A Brand New Goth Girl

[18]

A certain reserve clung to me with the prospect that this wide-eyed epiphany might soon receive deterioration or realization of holes and drawbacks. Nothing truly radiant in the path of understanding can keep its luster. Qualifications and uncertainties worm their way in. But I chose to still see the beauty. I am a girl. I am Beatrice Lee… And people care for me. I don’t have to be anyone or anything else; being me persists no matter what happens to my physical shape. That felt like something to put together as a poem to share with the horny masses.

The momentum of my emotions had to come to rest as the door to the classroom remained locked. No one else was waiting right then, but it didn’t take long for me to be joined by other girls creeping along the corridor. Several had faces I knew from any other day, but a few watched the carpet with hoods up and eyes down. A surprising number wore skirts. I politely greeted some, even though it was soon clear they didn’t wanna talk about the current situation. Pretty much everyone was lacking the assignment for the day because of the obvious extenuating circumstances. When the professor arrived, it was a little bit confusing as to whether it was them.

She had the same glasses with strange flowers in her light hair, but the snug, rainbow-cacophony jeans, and a red tank top seemed like nothing that his male alter ego would’ve worn, even though he tended towards flippant fashion. I greeted the professor with as much exuberance as I could offer. The session was much more reserved than I was expecting though. Most of the class treated what happened as a morbid situation. That was fine. Still a ways to go with everyone.

I kind of wanted to freely blast with the light. Just spray a few layers of thoughtful illumination. It was wrong, but the feeling was still there. If nothing else, I wanted to give the class a share of the energy present in my soul for so many things I wished to say out loud. But the modus operandi of any well-regulated college class is to defeat your boundless energy and temper it with the ages of muted feeling well-worn into the system. You had to be cool and calm and ready to lose your love for every fanciful thing as how lousy you actually are at everything was methodically broken down by someone with weaponized knowledge and bitterness to wield.

My artwork was obviously going to be the next victim. That was fine. It was going to be burned as an effigy of the face that Rosalie hated. A transitory creation just meant for this moment. Considering most everyone else just had WIPs and proposals for their collage ideas and combinations of elements, my work would obviously be singled out as the one to scrutinize. Clearly, I hadn’t followed all the aspects of the assignment but there was decent composition in the curve given to the figure and the chaotic elements of the bedsheets.

It hurt a little when my professor folded her hands and invited the entire class to pick apart every single small element of my overnight effort. Every nitpick brought into focus with the minds of everyone pointing out all the inherent flaws. I definitely wanted to fuck their shit up a little with a light show. The moment arrived when I could’ve conveniently whipped it out when the professor specifically asked, “What did you think of that?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” followed by an overwhelming beam set to reveal her inherent childishness physically. A confused and whimpering little girl. No indulgence for that notion. Instead, I pointed out the obvious circumstances recently, along with trying to translate the chaotic nature of adapting to changes while feeling that certain elements were a mess. Snickers and silence were the worst combination. Why the fuck would anyone ever attempt to be an artist with a group like this? I tolerated it, as I always had.

The professor clung to the appearance of decorum even while permitting the surrounding sentiments. There were several seconds of silence to press home my ignorance in the shining presence of academic understanding. I received a faint admonishment about not properly addressing the complexity of gender identity roles. And to think, I actually appreciated some classes from this professor. But she revealed herself to be a royal bitch lately, even before her cunt came in. I wanted to ask several crude things but restrained my bitter tongue.

Eventually, I was out of the spotlight with a lackluster but decent grade for my creation, bolstered by the fact that I finished the assignment on time but with “an absence of inspiration.” I was actually looking forward to burning it now and wished that it could’ve happened in the middle of class before I shoved the remains up her fucking ass. At least I already burned through my quota of tears.

Gleefully, her usual bullshit wound up being rejected when she came to wield it against the rest of the class. I had no idea who my classmate with a sharp cut of blonde hair to my left was, but she kind of became my hero. She not only flipped off the professor but roared through every criticism laid bare with professional sharpness and punctuated profanity.

I was before my time as the others rose up in complaint, laying out the shitty events of the last day and ready to turn mob on the professor. The amount of apologetic crow she had to submissively eat was deeply satisfying. I was going to step out early, but I stayed for the full force of the tempest upwelling from not only the transformed guys but also irate girls who figured this was the right time to stop dealing with this bitch’s shit. The catharsis was so deeply satisfying because I didn’t need to do a damn thing.

An instructor from another classroom came over to fortify this professor's opinion, but she ultimately stabbed her in the back in the politest way by invoking the complexity of the current situation and the fact that this was just supposed to be an informal meeting to comfort and get students on the same page. She also loved my work, so I made sure to take down her name for future classes. We adjourned long before the normal dismissal, and I took a casual stride of victory down those many steps.

My trek also included a noisy trumpet session in the nearest restroom against a frigid seat as all the pent-up energy released with calm and triumphant thoughts. I occupied myself by sifting through pieces of social media. Our situation had settled into a specific hashtag known as #TransformTheDorm. It wasn’t especially accurate since #TransformedDorm would’ve captured it better. Several other possibilities also occurred to me, including #NowGirlsSchool along with #CressmanChanges. But some strange artificial intelligence algorithm decided that would be the term, and it stuck.

Most of the postings settled into the energy of a joke, with memes involving guys wanting to head out here to check out all the “new chicks”, along with weak trans references and some painfully-dated humor. I did appreciate the sincere stories relayed through threads about experiences amidst shock, fear, concern, hope, and flashes of anger. The possibility of adding to the hashtag rippled through my thoughts as I carefully washed up without getting my phone damp from the grossly sodden counter. Some things just didn’t change. But I worried about Beatrice‘s online presence… My online presence and the assumptions so many held that I was just a girl and not someone mystically transformed into a girl. It was still true that my benefactor had changed me, but so much of reality asserted that I had always been this way and… It was complicated. I kept an eye on the thread and considered the possibility of contributing with vague language or from something like a burner account.

Walking back to the dorm included following a more traveled route where spooky, random dark men or entities were less likely to catch me by myself. Just past the entrance to the dorm, I noticed a familiar brunette turning frantically and inspecting the common room with her weighty chest jiggling wildly.

Zach noticed me. Tears flooded her cheeks with valleys of redness. She softly whimpered and said, “Connor is gone. Something took him. He vanished right in front of me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to look. I love him. I love him so much. He proposed and I said yes and we were together and we woke up and then with breakfast, when I was in bed he just…he just… was gone and I don’t know what to do…”

I immediately hustled to her side and wrapped my arms around her. She continued stammering as I did my best to ease her panic. The landmarks of understanding what was going on with Zach and Connor existed in my mind. I knew them each casually and picked up fragments from yesterday‘s game and the later catchup. They came from Northern California and grew up together in a rather rural area. Small town high school with a scarce number of girls. They had this silly proposal that if either of them got turned into a girl, then they would hook up. It was a passing notion without any sense of seriousness, but they looked so cute together yesterday.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Clearly, from Zach’s tone, she meant it when she said “love”. She was clearly hiding something as she paused to reflect before beginning her account in order of what happened. Did they have a flashlight too?

She guided me up the stairs and over to their dorm. It was pleasant inside with a massive, natural work sprawled across something larger than a curtain. Cozy stations provided feminine comfort and care between islands. She showed me the exact spot where her lady love winked out of existence. Some scrambling hope lingered as she kept her eyes on the empty space. Nothing.

I sat on the edge of the bed with her and detected a faint, human aroma lingering in that space. Crying into her hands, she eventually wrestled her voice into understandable words. And the confession spilled out. They had been given something by what seemed to be the benefactor. Zach pointed it out on the edge of the table.

The artifact wasn’t obtrusive or obvious. It appeared as a USB panel with a light switch attached to the top. Essentially, a wall switch separated as a single piece from where it was supposed to be. She whispered that flipping it up and down allowed Connor and her to return to their male forms.

I didn’t know what to say. The notion felt like a slap in the face. The benefactor… my benefactor… Had the ability to return people to how they were before and hadn’t even bothered to offer up this possibility to me. Quietly… I was pissed off. She misled me into thinking there was no way back. That this was permanent, and the only differences were the shades and qualities of feminine forms. What the fuck…? What was the fucking truth?!

An extra whammy came when Zach informed me that they actually managed to catch her. And she appeared to be a classmate who lived in the dorm. No grandiose figure from a reality beyond, no divinity gracing ourselves with her presence, no leader with a missive of wisdom and command. She seemed just like me. Only without scruples. Both of my hands tightened into trembling fists that I pressed against the cushion.

It might’ve been a mistake though. My mind was warped by some sliver of soul getting stuck in my eyes. Something similar could’ve occurred here. It also may have been responsible for the sudden disappearance. No jumping off before all the possibilities were carefully considered. I examined this switch and made sure that the door was closed and Zach was prepared before doing anything with it. She instructed me to flick it in a certain direction, and I watched as the Zach last seen at the pool table returned, uncomfortably wearing this girl’s tight morning clothes. A flick back to center restored her to relative comfort but appeared to leave her disoriented.

It was real. That much was true. This device, whatever it was, had capabilities beyond the flashlight I’d been gifted. Or maybe I just needed to search deeper with my gift. Since she unveiled her secret, I decided to show mine.

She immediately recognized the size and style of flashlight as being similar to the one the benefactor wielded. The only difference appeared to be an additional color that she struggled to name, but we both suspected it was blue based on the abundant pink of this one.

Clearly, the benefactor had decided to mentally mess with her to keep their actions covert. Considering how much of my mental health was devoted to pondering the consequences of doing even a small action to anyone, I fumed. Zach‘s experience in engineering wasn’t exhaustive, same as Connor’s comprehension of science, but he knew enough to instruct me on how to disassemble the flashlight and fashion something that would allow it to work while shining on itself.

The question was whether the top section was required to be under the influence of the beam. Copious duct tape worked. Spare wires and other small pieces allowed us to elongate the connections. I made no promises to Zach that doing this would reveal what happened to her lover. She acknowledged that and simply said, “It’s something, at least. We have to try.”

We set up a test area with an empty box blocking the light spill. The switch might be useful as a potential target, but considering how important it was to the couple, we set it aside for now.

Through all this, I hadn’t checked on the other roommates. Zach revealed that they had either gone away to early classes or grabbed a late breakfast. My mind sought out my own roommates and poor Rosalie, who had a mountain of things for me to catch her up on. I’d get back to her soon. Hopefully.

The first query we assigned the light was to find Connor Campbell, also known as Riona Campbell. It gave the automatic rejection response. So, the next possibility we tried was to assign it to follow traces of people who have vanished. It was an ungainly proposal again rejected, no matter how we phrased it. I threw out my possibility of combining Beatrice and Taylor into one collective consciousness. That wasn’t immediately vetoed, but it seemed to pulse in a questioning manner. Rephrasing it more precisely unfortunately met with a return to rejections.

No matter what we did, the light refused to activate. I considered just giving it something simple to see if the idea of imbuing the light with a new quality was at all possible. But it wasn’t even going there for us. Out of frustration, Zach commanded, “Show us the truth!”

That…was approved, but I had no idea what it would do. We double-checked that there would be nothing blasted from the beam, and Zach fashioned a remote switch we could use on the other side of the hallway door. We each took a deep breath and hoped that this would operate like a dental x-ray and not explode.

I was going to do a countdown, but once we were away, Connor just flipped the thing, waited a few seconds, and then flipped it back. No explosions. After carefully checking that no light continued to stream from the device, we crept back and gawked at what was sitting before us. The flashlight had transformed into a pristine, pearly white that almost hurt my eyes with a faint tint of sky blue. The mirror and the interior of the box also contained this stark quality. Small script adorned the mirror, explaining where it was manufactured, touching upon the process, and the impurities and contaminants in the glass. The truth of it was laid bare. The box had a similar explanation, tracing it back to a particular forest and tree, with the manufacturing process and regulations skipped in its creation.

The only text added to the flashlight were the words, “This internal crystal is a connection to the souls of countless beings.” Zach took a deep breath as he read that and I quietly grimaced as at least that seemed to confirm what the creepy guy said.

We worked quickly to reassemble the light back into its normal shape. Other than the strange bleaching and text addition, it didn’t otherwise seem physically altered. Time to test what we had. I aimed it directly at the spot where Zach told me Connor had frozen and then vanished like a hologram.

I had no idea what to expect. And I certainly didn’t anticipate what followed.

The light that emerged from the device was the same color as its case. It didn’t cross the room but landed on the exact spot where Connor had been standing and illuminated a hallway that split open in the air. The space almost matched the width of the main hallway. It existed against all good sense, like a tear in reality leading off from the side of the bed to about twenty feet in the distance. If you showed it to me without the impossible features, I would’ve said it appeared the same as any standard service hallway with fluorescent panels above and bland tiles below. The walls had stucco. Painfully normal yet something that shouldn’t have been there.

It didn’t take long before Zach gathered together a backpack full of supplies from the kitchen and closet, along with some clothes and several sharp knives. I warned her that we had no idea where this led or what it was. She agreed with me but said, “I have to find her. No matter where that takes me and no matter what that takes. She means everything. You don’t have to come. Thank you for everything. You’ve shown me the path. I just need to walk it.”

I couldn’t just let her go. It would’ve been unconscionable, and I wanted answers too. It took a couple more minutes to prepare a bag of my own and mentally get ready. The flashlight obviously had to come with us, along with the switch.

Then, we stepped through the threshold.