The two friends sat in the diner. They were catching up over lunch, which for them meant being glued to their phones and occasionally sharing a word or two. They were Sam and Sam. They had been friends since childhood. They’d had joint birthday parties since they were eight.
The lights in the conference room blinked into life. The horrible and ancient fluorescent lights lit up an aging table surrounded by office chairs, half of which were working. The wall was adorned with posters professing the department's values. Other posters advertised the utility of teamwork with photos
Max sipped their glass of wine. Urgh, couldn’t these people have shilled out for something a little better? They had corporate sponsors desperately attempting their best pink wash through this event. They should have a lot more cash and much better wine. Max eyed some hors d'oeuvres
Knobson walked up to the front of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters in London. He checked his newly issued badge; it was shined to perfection, along with his shoes. His shirt had been painstakingly ironed. It was the 15th of November 1870, but more importantly, his first day on the force.
Many dozens of light years away from Earth lies the planet Dun, home to the Dunsites. The Dunsites are a lifeform remarkably similar to Earth’s Humans. In a remarkable case of parallel evolution, they have very similar anatomies. The main differences are that humans have a useless appendix and
Helen sat at her desk. She had made it all the way to three in the afternoon without issue, but that glass of water she had with lunch was now betraying her. She was out of options. She had to pee. She would have just left work and gone home,
“God damn mother fucking femmes,” George said as he read the article on his phone, “Why do they always get all the goddamn attention.” The article was about Lia Thomas, the American swimmer who had set off a storm of controversy by winning a race once and having a fairly
I sit in the waiting room, calm, relaxing music playing over the speakers. Next to me are racks of various creams that promise to do all sorts of things to my skin. “Helen won’t be long,” a passing beautician tells me, “She’s just finishing up with another client.
Gio sat and stared at the form. The word Gender stared back. Gio hated that word. It had stalked them their whole lives. Firstly, in the shadows. That off feeling they would get when someone would say “she” or “her” or “that woman over there looking awkward as fuck”. The
The fire cracks as I lie in the grass and watch the stars. It’s quiet except for the crickets and the occasional birdcall. No lights as far as the eye can see. I hold my hands up in the light of the fire to examine the shine of the
After years of slowly destroying them with estrogen and testosterone blockers, I have finally made the decision: my testicles have to go. It’s nothing personal; just they continue in their persistent attempts to try and flood my bloodstream with horrible, horrible androgens. The surgery is booked in, and in
“I’m just not at that point in my life, you know?” says the person who I think might be a friend of a friend of a friend once removed. It was at this moment that I decide I am done. I hate this wedding and everyone at it. I