Exoskeletal

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EXOSKELETAL

Exoskeletal Written by Eric James Rickard.

Illustrated by Beckett Thornber, Padraig Campbell and Elle Romaine.

Dedicated to Nyx and Max.

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Contents Introduction

Author’s Note (Pronouns) Creation

Mountaineering Wovenfolk, Chapter 1 Destruction

Leviticus Parasite Moving Azrael’s Twin Wovenfolk, Chapter 2 Insects and Angels

Abdication Wovenfolk, Chapter 3 Credits

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‘You are beautiful, but you are empty.

One could not die for you.

To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you — the rose that belongs to me.

But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars; because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or bloated, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.’

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Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, ​The Little Prince​.

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Introduction If a person identifies as a gender different to the one usually associated with their sex at birth, that person might use the label ‘transgender’. When I was born at Derriford Hospital on August 11th, 1998, it was recorded on my birth certificate that my mother had given birth to a healthy female.

(Spoiler alert: she hadn’t).

It would be quite a while before my infant brain would truly grasp it was an individual human being, let alone care about what ‘female’ meant, but it turns out that after years of confusion, turmoil and fear I would eventually realise that I am one of those people. I would realise that I identified as male. A transgender male.

This, of course, would irrevocably change the course of my life.

I thought a lot about the kind of thing I wanted to write for The Box when presented with the opportunity to include my work in their ​Pride in the Past ​project.

What message did I want to send out? Which fragments of my story did I want to tell, and why? I’m not famous, 5

I don’t feel special or talented beyond my years in any field, so what value could my contribution have as part of the archives of a museum?

At first I genuinely considered proposing some scandelously homoerotic fiction based on the numerous debaucherous misadventures of myself and my queer comrades. Although this option would have been very on-brand for me, I decided to go with something a little less risque when I thought back to an interview I gave in November earlier this year for The Victoria and Albert Museum. As part of their celebration of LGBTQ+ history month I’d been discussing “The Devonshire Wonder” Mark Weston, a national Olympic athletic champion from Plymouth who was also a transgender man. He had transitioned in 1936. I talked about how I never really had a concept of the history of the trans community in Plymouth. I spent most of my childhood feeling like a pariah and I think I must have thought I was the first trans person ever to live here. As proud as I am now of my journey, I do sometimes wish I could travel back in time to tell that confused, histrionic, vulnerable little boy that there were other people like 6

him and that everything would be ok. I know he would have been surprised to see he’d even made it to adulthood. When I think about the example Mark Weston set - how I wish I’d heard of him earlier, and how little we know of trans history - I realise how badly I want my story to reach the ears of young trans people, if only to make them feel less alone. I want this story to be archived not because it’s the story of someone noteworthy and powerful, but because the story of prosaic transgender individuals just ​existing ​are almost entirely absent from the records of British history. I want to give a context to our queer future. I want young trans people to be able to see that we have lived and loved and carved our niches in the South-West.

This book isn’t just about gender, either. It’s about coming to terms with your identity in every sense.

I can’t talk about being trans without talking about plenty of the other messy, interconnected threads of my life that each had a profound impact on the person I have become. I think that struggle to recognise yourself, that desperate desire to understand your place in the world and to be ​known, t​ ranscends transgender experience and 7

permeates the life of almost every young person. If this book falls into the hands of one young adult who has struggles with their self-image, or the parent of a child who is difficult and lost, and gives those people hope, then it’s fulfilled its intention.

This isn’t an autobiography, it’s more a collection of musings; I’ve always loved to write, especially poetry, and there have been times when this has been the only outlet I feel capable of using. I’d like to tell some of my story through that poetry, through little anecdotes, through honest reflection on all facets of being transgender. But it’d still be nice if it had ​some thematic coherence, so I’ve decided to split this into three sections; ‘Creation,’ ‘Destruction’ and ‘Insects and Angels’.

‘Creation’ is about taking ownership of your own growth as an individual. It’s about the idealised self-image I strived towards, it’s about using the body as a canvas for self-expression and, of course, it’s about transition.​ It’s also about all the ways other people helped to shape me; how the people you love and hate can mould you or, in some cases, how they can become a 8

permanent part of you. Who I am right now owes all of the components of his being to every other person who he’s crossed paths with.

The difficulties that so many transgender people experience necessetates a section like ‘Destruction.’

There are so many beautiful things and people and experiences that I want to document, but those couldn’t exist without the ugly ones. ‘Destruction’ is for those ugly ones. It’s about dysphoria, poverty, trauma, transphobia, abuse, hatred, and about flourishing despite all of that.

Then, less obviously named, I want to finish on ‘Angels and Insects,’ and I want it to read as a celebration. An ode to being trans, to rebellion, to everyone who has ever learned to love the parts of themself that society told them to hate. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have experienced the sheer amount of love and beauty I’ve been party to in my short lifetime so far and somewhere, somehow, I want to imbue some of that into my work. I want to give some of it back.

Angels and Insects is a love poem to everyone who reads this book.

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Including you.

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Author’s Note (Pronouns)

Pronouns are used in place of a name; for example, the pronouns I use are he/him/his/himself. So if someone were talking about me, they might say, ​“I have a friend named Eric. H ​ e​ is a writer. I met h ​ im​ three

years ago. I have read some of h ​ is​ books. Eric is a bit full of​ himself.​ ” ​(It would be rude, but true.)

My mum uses she/her/hers/herself pronouns. So

if I were talking about my mum, I might say, ​“My

mum’s name is Claire. ​She​ is a cyclist. I love h ​ er ​very much. I like seeing photographs from cycling trips on her I​ nstagram page. Mum takes the photographs herself​.”

In the same way, a character named Linatous shows up in this book who uses ze/zir/zirs/zirself pronouns. So if you were talking about Linatous you might say, ​“The character’s name is Linatous. Z ​ e​ was

born in a forest. The other forest creatures acted afraid of ​zir s​ ometimes. ​Zir ​skin was made of sackcloth.

Linatous wanted to learn more about z​ irself.​ ”

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Some examples of other singular pronouns that don’t appear in this story are they/them/their/theirself, xe/xem/xyr/xyrself and ey/em/eir/eirself. There are hundreds of potential pronoun combinations and it’s completely up to you which ones you choose to use for yourself.

Please always respect the pronouns of others. If you get them wrong it’s polite to apologise, correct yourself and then move on quickly; for example, “When I saw Jane the other day he was wearing -- sorry, ​she was wearing -- her new shoes.” Perhaps you have come across some new pronouns that you’re struggling with, or you know someone whose pronouns have changed and you are worried about getting them wrong; in these cases, practicing using sentences with the correct pronouns out loud, in your head or with a third party can be a great way to teach yourself. Everyone deserves to have their pronouns respected.

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Creation There comes a point in all of our lives when we look at the person we have been told that we are by our peers, our parents, the media, and we must decide for ourselves whether it is a true reflection​ o​ f who we feel

we are inside. Is that person who we ​want t​ o be? From the moment we are born others will assume things about us and project traits onto us; they will construct their own version of our identity and our future. For some the decisive moment comes during puberty when they may first start to question the concepts that society takes for granted. For others that moment comes much later in life. For a few it passes unremarkably with acceptance and conformity but for most, our journeys of self-discovery are tumultuous and endless processes that begin the moment we decide to take the question of who we are into our own hands.

Alice, my sister, was the first person I ever came out to. It happened when we were both young children.

Alice and I were born a year apart and I had always been closer to her than to anyone in our earliest years. The 13

few memories I have before the age of fourteen are very blurry, though, and I find trying to recall the exact moment of my confession gives no exception to the rule... I remember it was late and I think it was a school night. I don’t know how I lead up to it, but I remember the way I said it; ‘I think I’m meant to be a boy.’

I didn’t really have the language to describe it properly, nor had I fully wrapped my own head around it, but I knew the essence of what I felt. In a way I think it had been obvious to both of us for some time. I don’t remember exactly what she said in response, either; I remember that she wasn’t too surprised, though I think both of us were a little shocked at hearing it finally spoken out loud, and I remember that what followed was an incredibly long conversation with several fits of tears erupting on both sides that lasted well into the night. It took some questioning and doubt for her to get her head around it but she let me speak. By the end of that night she was the first other person to really acknowledge that I was male. Though almost all of the specifics are vague to me now, I remember how I felt going to sleep that night. It was as if I’d finally shed a layer of skin that had 14

been threatening to suffocate me. I hadn’t even been aware that I was trapped, or that there was a world outside my cocoon… then suddenly, there it was, bright and terrifying and beautiful.

Telling Alice was a big step in a process of self-creation. It’s something we all undergo and though it might seem like it’s particularly acute when we’re 15

going through puberty (an experience that, having gone through it twice, I will certainly not miss) it doesn’t start and end with our teenage years. I don’t feel like being trans was me discovering who I really was; I feel like it was a single foothold on a mountain I am always climbing. We are all in this constant ongoing process of rediscovery, creation, destruction. Self-identification is a cyclical and active process, a mountain we never stop climbing. Sometimes we meet people who help us up the mountain, or push us in a different direction. Sometimes climbing seems sisyphean and strenuous, or pointless, and other times it’s exhilarating and touching and you reach bold new heights with an incredible view to reward you.

Alice was definitely one of the people who helped me most on my way up. Our Mum was horrified at first, because she’d seen enough of life to know how dangerous climbing that mountain could be and how taking the wrong paths can have disastrous consequences. But the more her panic subsided and the more she saw how happy I was becoming as I followed my own instincts, the more she encouraged me to keep 16

doing just that. She patched me up when I slipped and she fought harder than anyone for me when teachers at my secondary schools treated me with an attitude of transphobia and bigotry I now realise was illegal.

Being trans in the early 2010s it had been very difficult to find other young people taking the same path as me. I thought I was quite isolated, especially in Plymouth, and I’d accepted that the unique and difficult ascent of a trans boy would likely be something I would be alone in. Of course I’d have people cheering me on in the distance and some of them would sympathise with me or support me, but they wouldn’t have lived the same experience. Then I met someone who not only changed my journey and lightened the strain of the hardest stretches, but did something he was in a unique position to do; he held my hand and he climbed next to me.

When I first met Max we were both teenagers. I had already been on hormone blockers for some time and was awaiting an appointment to greenlight me for testosterone. I was drawn to him immediately; he was this glamorous, funny, beautiful punk-rocker with glitter dusted into his hair and a jacket he’d customised with 17

Manic Street Preachers ​patches. (Later he went on to get the name of their song ‘​La Tristesse Durera’ ​tattooed on his wrist and I’d learn to picture Max’s face whenever I heard James Dean Bradfield’s voice). We became fast friends. He still identified as cis when we met but almost immediately upon my explanations of gender variance and my account of my own awakening as a trans person, something in Max clicked and that changed. Max started using a new name (a more traditionally gender-neutral variation of his birth-name), asked others to use ‘they/them’ pronouns for him and came out as genderfluid. Of course I felt incredibly proud of him and I’m still so glad I got to see him take this first step on his journey.

Both of us were enrolled at City College Plymouth and attended our A-Level classes at its now defunct Goschen Centre campus in Keyham. From the beginning City College was far more supportive of my transition and my mental health issues than either of the secondary schools I’d attended had ever been. I felt better understood by the staff and my peers. I was mocked far less. Max was in the year above mine but we 18

were studying in the same department since both of us took English Literature and English Language classes, and studied under the same tutors.

During this first exploration process for Max we’d become inseparable. We would skip classes to sit in the library together and talk or to stream the bad animes I wanted to introduce him to on the school computers, then on weekends we’d meet in the town centre for coffee dates at Barista Brothers. I invited him along to the LGBTQ+ youth group I’d been attending since secondary school (my councillor at Tor Bridge High, who knew I was struggling with being bullied for my gender and sexuality, had recommended it to me and it quickly became a weekly staple of my teenage years) and he started coming with me to the weekly meetings.

We mixed in the same queer friend group formed of a few of the regular members. Over many weeks and I suspect many difficult internal conversations, Max became more comfortable with himself and his identity shifted from genderfluid to demiboy to binary transgender man. He slowly asked for his friends and family to use he/him pronouns for him and eventually he 19

decided on his new and permanent name; Maxwell Jarvis Colbourne. I’m sure I would have loved whatever name he picked by virtue of it being ​his, b​ ut I adored the name Maxwell and I adored the smile that lit up his face when someone referred to him using that name. I shared in that feeling of gender euphoria and I recognised so much of myself and my own joy in it.

I felt such a kinship with him. It wasn’t just that we were both trans, either. I’d met other trans people already at this point in my life. I felt we would have been close even if we hadn’t had our transitions in common because ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’ (I was studying part of Wuthering Heights on my course, so it seems ironically appropriate to strip an overused quote from that novel of all its meaning and context to throw it in the middle of a passage about an entirely different breed of love. If my English Literature tutor is reading this, I’m sorry!)

I would like to think I had a hand in the way Max developed as a person over those years, especially because I am so proud of the kind of man he has become so feeling I had any part of that lends me an even deeper 20

share of that pride! I can’t know what an impact I truly had on him, though; I only know the impact this period of our lives had on ​me.

Whilst we climbed the mountain together his

unwavering grip on my hand stopped me from falling countless times. Whilst we were at college together Anorexia Nervosa, which I had struggled with since I was 14, was wreaking absolute havoc on my body. I remember Max sitting next to me in the canteen as I struggled to finish the entire sandwich I’d packed for myself to eat at lunch instead of throwing it away, nibbling half of it or scurrying to a secluded place where I could either throw it in the bin or eat whatever small portion I could manage without feeling watched by the other students (none of whom were actually watching me, of course, but Anorexia plays horrible tricks on your mind). It was the first time he’d seen me manage to finish the whole thing and when I’d swallowed the last bite, he hugged me and he started to cry​. I​ remember thinking how much it meant to me that he cared whether or not I was getting better and that he didn’t mind showing me that he cared. If he hadn’t been there to 21

support my recovery I’m not sure I would have made it to adulthood. The support of my mum, too, was integral to my recovery; I needed a whole network of support. I couldn’t have done it alone.

Like my mum, Max has seen the darker parts of my life and he still chose to stay. He has seen me through some of the most difficult things I’ve had to endure as an adult. When Jasmine, my partner of 3 years (whom Max had known as long as I had and whom had also been one of his closest friends) comitted suicide at only 22 years old, Max was the only person who I felt truly understood what I was going through. Over the years I told him more of my secrets and thoughts than I’d ever told another human being. I opened up about being the victim of grooming, violence, rape, manipulation, in ways that I’d never done before. When some of those things recurred in my later life he helped me summon the courage to speak out about it.

Friendship was the most important thing he ever gave me, but Max and I even dated for a little while during those early college days. It only lasted three months or so and we laugh about it now but honestly the 22

day I felt closest to him was the day we broke up. We’d mutually decided upon splitting up when we had realised both of us were more platonically attracted to one another than romantically attracted and we both wanted to pursue other relationships. Still, we both cried, not because of the loss of the romantic element of our relationship but because we were so terrified of losing each other. We had this idea that spending less time together would force a drift. In a moment of the sort of impulsive, emotionally driven stupidity that was (and sometimes still is) so typical of me, we both cut open a slit down our palms. We vowed that no matter what happened, we would always consider ourselves brothers and would carry a part of us within each other. We promised we’d each be best man at the other’s wedding, too. Retrospectively I’ll add that I’m thankful neither of us ended up with an infection or sepsis, but hindsight is 20/20.

Currently Max has a sweet and talented partner named Padraig who illustrated some of the poetry in this book. During Christmas 2020, after a year of societal fear and uncertainty due to the Covid pandemic, Max did 23

what he does best and bought light and levity to the darkness when he hid a ring under their Christmas tree and proposed to Paddy. So, six years after Max and I made our promise to each other, Max held his end of the bargain up and asked me to be his best man. The wedding will have to wait until the virus poses less of a threat but I have no doubt that when it happens it will be one of the most magical days I’ve lived through. Until then I’ll have plenty of time to draft a suitably embarrassing wedding speech.

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Mountaineering (PART I) they used to say we were related if not lovers then cut from the same cloth of rebellion of compassion bred from fire the longing to be understood i remember the glitter and sunny vodka afternoons chips and tumblr themes and the electricity of losing ourselves in love you were the first time i knew myself i remember the poetry and the tenderness the heart shaped sunglasses how we fed on each other’s laughter and the ignorance of others creating our own crossfire dancing in it

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i’ll carry our memories forever carry them in my blood to keep my heart beating a badge of honour that i knew you loved you and hurt with you felt the deepest part of your soul in the palm of my hand your darkest pain in my core i say i love you three times to the wind hoping it’ll drift your way, wherever you are -

maxwell jarvis colbourne

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(PART II) since that beautiful teenage spring, we are brothers alchemists, as our blood was ambrosia was urging me, ‘stay beside him’ so i vowed that i would that glitter was part of me from then on. that sun lit my soul kept it fed and burning through the times, years later, i was sure it would die an echo; ​you could be my main man i remember how loving you became effortless sneaking out of classes and how things i’d been ashamed of suddenly all felt beautiful you taught me to love myself taught me candour

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one day we’ll sit on the beach together watch pink sunlight reach up to bleed into deep blue a mirror image of our bodies two proud bare chests that we made and i’ll say thank you three times for the wings that you gave me the wings, the strength, the laughter i love you, i love you, i love you, max part of me will live in you, wherever we are -

eric james rickard

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Wovenfolk, Chapter 1

Beneath the vast canopy of a dense and fertile forest, a queer creature named Linatous made zir home.

To whom ze had been born, ze did not know. Neither did any of the other creatures of the forest. In fact, none of the foxes or rabbits or hedgehogs had ever seen a creature quite like Linatous before, and the mystery of zir genesis led some to believe that ze had not been of natural birth at all but instead had been manufactured by some mysterious sorcerer, perhaps with malicious intent.

Linatous’ skin was a sackcloth hewn of hemp. Ze was a slender creature that walked on two legs but with the general appearance of a sort of ragdoll fox, with a small pointed face, large black buttons for eyes and string whiskers draping limply from zir nose.

Despite zir meek disposition, the cohabitants of Linatous’ woodland home did not take kindly to zir presence. The rabbits noted zir resemblance to the predators and at the sight of zir approach they would hop hastily back down into their burrows, hurrying their

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young along with them. The squirrels were not afraid of Linatous but were gossipy creatures who liked to spin stories about zir potential origins whilst observing zir from the treetops. None of the squirrels even bothered to ask zir name.

They did not treat zir as a fellow creature, but as an amusing object or curiosity; one squirrel would say, ‘Did you hear? That thing sprouted from the ground!

One of our lot buried their chestnuts wrapped in burlap in a hole and when they came back to look for their food stores, that thing had popped out!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ a second squirrel would retort.

‘It’s not a ​plant. I​ t used to be a real animal! A fox, I’ve

heard. It ran through a meadow where some fairies lived and squashed their houses, so they put a curse on it and turned it into a little ragdoll thing.’

A redstart would fly down from a nearby chestnut branch to join them. ‘If it is some kind of a fox,’ the bird would say, preening herself, ‘it’s rather the ugliest fox ​I’ve e​ ver seen.’

Every time such remarks were made, Linatous would hear it, and ze would believe it all. Ze felt alien to 31

everything that surrounded zir and reprimanded zirself for zir own strangeness; the blame was zir own. But instead of being driven away by their exclusion, the cold treatment only made Linatous redouble zir efforts to fit in. Eventually one group of creatures did begin to allow zir into their circle; the skulk of foxes, since they were the creatures whom Linatous most closely resembled.

Rather than treating Linatous like one of their family they treated zir like a nuisance pet that it was their responsibility to contain. Linatous knew that ze was a burden forced upon them by necessity and admired their kindness in allowing zir to live amongst them.

Despite zir gratitude to the foxes, Linatous couldn’t help wondering about zir origins. What if ze did have a real family somewhere? One day, ze approached Dahlia, one of the maternal figures with a large litter who did not show disdain for Linatous like the others did. Dahlia’s mate Folio, on the other hand, was particularly scornful and did not like Linatous to be near their young lest ze set a bad example or pique their curiosity. Dahlia met Linatous at a quiet spot by the

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brook away from the cubs and from Folio where they could speak in peace.

‘I’ve been thinking of going away for a while,’ Linatous said.

‘Going away? Where to?’

‘I want to explore. I wouldn’t be gone forever, I just want to find out about myself… where I came from.

Maybe there are other people like me.’

‘There aren’t!’ she cried. ‘Surely we would have seen them by now! Besides, it won’t be safe, and you’ll be lonely…’

Lest ze upset her more, Linatous couldn’t bear to tell Dahlia that ze was already intolerably lonely. Ze had been lonely for zir entire life. That was exactly why ze needed to leave the foxes. The thin ray of kindness and companionship that Dahlia had cast upon that loneliness made Linatous believe that perhaps ze did deserve true community and that somewhere, there could be a place ze really belonged.

‘I’ll be alright,’ ze promised. ‘When I come back everyone will see that I’m not so strange after all.

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Perhaps I’ll meet my family. Then my family can meet your family and we can all befriend one another.’

Just as Dahlia offered a sad and sympathetic smile, her attention was stolen by a voice that boomed over the babbling of the water.

‘What a terribly ungrateful thing to say,’ sneered Folio. Dahlia’s mate skipped across the rocks to join the pair in their hiding spot. ‘The foxes look past your flaws and take you in. We disgrace ourselves in the eyes of the other forest creatures to protect an aberration to whom we have no obligations, and now​ ​not only do you leave

without thanks for the food and shelter we’ve given you, but you dare to imply your reason for abandoning us is that we are not enough for you?’

‘Folio!’ Dahlia snapped, ‘Stop that this instant. You know that’s not what ze means and you’re--’ ‘You standing up for zir won’t make a difference. If ze wants to leave, so be it.’ With this, Folio turned to lock his eyes into a resentful stare with Linatous and bore his teeth. ‘Just don’t expect us to ever let you come back.’

Brief and unpleasant goodbyes aside, Linatous set off on zir travels that same evening. Folio’s disdain 34

had heaped a heavy guilt upon zir shoulders, but it had also redoubled zir conviction that leaving was the right thing to do. Even if the true family ze longed to find didn’t exist at all, the forest and the lives of the creatures within would be less troubled without Linatous there.

Dahlia would not face Folio’s disapproval, the rabbits would not have to fret inadvertently over their young when ze passed, the birds would not need to flit so quickly from shrub to treetop to avoid speaking to Linatous when they spotted zir approach. With no idea what zir destination might be, ze decided the least travelled path would be the most likely to bear fruit on a search for an unprecedented discovery. Ze set off on a winding trail to the north-east, out of the known boundaries of their little biome and up towards the snow-capped mountain whose peak was just visible in the distance through the holes in their forest’s canopy.

Hours passed as ze persevered through a drizzle-like snowfall that dissolved into little puddles as soon as it touched the grass. With each step the frigid winds seemed to whip Linatous’ delicate body to and fro with more ferocity. Eventually, ze reached the foot of the 35

mountain just as the last vibrant colours of twilight were starting to bleed away into a heavy black. Despite the difficult weather that the starless night of thick cloud portended, ze pressed on, driven by the steady conviction that had steered zir from the closest thing to a home ze’d yet known. Ze had taken zir life into zir own hands and ze was determined to carry it through no matter what. Ze had no other choice.

Linatous continued that dark ascent until it had been miles since ze had seen another sentient creature and the cold was starting to numb zir limbs. Finally, ze came across a small cave hidden just off the rocky mountain path and for a moment ze stopped to decide whether it might be sensible to shelter and rest until the warmth of sunrise had ameliorated zir surroundings.

After all, had ze not brushed the entrance with their tail ze would never have been able to see the cave under the thick blanket of night, even if zir black button eyes had somewhat adjusted to the lack of light. Ze doubted such luck would repeat before morning came… but no.

Linatous was sure that ze could not rest until ze had found ​something. Z ​ e felt that if ze stopped moving 36

forwards now that the loneliness and hopelessness ze felt would paralyse zir permanently; ze would never recuperate the motivation to get back up.

However, just as ze was about to turn away from the cave, there came a flicker of dim light from within.

Ze jumped. Ze could feel zir drooping little string whiskers trembling; whether from fright or excitement even ze could not tell. Whichever it was, ze knew the flicker had to be a sign. On timid, unsteady paws, ze began to creep into the mouth.

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Destruction

In 2020, after the government u-turn on reforming the Gender Recognition Act, a group of my fantastic local trans friends and I organised a socially distanced protest in Plymouth city centre. A few days before the protest, we designed and painted banners. Our group effort resulted in a banner I proudly held aloft with Max, which read, ‘TRANS PEOPLE HAVE ALWAYS EXISTED AND ALWAYS WILL’.​ T ​ o expand on this I now want to add a quote from a YouTube video by

ThoughtSlime as an addendum; ‘There is nothing you 38

can do to get rid of us. Want to know how I know that for certain? Because people like you have been trying for as long as there’s been people like me and it hasn’t worked. There are still people like me out there. Granted, not as many as there should be, because we lost WAY too many of them. But there’s still some of us.’

This section largely focuses on those who ​do want to get rid of transgender people and the countless lives we have lost because of them. Despite that, I want ThoughtSlime’s quote to serve as a reminder to anyone reading this of our fortitude and resilience as a community. It is a reminder, too, that no matter how difficult things get, trans people are not alone; we will always have one another.

It used to upset me when I’d hear people say things like, ‘pleasure can’t exist without pain.’ I’m a romantic and an optimist; I’d like to believe the possibility of a world free from pain exists and that the moments of joy and beauty we experience live alongside the grief and sadness, without depending upon them.

However, our world ​does ​contain pain, and whether or

not pleasure can exist without it, I do feel that all of the 39

pain I’ve experienced has become a part of me. Some of it should never have happened to me, nor should it happen to any human being. Other elements of it, like grief, are simply burdens that cannot be avoided.

Everyone carries the weight of grief at some point.

The pain I’ve felt does not define me, but I am composed partly of it. I couldn’t write about my identity without writing about the painful aspects of it. Especially my identity as a queer man.

Fear of the pain trans people experience can put our closeted siblings off coming out. It often leads cis people to fear for their trans loved ones so intensely that they end up hurting them under the impression that they are providing protection. Parents try and encourage their trans teens to hide their names and pronouns because those parents are terrified that revealing the truth can only lead to disproportionate danger and sadness for their child. A non-binary person is so terrified of being rejected or harmed by their peers that they never breathe a word of their gender outside of their own home and spend their life under a protective cisgender guise. (This does not make them bad, or cowardly, or deceitful; their 40

fear is based on the sobering statistics of our reality, and for some people this means coming out is just not a tenable option.) But as I write about the pain that has come into my life as a result of being transgender I also want to stand as proof that sometimes it’s ok to let that pain pass through you, and that there are still opportunities to feel something beautiful alongside it.

It’s possible to be happy. True, I’ve seen too many members of my community die young in my lifetime to pretend it always turns out okay -- but it ​can. F ​ or me, it did. For me being trans and existing in this body as a gay man are both concepts that fill me with pride. I acknowledge the pain I’ve been through, radically accept that pain, then let it go. When it crops up again I know it will be transient. To heal as a community we need people to face our pain and to engage with it. Perhaps there are even some ways in which we can reclaim it. I want to visit the forges of hephaestus and use our communal pain to form an armour so thick we can always protect one another, yet light enough that we can jump for joy as we wear it.

41

Leviticus

white water. white hands. white soil. if all the other men are praying then i guess... so should i. white walls. white table. white lights. if all the other men are praying then i guess so should i, but if repenting means you go to heaven repenting means you die. white candles. white alter. white pews. if all the other men are praying then i guess so should i, but if repenting means you go to heaven

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repenting means you die and God, i love my boyfriend more than you. i just hope that’s okay. red fire. orange glow.​ blue eyes. if all the other men are praying then i guess so should i but if repenting means we go to heaven repenting means we die and God, i love my boyfriend more than you, i just hope that’s okay because if hell means i live on with him then hell is where we’ll stay.

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One of the most obvious demons many trans people battle with is dysphoria. Growing up, I felt like my entire life was centred around a single, unshakeable core truth; my body did not belong to me.

I couldn’t control how other people perceived me. If they decided I looked like a ‘she’ they would treat me accordingly. I felt disempowered and dissociated from myself whenever I heard someone use the wrong label, whether they did so intentionally or not, and when I looked in the mirror I did so with a curious horror, especially as puberty wreaked its havoc and I grew breasts. I sat my 11+ examinations, scored well and was accepted into Plymouth High for Girls. On the first day I was the only pupil in my form wearing a trouser suit. I remember each time I walked to or from school I would take off the blazer with the school’s logo on in the hope that I wouldn’t be recognised (and subsequently gendered) by strangers I passed. When I was still a nervous pre-teen I started to pack every belt I owned into my backpack whilst I was getting ready in the mornings, then as soon as I was in school and away from the eyes of my parents, I’d sneak into the bathroom and tie them 44

around my breasts to bind them flat. I could hardly breathe. I’d sit through lessons with crushed ribs and buckles digging cuts into my ribs, knowing full well that I was in an all-girl’s school where no one would perceive me as a man no matter how flat my chest appeared. Still, it made me feel better, somehow; when I looked down, I felt handsome. I felt correct.

I was constantly terrified of someone bumping into me and touching the bulk that strapped them down, realising the truth, and telling my parents. If any of the girls asked I lied and said I’d bought myself a real Underworks chest binder and proudly explained what that meant. When the school day ended I’d untie the belts and spend my home life hiding behind the baggiest hoodies I could find, hunched forward to conceal as much as I could. I still get back pain but I stand up straight now, post-op. Unsafe binding techniques remain common and dangerous amongst young trans people and I cannot stress the importance of binder safety enough. A good binder can be expensive but there are online swaps and financial aid programmes out there. When my mum ordered me my first proper Underworks binder everyone 45

noticed the difference in my confidence instantly and in doing so she probably saved me from developing a number of the health complications associated with the use of alternative methods.

When I was a bit older and tried to have consensual sex for the first time, a mixture of traumatic memories and gender dysphoria overwhelmed me so badly that I struggled between intermittent panic attacks, nausea and tears for nearly two hours afterwards. The cruelest thing was that there were parts of myself that ​did feel right, just enough that I could picture the flesh that I wanted to inhabit so vividly it almost felt real. I would dream about my body melting away and reforming all the time.

But whilst the dysphoria hurt me, there was something else that tormented me far more than dysphoria ever did. Rejection. Alongside dysphoria it is a common theme in the lives of trans individuals in Britain. When the British media talk about trans pain (which they rarely do,) I’ve noticed they tend to focus on the internal struggle caused by dysphoria rather than the external socioeconomic factors that drive so many trans 46

people to commit suicide. If a trans person chooses to come out they can face rejection so intense that they are often cut off from the resources they need to survive. A famous example is the case of Jennifer Gale, a homeless woman who froze to death on the Salvation Army’s doorstep when they refused to let her in because she was transgender. A disproportionate number of trans people experience homelessness; it’s harder for us to get jobs and housing due to discrimination and many of us leave home young or are estranged from unsupportive families. This sort of treatment is, in my experience, far more psychologically damaging to trans people than body dysphoria alone. It’s hardly shocking that suicide rates are disproportionately high amongst trans people and anecdotally I often wonder if the figures do reflect the full extent of the crisis. Almost every queer person I know has either attempted suicide themself or knows someone who has attempted suicide.

When I was 16 I tried to kill myself by drinking cleaning product that contained bleach. I hate thinking back to what I put my family through that night, but I was lucky; I was driven to Derriford Hospital’s A&E 47

department straight away, had no long-term injuries and I was discharged the next day. I haven’t made any attempts since. Some of my friends haven’t been as lucky as I am.

I can’t write about this without talking about Jasmine.

I still can’t talk about it that much, of course. I initially expected to write literal accounts of some of my personal traumatic experiences in this section; not just about Jasmine’s suicide but about being the victim of violence, rape, exploitation and a plethora of the other awful experiences that I and many of my peers have endured. But the reality is that these things are still too raw to put into words. I tried to write about it but sometimes I just couldn’t start and other times it just felt wrong​. I want to try and help cis people understand what we go through but I can’t put my own mental health in danger to do that, nor do I feel like I owe the world a more explicit look into something so intimate. But, even if I can’t talk about all of it, something about this would feel empty if I didn’t mention Jasmine in some brief way.

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Jasmine was a spirited, flawed, excitable whirlwind of a human and she is someone I will never forget. She was a transgender woman. She was incredibly passionate about political equality and she dreamed of: owning her own queer bar, writing political articles she’d publish on an online blog or journal, adopting a cat and two pet rats, starting some kind of family, and campaigning for a better world. We first met whilst both living in Plymouth. I fell in love with her as soon as she came into my life and I was over the moon when she asked me to be her boyfriend. In 2016 we were 49

accepted onto the same English Literature course at Falmouth University and moved into a shared house in Penryn, Cornwall to be closer to the campus. But our relationship was tumultuous, to say the least; she could be one of the most gentle, loving, caring souls I’d ever met in her good moments, but in her bad moments she became unrecognizable.

Her cruelty usually came after she drank. Not always, of course, but alcohol was her most common trigger. But I knew that she drank to attempt to cope with the shame, pain and trauma that she harboured inside her and she always seemed so sincerely apologetic afterwards. I saw how much she hated herself for the way she treated me in her dark moments and whilst I know now that none of that excuses her behaviour towards me, I always believed she was capable of change. After a troubled few years things became too much and I realised I was putting myself in danger by waiting for that change to happen, so I ended the relationship and moved out of the house we had shared.

In the last few months of her life Jasmine struggled with severe self-harm, homelessness and substance abuse 50

issues. On the 2nd October 2017 I received a phone call from her mother, who informed me that Jasmine had died in the early hours of that morning after overdosing with suicidal intent late the previous night of October 1st, her twenty-second birthday.

I still struggle just as much now as I did then to articulate how it all made me feel. I’d seen the untimely death of some of my trans peers before but never anyone who had been so close to me as Jasmine was. I am the same age now as she was when she passed away. That fact baffles me. But her story is, sadly, not at all unique.

She was turned away at every junction when she asked for help, from the transphobic comments made towards her by volunteers at the food bank when she’d needed provisions to the outright refusal of some health services to engage with her when she was at her most vulnerable.

This is so often the case and though I can’t put a name to the emotions that remembering these stories can evoke, I can t​ ell you that those emotions have a crushing weight.

So much of these things are too painful to express in prosaic language, but in the years following her death I found poetry an invaluable therapeutic tool.

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Jasmine loved poetry, too.

52

Parasite Moving grief bubbles beneath the skin of my neck a virulent beast crocheting, webbing, pus torpidly ebbing from between its acicular teeth -and this particular, peculiar thief is rotting its way through the mucosal tissue. it squirms from gut to gullet, writhing, clicking, clinging quick

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this edacious tapeworm (obnoxious and wincing, voracious and vicious) performs ​unconvincing pastiches of sickness burrowing out of my temporal lobe, crawling back in past my heart it waits. it wants to snake its own salacious repetition of half-recognition into each and every brief intermission; it will relish in satiating its selfish fetish 55

for impelling me to relive the hurtful the hellish. yes, this parasite’s moving. it’s strong. it is bitter. but the warmth of my spirit will soon see it wither.

56

Azrael’s Twin

Sometimes I’m stirring from a nightmare and I’m greeted by a stranger and there’s a snake spitting fire from his eyes.

I hear him speaking in tongues and the tongues sound pious but his words sound so irreverently wise.

He says, “Oh, no one believes in their own death, son.”

He says, “and peace is a force that you can outrun... and I don’t think it’s adequate to play devil’s advocate, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

He says, “I killed a man once with my spider’s bite,” He said “I watch his soul dance through the mute twilight,” but I think he confuses his Catholic excuses

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with the repentance that he’s overdue.

He says, “so lay your soul soft into my soul, dear.”

He says, “there’s more in a handful of dust than fear.” so I dim the lights slowly and I try to feel holy but instead I feel a pain in my chest.

His law is “think of our future”, and he tells me it’s bright; says we’ll hear echoes of raptures that will cut through the night.

I so want to believe him.

I just can’t shake the feeling that the evening won’t deliver much rest.

Sometimes I’m stirring from a nightmare and I’m greeted by my stranger but his oration sounds so uninspired.

Yes, he still whispers in tongues and the tongues sound pious but he speaks with such hatred

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and such unrestrained bias that, despite my affection the required compliance is more than I have the will to invest.

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Wovenfolk, Chapter 2

Imagine Linatous’ surprise and excitement when ze heard voices from the same direction as the light source. It must be a campfire! And the voices… they were not growls of a badger, nor the grunts of a deer, nor the squeaks of a vole. They were quite unlike anything Linatous had ever heard. If not for the rhythmic pattern of their speech and the occasional word that ze could make out, Linatous might not have recognised them as voices at all, instead thinking them sounds of nature. Ze inched closer.

As ze approached a turn in the cave, the voices became clear enough to understand. The first voice came through as a silky hiss; ‘I’ll sssee ya in the morning.’

‘Stay safe,’ said a second voice, which sounded like the gentle crash of a rippling wave against the shore.

Ze considered its position for a moment and knew ze should be afraid. These creatures could be the foulest predators ze had ever laid eyes on, or they could scream in terror as soon as they saw zir face and scatter

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or attack. But ze pushed through zir fear. Ze had so little to lose and so much to gain. Full of hope, ze peered around the corner.

The creatures who turned to greet zir were three of the most unusual beings ze had ever seen. Not one of them looked like zir, but they didn’t resemble one another either. Nor did they exactly resemble any species ze had come across before, come to think of it.

The first creature seemed to have a body fashioned from black velvet. Her delicate features resembled those of a small feline, but she had the forked tongue of a snake and leather wings like those of a bat.

Instead of eyes or buttons she stared at Linatous through two minerals; the left was made of cuprite and the right of moonstone. She didn’t start when she spotted Linatous, but flew forwards very slightly and looked zir over with a suspicious frown.

On the other side of the tent there was a second creature - some sort of bird or insect, at first glance flitting about the corner. His body could easily have belonged to a human were he not so impossibly tiny.

Even if he had stood more than a few inches tall, he 62

could not have lived amongst humans lest they notice the top pair of pink, feathered wings or lower pair of translucent, blue, insectoid wings that beat in synchronicity to keep him airborne. As soon as this odd fae saw Linatous his lips formed a huge, adoring grin.

The third and final creature, sitting between the two and wearing a curious and somewhat anxious expression, Linatous saw a creature whom ze initially thought might be some sort of mouse which had covered himself in leaves, bark and moss from the forest below.

The longer ze looked the clearer it became that the creature had not ​covered himself​ in the wonders of the

forest floor, but was entirely ​composed of them​. His eyes were berries and he stood upright on two legs which were wound with lichen. Atop his head a beautiful flower with electric blue petals bloomed. This odd boy let out a nervous laugh and Linatous recognised his voice as that of the crashing waves; to listen to it was like putting your ear to a conch shell.

‘H-hello!’ Linatous stammered to break the stunned silence. ‘Sorry to interrupt you all, I don’t mean to cause any trouble, I was just looking for somewhere to 63

rest. My name is Linatous… I come from a forest to the south-west of here.’

The trace of hostility faded from the expression of the bat-feline instantly. ‘Well,’ she said, turning to the others, ‘hi Linatous. I was just heading out for the night so I don’t mind either way for now, but if you’re still here in the morning I’ll come and hang out some more.’

‘Nysa is nocturnal!’ interjected the little fairy-bug, who seemed awfully excited. His words came in a high and squeaking chime. ‘But we stay up late to see her sometimes, or she stays up late to spend the morning with us! I’m Insect, by the way. I’d love to have your company for the evening if you do want to rest here! Oh, and this is Murdock,’ he said, gesturing theatrically to the shyest of the three. Murdock’s petals flushed purple at the tips and Linatous realised that this must be what happened when Murdock blushed.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. There it was again; the soft sound of the seaside.

Linatous was overwhelmed. There was an uncomfortable feeling bubbling in the pit of their stomach, one of… hesitation? Worry? Ze couldn’t quite 64

put zir paw on it, but ze knew that ze had never received such an open and friendly reception before. Ze was quite unsure how to handle it all. Ze reassured itself that surely ze should feel happy, but it was not so easy to quell the panic.

‘Are you… sure you don’t mind? I’m a stranger,’ ze said.

‘Then we hope you’re a pleasant one,’ said Insect. ‘We’re sure.’

Nysa said, ‘No pressure though. It’sss totally up to you. If you wanna ssstay, you can ssstay. If you wanna go then we underssstand that too.’

‘I’ll… I’ll think about it.’

‘Well, either way, hope you have a good night.

I’ve gotta fly. Bye guysss,’ hissed Nysa, and in one lithe movement she darted from the cave and her shape melted into the inky night as the others called their goodbyes after her.

Insect and Murdock settled down in a corner and each drew a duvet from a large hessian bag to spread over themselves. Linatous looked from zirself to the bag, then back again, and felt a little pang of embarrassment.

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Insect didn’t notice and went on smiling at zir. ‘There are leftovers from supper by the fire and there are a couple more blankets in that bag if you’re cold,’ Insect chirped. ‘If you decide to stay then help yourself! We usually talk a while before bed.’

The three of them chatted sleepily for a while until Insect and Murdock succumbed to their dreams.

Then Linatous came back to the front of the cave, where the freezing winds bit at the tip of zir nose. Zir legs twitched and urged zir to start running and make a fast escape whilst ze still could. Surely it was just a matter of time before the creatures realised, like all of the forest-dwellers, that Linatous was not like them. Surely it would be better to leave before ze had to face the judgement, the awkward questions… the rejection.

Although, ze thought, whilst it’s true that ze wasn’t like any of the trio, the trio weren’t anything alike amongst themselves either. They all had different dispositions, mannerisms and features but seemed to get on nicely enough with one another nonetheless. Ze did not feel any less unusual amongst these folk than ze had felt in the forest. Only here, being unusual or strange or 66

different didn’t seem to be taboo. Nysa, Insect and Murdock accepted each other regardless of their dissimilarities. Of course Linatous had not found zir family and ze still did not know where ze came from, but perhaps ze had found some people who might be able to help zir on zir journey. This thought emboldened zir.

When ze rejoined Insect and Murdock in the centre of the cave ze found them both still peacefully asleep. Linatous helped zirself to a warm tartan blanket from the hessian sack. Ze tried not to disturb the others as ze settled down into a comfortable position. Once ze was lying still, ze heard the drowsy mutters of a slow tide saying, ‘Linatous? Y-you decided to stay?’

‘I did.’ Ze could feel zir eyes growing heavier as ze embraced a happy and comfortable rest. ‘Is that alright?’

‘Of course it’s alright. Sweet dreams.’

Linatous did not depart the next morning. Instead Nysa rejoined the party of misfit friends and regaled them with the tales of her nocturnal antics; stories of mysterious, mischievous, moonlit fun with the rats, bats 67

and owls. They shared their breakfast between the four of them and through the hours that followed Linatous was invited to join in with every adventure or chore.

They embraced Linatous' company so warmly and included zir so readily in their lives that Linatous scarcely thought of zir quest for zir own kind that day.

Before ze knew it, night had fallen again. Oh dear… it would probably be best to stay one more night, Linatous thought, and leave again when it's light out.

The extra day turned into an extra week, then two weeks, before suddenly ze found some months had passed and ze had barely noticed the time go by. With each day zir desire to leave zir new friends had grown less urgent and the established trio had naturally evolved into a quartet. Not once did the others treat Linatous as an intruder or a burden. Ze loved their company and they loved zirs. With everything ze learned about the others ze felt closer and more comfortable.

Nysa had a sharp wit and seemed to be a fountain of knowledge on all of the mysteries of the woods and mountains. She made all sorts of fascinating devices for the group and could always explain why everything 68

around them worked the way it did. She spoke bitterly of her life before finding the others, but the things she had endured only made her protect herself and those around her with a loyal and more ferocious passion. Beneath a harsh guard she was as soft as the velvet she’d been fashioned from.

Insect saw everything through a rose-coloured lense. The lands around them and everyone in them were capable of endless beauty and love to him. He celebrated connections and relationships above all. A sensitive and very emotional, passionate being, he could sometimes also be terribly vain, but it was a mostly benign flaw and it made them all laugh to see him fuss over his reflection in a pond or collect pink flowers and gems to make himself yet another new diadem. When Nysa was too cynical Insect would try and cheer her and when Insect was blindly optimistic, Nysa was there to ground him.

Murdock came out of his shell. He was always friendly and gentle but he was also very wise. His calming presence and hypnotising laugh charmed everyone around him and he seemed to naturally create an atmosphere of balance. He kept the others tethered to 69

their truths and whenever he looked at Linatous it seemed that his eyes would glitter with a deep, transcendent understanding. Murdock was often anxious and full of self-doubt but it was clear how much the others admired his natural strength and wisdom. One word from him could fill Linatous with encouragement.

By the time half a year had passed, Linatous had quite abandoned the idea of finding zir 'own kind'. Ze felt ze didn't need to find anyone who looked like him to feel like ze belonged; ze had found people who treated zir like family and they had never required the condition of common ancestry.

At supper one evening Linatous casually mentioned how much time had passed. Ze said ze wanted the other three to know how grateful ze was for their hospitality and acceptance. The past six months, ze explained, had been the happiest of zir life.

Murdock nodded heartily. ‘It's just been wonderful. I do wonder though - and I h-hope you don't mind me asking - do you miss the forest you came from much?’

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Linatous had told them about the foxes ze’d lived amongst but ze had never gone into much detail about zir origins. Ze didn’t like to think of it when ze had been having such fun. Still, occasions had come where ze couldn’t help but think of Dahlia and her young, of the few rabbits who hadn’t run away at the sight of zir, or of the kindly hedgehog with a limp whom ze occasionally passed and exchanged a smile with on zir midnight rambles.

‘I do sometimes, I suppose. I can’t go back though.’

‘Why not?’

‘One of the foxes - Folio, I think I’ve mentioned him - ’ As soon as Linatous mentioned his name, Nysa grimaced. Linatous had told her all about Folio’s threat and the unkindness of several of the foxes which Linatous had unquestioningly accepted.

‘I could alwaysss have a talk with him,’ said Nysa.

‘You’d come with me?’

‘Of courssse. If you wanted me to’ 71

‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt and I don’t want to cause any more trouble in the forest.’

‘I wouldn’t hurt him,’ she said, ‘I’d jussst talk to the guy.’

‘Maybe if he sees the rest of us he’ll realise that there are plenty of creatures who are a bit different,’ Insect offered, ‘and he’ll know you’re not dangerous. I came from a place with lots of other fae but none of them looked anything like me. I’m sure I could get him to come around! Even if he doesn’t, you’ve not done anything wrong… he shouldn’t stop you from seeing your friends!’

‘I… I don’t know.’ It was risky, but there were people who Linatous loved and missed back to the south and if ze wanted Nysa, Insect and Murdock to be part of zir life too then maybe it would be possible to unite them all? Maybe they could share the forest and the mountains? The edges of leaves tickled zir back as Murdock patted zir. Linatous had told him before that ze found this calming and ze always welcomed the gesture.

How could the forest creatures not love zir friends as much as ze had come to love them? When Linatous 72

returned to contemplating the idea the next day, the thought of that love spirited him. Ze had set off to live amongst his species of woven fox-creatures with buttons for eyes, but the idea of living amongst all of his favourite people in harmony with one another was a dream that bought zir joy above any that had come before it. So, ze consented. The others smiled and Insect practically buzzed with enthusiasm, fluttering and zipping around the group in little kinetic bursts.

‘Group trip! Group trip! Oh, I can’t wait to meet them, I’ll have to make myself something new to wear!’

‘It’s decided then,’ said Nysa, ‘we can ssset off early in the morning ssso we can be there before it getsss dark. Maybe keeping my wings ssstretched will help me ssstay awake longer.’

Linatous thanked zir friends and though ze still felt bothered by a little twinge of apprehension in zir chest, the twinge was quickly overwhelmed by a glow of pride and excitement as the others packed their possessions and lunches ready for the trip down the mountain.

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At the crack of dawn, as soon as they’d all had time for some brief sleep and Linatous had explained the directions, the four of them set off. Nysa and Insect tended to travel by wing rather than foot and were the faster pair, so they flew ahead of Murdock and Linatous.

The plan was to meet at a crossroads centred around a large oak tree, which marked the beginning of what had been Linatous’ entire known world until ze had dared to venture out alone. From there Linatous would lead the party past the brook to a field where the foxes would sometimes take their cubs to play. It would be late by then and they could stay the night in the field beneath the stars (since the temperature of the forestland was much more forgiving than that of their mountainside home) or, if things went very well, they might be invited to share one of the fox dens hidden amongst the gorse.

Every few miles Murdock would stop to muse at a bee or a ladybird. Around midday the two of them stopped to take their lunch in a clearing. Dappled with the sun’s forgiving rays, the two of them played word games and shared folk tales as they ate. ‘I hope the others are alright,’ said Murdock, finishing off the 74

mushroom he’d stuffed and roasted over a makeshift fire.

‘I’m sure they are,’ said Linatous, ‘but I’ve an idea of how we might check.’ Ze trotted to the edge of the clearing and scrambled at the side of the rock. ‘Could you help me up?’ Murdock ran over and lifted Linatous who hauled zirself onto the rock. From there ze could see much further down past the clearing and towards their destination. Ze spotted flocks of birds diving below and above trees and dragonflies skimming along the waters, then ze made out the distant and distinct shape of a pair of huge leathery bat-wings in the distance. Insect would have been too small to spot but ze recognised Nysa’s form instantly. ‘Look at her go! We should get a move on,’ Linatous cried, ‘they’ll be waiting hours for us at this rate!’

‘I’ll speed up a little,’ laughed Murdock, ‘there’s just so much to see!’ He helped Linatous down and the two of them set off on Nysa and Insect’s trail.

As the day went on and they grew closer to their destination, the nervous feeling started to creep up on Linatous once again. Even with Murdock’s soothing aura 75

to conciliate zir, ze couldn’t help but notice that by now they should have chanced upon conversation with at least a few of the woodland creatures. A toad had croaked a brief greeting as they passed and a bird or two had nodded to them, but no one had looked at either of them for long or spoken more than a word. The unusual lack of activity in the woods gave Linatous the familiar feeling that ze was being deliberately avoided. Creatures would see them from far off and choose to take a different path, just like before. It had been a long time since ze felt this way. There had been many other creatures up in the mountains who were all used to one another and were always friendly; being received with caution again reminded ze that it was quite possible that even the friendliest of the forest folk might not accept zir new company after all. Ze couldn’t help but feel that if the others were exposed to the same contempt that ze had suffered, it would be zir fault for leading them here.

Worries chewed away at Linatous until they were only a few minutes from the crossroads. The sun had set and the time was upon them. Ze noticed a hedgehog staring at them and tiptoeing backwards into a thicket of 76

bracken. When ze turned to match the hedgehog’s gaze the frightened thing turned and scampered away into the foliage. Zir heart had already been pounding with anxiety but seeing the fear in the hedgehog’s eyes made zir chest feel ready to burst.

‘We shouldn’t go,’ ze decided, stopping in zir tracks.

Murdock stopped too, straight away. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Yes. I mean, no. It’s just that…’

‘It’s okay,’ whispered Murdock, ‘go on. I’m here. I’m listening.’ It was a ripple in a calm summer sea, barely audible but still resplendent in its simple beauty.

‘What if they want us gone?’

‘Then we will go.’

‘Won’t any of you be upset?’

‘Perhaps. Meeting new people can be scary.

You’re being asked to put your trust in someone and it doesn’t always have a happy ending. But if they’re not able to return that trust it isn’t your fault.’

‘Would you be upset with me?’

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Murdock looked taken aback. ‘Of course not! We all came here because we ​wanted t​ o.’ He kneeled and settled one of his leaves gently on Linatous’ shoulder. ‘A lot of people have hurt Nysa in the past but she still keeps her heart open to new friends. Insect seems to want to just carry on loving everyone no matter what… and I’m always scared of opening up to people. No one wants to be rejected. It’s just… look what happens when two people are brave enough to risk it together. If we hadn’t both been brave then I would never have gotten to know you. Isn’t that why you left home in the first place? You wanted to connect with people?’

‘I suppose,’ Linatous said. Ze still felt unsteady but ze managed a weak smile. ‘I ​am​ very glad I met you all.’

At that moment they were interrupted by a noise from the bushes. Insect, accompanied by two mistle thrushes, burst forth with a cacophony of frenzied chirps and tweets. ‘There you are!’ he called.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ started Linatous, but Insect gave zir no time to finish.

‘Never mind that, something’s happened!’

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‘What?’ Linatous saw zir own shock mirrored in Murdock’s expression. Then Linatous realised something. ‘Where’s Nysa?’

‘She’s hurt,’ cried one of the little birds. ‘Come quick! Come quick!’

Following Insect and the pair of thrushes through the trees, everything was a blur. Linatous ran as fast as ze could, faster than ze had ever run before, and still it seemed like it had never taken longer to cover the distance to the crossroads. Insect beat his two pairs of delicate wings as hard as he could manage whilst panting and shouting explanations that made no sense to Linatous; ‘They came out of nowhere - we didn’t do anything wrong - she was telling them to leave us alone -’ ‘What do you mean? What happened?!’

When they arrived, Nysa was lying on the floor of the clearing with a great tear down her left wing. Her breath was heavy and standing at her side fussing over her was a third thrush, far more elderly than the other 79

two, as well as two fawns… and Dahlia. The group ran over. Linatous had so many questions but Murdock beat zir to asking the most important of all; ‘How is she?’

‘She’s a little better than she was when your friends left to find you,’ said the grandmother bird, ‘but she’s not looking good.’

‘What happened to her wing?’

‘We were attacked.’ Insect pouted as he spoke and his eyes brimmed with tears. ‘We were settling down to rest on a log and wait for you all and all of a sudden there was practically an army on us! Squirrels, mice, all sorts of creatures were running at us. We tried to fly away and some birds came down from the treetops and started pecking us to drive us back down to the forest floor. I thought I was going to be eaten but Nysa fought back! She protected me! Then… then all of them came,’ he said, gesturing to the other animals surrounding Nysa, ‘and they scared the attackers into running away. I don’t know what we would have done if it wasn’t for them…’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Linatous.

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‘It’s the least we could do,’ grunted one of the fawns. Her head was bowed in solemnity. ‘I’m just sorry your friend was hurt.’

‘One of the squirrels got hold of her wing,’ said Insect. ‘The squirrel kept biting and scratching and she was too hurt to fly away… I thought she was a goner until Dahlia threw the squirrel off her.’ Murdock embraced his friend, who had started to cry.

In all the commotion Linatous had barely registered Dahlia’s presence. Confronted by zir old friend after so long and in such dire circumstances, ze couldn’t think what to say to her. She spoke first instead, her voice low and grave.

‘It was Folio and the others. One of the birds saw you all coming down from the mountain a while ago and started to spread rumours around the forest about some strange-looking creatures who he said must be coming to pray on us, since food was scarce in the north. Some of the forest folk were angry, some were just afraid, but Folio took advantage of it and convinced too many of them that you were dangerous. He said you needed to be stopped. I heard them planning... I knew I had to come 81

and warn you, but I was too late. The others here just noticed the commotion and came to help.’

Linatous was heartbroken. Ze felt ze had put zir new friends in harm’s way. Ze had been worried about a poor reception from the fellow denizens of zir old habitat, but even in zir worst fears ze hadn’t imagined they would harm zir friends for no reason. Ze could not believe Folio’s malice. But Folio had warned zir… how could ze not have predicted this? Why had ze been so thoughtless?

‘Oh Nysa, I’m so sorry,’ ze said as a tear fell.

‘Don’t be. It’sss not your fault.’ Nysa forced a weary smile but Linatous could tell she was badly hurt.

She was just trying to protect zir from feeling guilty.

‘She’s right,’ said Murdock. ‘You didn’t know this was going to happen. You didn’t tell them to come and attack us.’

‘It’s so horrible,’ Dahlia added, ‘I never want to see Folio again!’

‘But what are we going to do?’ asked Linatous.

The old thrush piped up. ‘I can try and patch up her wing. It’ll heal alright but she won’t be able to fly 82

again. She’ll need a good few day’s rest before you even think about travelling.’

‘You can come and stay at my den,’ said Dahlia, ‘all of you. At least until she’s better.’

‘But Folio-’ ‘Folio and I fell out after you left. I didn’t like the way he and the others treated you. I have two of my cubs living with me but they won’t mind at all. Now come on… let’s get your friend’s wing mended.’ As the others helped Nysa to stand, Dahlia came to walk by Linatous’ side and say a private word to zir. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t stand up for you before. I promise,’ she said, ‘I will help you and your friends.’ Her ears were downturned and her voice sad, but there was determination in her eyes. ‘You deserve better.’

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Insects and Angels

Looking at myself in the mirror years later, post-transition, I don’t see a different person.

There’s a common misconception that the goal of every trans person in their physical transition is to pass as cis; to be undetectable. I certainly thought that was 84

my goal when I was younger and first set off on my journey. But now, when I’m shirtless on the beach, I know that everyone can see I have no nipples and two faint but thick scars running horizontally across my chest and neither of those things bother me. In fact, I love my smooth chest. I love that I am visibly trans. I thought the only way I’d be happy is through living in stealth, but ultimately my transition brought me happiness in a different way; I became a more authentic version of myself. It wasn’t about how other people perceived me, but how I perceived and felt in myself, how comfortable I felt in my own skin. I can wear lipstick and baby pink clothes with frills if I want, things that would have horrified me when I was younger, because I think those things are pretty and now it doesn’t feel like I’m using them as part of a disguise; the body I’m decorating is my own and I can introduce myself as Eric. I can explain that I may be feminine, but I am a man. I was always a man regardless of my looks, my sex characteristics, my expression… but now I can say it without shame and self-doubt because this body really does feel like ​mine.

Everyone’s journey takes a different shape and medical 85

input is not necessary or desirable for all trans people.

The trials and affirmations of medical transition were an integral part of my personal journey. Those who take alternative paths are no less valid; there can be no single goalpost when the journey is a form of authentic self-expression that each individual will discover for themself.

I am proud of who I am, where I’ve been and how I got here. I am ​so p​ roud of this body I have built and this person I have become. I’m excited to keep growing.

I’m excited to see the world keep growing, too, and to share in other transgender people’s journeys. This morning I was listening to BBC Radio 1 in the car with my mum. Clara Afmo was on air doing a short segment where she’d read out texts from listeners who had been asked to send in things they were ‘smug about’. Quoting a viewer named Elliot, Clara read, ‘I’m trans AFAB and I’ve just had my first bit of facial hair come through… beard wins!’ My eyebrows shot up and my mother and I smiled at each other. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been writing this collection that I’m especially sensitive to 86

trans content at the moment, or maybe it was because I’d forgotten to order my hazelnut almond latté+ as a decaf at the Costra drive-through and the alien caffeine levels were making me feel a ​tiny​ bit over-excitable, but regardless of the reason, hearing that really touched me.

I felt so much pride, sympathy and solidarity with this stranger I’d likely never meet or see. It was more than that, though. As an ashamed transgender thirteen-year-old, the concept of hearing that text in a casual and positive context on the radio with no long explanation for the viewers would have been both thrilling and incomprehensible; if you’d told me I’d hear it broadcast in my lifetime, let alone in just 9 years, I wouldn’t have believed you. It reminded me how far the entire trans community has come in terms of our worldwide visibility and rights; how many more young people gained access to information and healthcare that was in such limited supply just a decade ago. The pride extended past Elliot and reached out to the entire trans population. It might not seem like much but its a step towards normalisation and acceptance; some may argue that I sound pro-assimilation with cisgender standards 87

here, but what I’m happy about wasn’t necessarily a signal of increasing assimilation, it was a signal of increase volume. An authentic trans voice being acknowledged and allowed to speak out. Besides, it’s hard to ignore the tangible and immediate repercussions hearing that tiny radio tidbit could have for a little trans boy sitting in the back of his parents’ car, or an elderly trans man who is deciding whether to finally transition after a lifetime of silence due to fear and ostracisation.

I don’t believe that during my own lifetime I will see that ostracisation come to an end. I live in a country lagging pitifully far behind others when it comes to the legal rights of transgender people. With the recent ruling in the Bell v Tavistock case catalysing even further barriers to an already inaccessible form of support and headlines in right-wing newspapers increasingly targeting trans rights activists as victims of their unsubtle hate campaigns, the scales actually seem to be tipping heavily in the opposite direction. What I do believe, though, is that trans people will continue to support one another.

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Support and community are the most valuable assets I have. I thought self-actualisation would be about discovering my true individual identity and to an extent it was, but it seems also to have been about finding a sense of belonging. I am a part of the universe and I deserve to take up space, as do all of us. We lend each other our strength and our happiness, we share in our mourning and our failures; my friends and family are as much a part of me as my hand, my legs, my chest.

This does not mean assimilation, only self-acceptance and mutual aid. The trans community in Plymouth are an amazing group of people who work tirelessly to improve the conditions of everyone around them. I’ve seen my friends start food drive initiatives, community wardrobes, I’ve seem them taking in the homeless, supporting one another financially, nursing each other back to health when they are sick and essentially creating a small-scale queer commune that thrives on empathy.

I’ve seen my cis friends do equally incredible things with the same amount of compassion and drive, but I often wonder how much our experiences of gender 89

and queerness have helped my trans friends and I become the people we are today. Each of us seem to have responded to a lack of compassion and understanding by increasing our efforts to develop our own.

When I think about my transgender friends, it becomes so obvious to me that being trans is beautiful.

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Abdication

If somewhere on the cusp of need is you then take me by the cotton of my sleeve and pull whatever’s left of courage through to hide in shallow ponds before you leave.

Ten minnows follow kicking feet upstream to wait on guard aside, as all our clothes unravel by stray threads along the seams and fall to form loose lines of foreign prose.

I’m scholarly, but you are something more -I see when lips press quick and soft, the course bathes features I both envy and adore -arms washed in salt, re-baptised, re-endorsed.

Emperor of the water, stay and rule.

Command the tidal waxing from below the surface of an incandescent pool where we and seven oceans interflow.

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Wovenfolk, Chapter 3

The grandmother thrush, whose name was Beatrice, built a splint for Nysa’s wing from twigs. She stayed with Dahlia, Murdock, Insect and the cubs until she was sure that the wing mending nicely. After the attack at the crossroads the two fawns had told their father, a great stag, what had happened and the stag had promised to protect the party from any further harm until they were well enough to go home. Few of their attackers complained at the outcome; most were fine with simply keeping their distance on the condition that none of their young were eaten by Linatous or the trio of foreign monsters before they left. The stag and fauns would come and visit regularly to check on Nysa’s progress and catch up with the others, as would the two younger mistle thrushes.

A month of recovery passed. The cubs loved their company; they remembered Linatous from before ze left the first time and they warmed to the others straight away. Murdock would tell them bedtime stories,

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Insect would play games with them and when Nysa was well enough to help out she would make them delicious meals in the evening to give Dahlia a break. It wasn’t just Nysa who needed to mend, of course; all of them had been through quite an ordeal and though Nysa’s wing was the only physical injury, the emotional and mental healing of all of them was just as important.

Since Linatous had first met Murdock, Insect and Nysa, ze had slowly grown in confidence. Ze had started to unlearn some of the cruelty ze’d internalised and accept that ze was not aberrant, or wrong, for being zirself. But the attack of Folio’s gang had all been another huge knock to that confidence. The others would all be dealing with the trauma of the incident in their own ways too, and undoubtedly it could bring up the hard feelings that still remained from similar experiences in their past. Luckily, they had each other. Each of them had to make their own effort but the road to wellness was a far easier one to traverse with the support of loving friends. Even if Linatous could never truly wipe zir self-doubt from zir mind, ze knew it could at least improve; ze had done it before and ze could do it again.

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Zir friends believed in zir and even when ze was unsure of zirself, ze trusted zir friends to pick zir up.

When Nysa’s splint came off she thanked Beatrice and Dahlia in turn for their help and hospitality.

The trio decided it was time to get going. When they announced their intent to depart Dahlia’s cubs all whined.

‘We’ll miss you all so much,’ said the youngest cub. ‘Will we ever get to see you again?’

‘I - I don’t think we should come back for a while,’ said Linatous.

Insect beamed. ‘Why don’t you all come with us?’

‘Oh, we couldn’t,’ Dahlia sighed. ‘Our life is here.’

‘Well you can visit our cave whenever you like!

And you can bring the others who’ve helped us too, you’ll all be welcome whenever you like!’ The other three cave-dwellers nodded their eager agreement and the cubs perked right up.

‘Oh, can we, can we?’ they cooed.

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‘Only if you’re sure,’ said Dahlia. She wasn’t quite as bouncy as her offspring but her smile showed that she was just as pleased as they were about the offer.

‘I’ll sssketch you out a map,’ said Nysa. The map she produced mere hours later was excellent; it even pointed out all the best spots for resting on the way up.

As Linatous left the forest again for a second time, ze thought of how much zir life had changed since the first. All that time ago ze had left a lonely soul in search of a group of beings like zir, who could finally accept zir as one of their own. Ze had not found exactly what ze had been looking for. But now, as ze travelled out of the woods, ze travelled with the feeling that ze was part of a much greater family. None of them were anything alike. Some of them would live in the hills and others in the forest. Some were fawns, some were birds, some foxes, others were a completely unknown type of being. All were unique. They would visit one another, they’d introduce new friends into the mix and they would thrive.

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Nysa wound never fly again, yet she still often told the others how glad she was that they’d journeyed down to the forest with Linatous. Linatous had been able to see that even back when ze had been convinced ze was unloved and unloveable, there was someone who had cared about zir. Also all of them had been given the opportunity to meet Dahlia and the entourage of friendly forest creatures who accompanied her on her visits; ‘I’d let that sssquirrel chomp my other wing off,’ she joked, ‘if it meant ssspending more time with all of you.’ (Most of them laughed... Insect managed to change the topic for those without the same penchant for dark humour).

Besides, Nysa found that once she pounced about on all fours more often, she wondered why she’d relied on her wings so much in the first place.

Linatous hoped the others knew how grateful ze was for being in zir life. They had helped zir create an existence that was happier than ze ever thought possible growing up. But as zir friends would often remind zir, ze had zirself to thank, too; none of this would have happened if ze had not been brave enough to take that first step. Dahlia might still have Folio for her mate, the 96

creatures from the forest and mountains would never have mixed, and Linatous would have lived with that deep lonely and empty feeling for far longer. But ze had been brave enough. Everything had changed because ze had dared to hope for brighter things.

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Credits Written by Eric James Rickard.

Website: ​insectsys.carrd.co Cover illustration by Elle Romaine.

Instagram: ​@umbrelle Illustrations included in the sections ‘Creation’ and ‘Insects and Angels’ by Beckett Thornber.

Website: ​www.beckettthornber.com Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr: ​@eelfleece Illustrations included in the section ‘Destruction’ by Padraig Campbell.

Website: ​www.padraigcampbell.com Instagram: ​@upwards.incursion ‘Mountaineering (PT I)’ written by Maxwell Jarvis Jewell.

Website: ​www.maxwelljarvis.wordpress.com Instagram: ​@leafyjarv 98

All of the artists involved are great friends of mine and have been an absolute pleasure to collaborate with. I would like to thank all of them for their hard work and highly encourage anyone reading this to follow the links mentioned to keep an eye on them all!

Thank you to The Box for their micro-commission of Exoskeletal, which I’m so pleased to have been able to produce for them.

I also want to give out special thanks to Dr Alan Butler of Pride in Plymouth (CIC) for the difference he has made in the lives of myself and so many other queer people locally. Without him this project would not exist.

May the Plymouth LGBTQ+ community continue to thrive through each of its wonderful members.

All my love, Eric

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“An ode to being trans, to rebellion, to everyone who has ever learned to love the parts of themself that society told them to hate.”

The first published short novella of Eric Rickard, a transgender man, reflecting on his story through poetry, memories and a fairytale. Part of the Box's LGBT+ micro-commissions exhibition launched for LGBT+ History Month 2021 in collaboration with Pride in Plymouth (CIC). Contains the short story 'Wovenfolk' in three parts. Illustrated by Beckett Thornber, Elle Romaine and Padraig Campbell.

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