply with the vibrant red of the cherries. Nah, it doesn’t work. I’ll resume having my inner thoughts in a first-person perspective.

Kneeling beside a bush, I carefully picked the ripe berries and placed them into a woven basket right beside me. My hands moved with practiced ease despite the newness of my form. I’m simply a prodigy, shet!  A berry-picking queen!

But, I don’t like this. How come of all things possible, I get to reincarnate into this stupid body? A goblin for that matter. Where’s the glitz? Where’s the glamor? Where’s my cinched waist and shimmering eyeshadows? This is punishment. Something clicked in my mind. Is this punishment?

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

My eyes faced north, and into the sky— above framed by the cave’s holed interior. Maybe this is punishment…

What sins have I done to live this shackled of a life? Does my homosexuality count as one that it has led me to this misery? Were my good deeds not enough to weigh my afterlife? What about the— I’m picking berries while having this monologue by the way— What about the homeless queer kids I’ve kept in my care, introducing them to a life that nobody could have provided for them?

If spiritual parenthood counts, do I not count as a mother to countless glamazons? Have my charities for the golden gays failed me? The life of an old drag queen… it couldn’t be that sinful, right? Aside from the drunk rampages and insult-boundary reading to fellow queens. Do I deserve this persecution?

Well, I might be overacting. At least this isn’t hell. I’m not being hanged in rusty iron chains above a pool of lava and naked fire surrounded by demons. Because now, I’m surrounded by goblins— picking berries, and… huh? 

A different kind of goblins came running towards us. They held a mace, a couple of inches taller, and had a fairly stronger build. Compared to our hands, their hands were far rougher and their nails were far sharper. Nails… How I wish… Just, not theirs though, those are cl–aws!

“All goblins are to report to the heart of the cave immediately.” yelled a built goblin from beside me. Compared to the others, and myself, their stature was really much bigger— muscles were popping. Rather than picking berries, they acted as though they were punishers; they held one long thorny wooden paddle— that speaks for itself quite enough; they were warrior goblins— or so what this feeble goblin brain explains it to be.

The announcement spreads quickly through the cave. The previously scattered goblins, busy collecting berries, abandoned their work and rushed toward the heart of the cave with a mixture of urgency and apprehension— as if most were hysterically panicking, like a goddess is calling upon them. It was like a domino of information and panic aftershocks.

I’m adjusting to this life quite better than I imagined. After all, this is likely. Nobody can call me at night to perform a show, no bar to confiscate my tips, and no nasty back-stabbing bitches. Actually, this is… a bop…

Brix… I (I’m jumping perfectly despite my beauty being deduced to be that of a mere goblin), who has been helping with the berry harvest, paused and looked around, my curiosity piqued— I admit, I felt very ignorant by this point. I followed the crowd; I weaved through the tunnels of the cave. Like being carried away by a tsunami of green apes, I became part of the hovering concert. By this point, I have become part of their hive— undistinguishable. Like a cat on an island of cats, you can’t name one.

The path narrows and twists, forming a web-like network of tunnels— like an ants’ nest. The walls are worn and uneven, adorned with natural formations such as stalactites and stalagmites— I could see some cobblestones, but it seemed like they’re already mined out. Though I must admit the abundance of iron ores— but it seems like these kinds of goblins are unaware of its value. Dumb, I say. The sound of dripping water echoes softly from afar; the tunnel floor is covered with a layer of damp, soft earth, giving way to small both brown and rainbow puddles— oil?

Soon enough, I arrived at the chamber. Of course, I am struck by the grandeur of the space— it was like an event hall— enough capacity for 200 pax, but, it wasn’t royal-level; It’s only a goblin queen we’re talking about. The queen sat on cobblestones covered in hay; a literal nest for her throne. Circling her were tens of warrior goblins. The queen wasn’t that awe-striking, she only wore a leather veil and a couple of wooden accessories, and also, her clothes weren’t tattered. It’s the only thing that could distinguish her from a normal berry-gathering goblin… aside from a few wrinkles, at least. Girl, she should get that face fixed as soon as possible.

The berry-gatherer goblins, where I’m with, gather in a semi-circle around the throne. No salute nor a bow. They stay true to being this lowly. I’m starting to feel super helpless right now. We were separated into four categories, each with different distinct looks. There were around twenty of us berry-gathering goblins, I could say since each one of us held a basket filled with berries; there's the same or similar number for hunter goblins(?) they each held a spear and had meat on their back baskets. 

Other than the warrior goblins, there were also the queen’s servants… both male and female… the females held both meat and berries and the others fanned… while the male… they were full-on naked, filled with wounds, lying on the queen’s nest… sex slaves? That’s some weirdass shitty and fucked-up nonsense. Back in my bar, we don’t kink-shame prostitutes, but that’s slavery! 

“I have gathered you all here today to words words words, goblin stuff, some useless crap.” said the queen, speaking on her throne, feeling all the angst while sitting on breathing bodies of penises. 

As the Queen continues, my mind begins to wander. The weight of the day’s events and the surreal nature of this new life begin to take their toll. My eyes gradually lost their focus. The rough walls— the pattern of every rock gap started to twist and twist into my eyes and I dazed into nothingness. The Queen’s words became a distant murmur…

“Focus, Brix. This is important. You need to be present.” a voice touched me from behind. 

I straightened up, forcing herself to listen attentively as the Queen’s address neared its end. I looked behind me only to see the same goblin who told me to resume picking berries— their eyes ever-present and ever-attentive. They wore the same tattered clothes as me, the main difference in our images is that I have longer lashes, and they had a stouter nose. But, I must admit, I never got to recall their name, though I know them… I just do, It’s… Who are they again?

Anton. An answer popped in my brain. Thank you, wait— what? Who answered me?

You can hear me? No, no. These aren't my thoughts. It isn’t my mind answering.

Who are you? 

So YOU can hear me?! 

Holy shit! A separate brain? No, I literally cannot explain this rightfully. I’m thinking thoughts that didn’t originate from my head. Is that right? If this were a novel, I literally cannot separate the dialogue— I’d have to make the readers decide who’s talking and whose monologue these are, because honestly, I also have a hard time discerning. If this story reaches mass production, it would be the reader’s ultimate conflict to decode the dominant speaker.

… I calmed my thoughts down to receive at least an answer to my question.

My identity is not important. The thought flew like a moth to a flame; this really is distinct from me. Am I talking to myself at this point? Are they… ghosts?

Oh please, and you decided to speak to me? Are you a ghost begging for somebody to hear them because you simply can’t get laid in the afterlife. How shitty does it feel to die a virgin and still, even after death, nobody still wants to fuck you.

What the fuck? Where did that even come from? Oh my heavens, you want to go there? Fine. Let me the fuck know because… just stop being so fucking sassy, Harlon Azul!

Not the fucking government name, holy shit! What are you on? Nobody has called me that in YEARS. I never even named myself that on all of my social media platforms— back in my previous life, of course. Not that I take offense, but girl, we’re not even close. Also, what the fuck? Why do YOU know my name? Also, am I having this conversation with myself?

Nu uh, I’m not you. I would gladly kill myself if I were to be born in your skin both here and in your original world.

Okay, but for real now. What are you?

I don’t have much time, but to put it simply, I am a dying divine element looking for somebody to inherit my legacy. 

A legacy?

Don’t ask too many questions. Tell me, what’s one thing you miss about your previous life?

My previous life? Well, I guess. My night time work. To be honest, I didn’t really have that much happening in my previous life. In the morning, I wake up only to style some wigs, meet with friends, and finish. At night, I glam myself up, get drunk, go home, clean myself, sleep, and continue with the same job in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work. For the first few years, it was everything I could have dreamt of— drag was my passion, but the longer you are in the industry, the more you realize that this life is quite stagnant. New faces and new talents seem to replace your… legacy. 

I get gigs from here and there, but that’s pretty much it. But, I must admit— I also miss my drag daughters— kids I picked up from scratch and fabbed them up to become the best they could ever be, though… After a while, they get accustomed with their life and forget me as the one who sought the talent in them in the beginning. Later, they find new drag mothers. Though, it doesn’t bother me that much. It just feels something. 

My biological family passed without accepting my sexuality— my first friends became successful and went abroad. Nobody seemed to actually stick in my life. And for that, I don’t think I’d miss something that particular. Maybe the cocktails my home bar makes? My BBL? Or my drag daughters? I’m a dying star hoping for a grand supernova; I never thought I’d end up here—

Stop. That’s enough.

I haven’t really answered though.

But, your resolve was enough to inherit my legacy.

Uh. I scratched my head. You haven’t really defined what a legacy means. 

You’ll know it. I’m passing on my legacy to you… Just discover this world. For now, you’re in a small underappreciated southern goblin tribe, but you’ll appreciate it further when you flourish.

Flou… rish?

I’m inheriting my legacy to you, Brix of this world.

Wait… What?! As if talking to myself and shocking myself, I grew disoriented with my surroundings. I could feel worms crawling to my skin, cold and eerie. My throat began to itch and my eyes began to beat like a heart. I felt quite uneasy. Though nobody could notice me, after all, I blended with fellow goblins— I camouflaged. My stomach felt a little uncomfortable and a little beep began screeching in my head.

***’s legacy has been inherited. Rule number one has been recovered. 

Rule number one?

Rule number one states that (1) Mother always provides. 

Girl, what does that mean?