CW: child abuse, self-harm

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Hi personal log. Walking home. Guess I feel like having this turned on--makes me feel like I’m not going in alone, like someone at least will be witness to what happens. Even though I’m the only one who can ever read this log and I am, by any definition, talking to myself. Okay.

I hate this corridor. We live at the end of the street so it’s always a long walk of anxiety for what awaits, plus there’s absolutely no way she can’t see me coming walking down this tube for a hundred meters. Who knows what the neighbors think when they see me I know she talks to them about me too.

And it’s so hot in here, I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to put convex glass ceilings over streets people would be walking down constantly on the fucking Moon where the sun is extremely hot for two weeks a day. Why, it looked nice? I’m sure it made a great photo op looking down on the fresh new city from the Riphæan mountains a hundred years ago but I want to punch the engineer that thought this was a good idea, really hard.

Even this the solar system’s greatest liquid cooling system around me can’t keep these streets cool. I’d be melting alive in any heavier clothes. Yet two weeks ago I was freezing wrapped up in all my layers. All that heat they save up can only barely keep a girl from freezing to death outside for long at night. At least living here in this aquarium the thin layer of water blocks what radiation gets through the active shield--gotta do at least one thing right or someone would’ve smashed it by now.

If the sun wasn’t bearing down on us for 336 hours I could at least look up and see the stars and the Earth, through water distortion. It’s crescent Earth today, not much to see but I still think it’s pretty. Better than the endless depressing expanse of grey I can look out on in between all the houses. Who wanted to build a city here? The people who discovered this place knew it didn’t even deserve a name. “The sea that has become known,” yeah it sure has, and that really is all there is to say about it. Not even a sea, just a barren desert of spiky dust that shreds your lungs if you inhale it. Fuck, I hate the Moon.

Here’s the house. “Home,” if I want to call it that. Just this aluminum door between me and her. It’s not going to be fun, considering I’ve just dropped her worst nightmare on her. Had to be done, though, and I just didn’t feel like waiting one more night. No, part of me wants to see her react to this. Will she act all sad and pitiful and play the victim? No, she’ll probably just be really mad. But maybe this will finally break her, that’s what I hope, I hope she just breaks down and cries, nothing could please me more.

Enough procrastinating, getting back in the cool house will almost be worth facing her. Hold my hand up to the door.

Unrecognized Key: Access Denied

Oops. Terminal, terminal... Temporarily switch the key chip in my hand back to my old key--that one it recognizes. Brace myself as it slides open. Here I go.

She’s standing there waiting for me as usual--staring silently, arms crossed trying to be intimidating. She may be small but younger Saffron was still extremely intimidated. Now I’m just tired of it all. Try to walk by if she’s just gonna stand there, and then she’ll say--

“And where are you going, young man?”

Should have expected--she’d rather ignore reality.

Look away from her gaze. “To get my dinner. And don’t call me that.” Walk around her, across the living room toward the kitchen. Don’t let her intimidate me, not anymore.

“And why are you dressed like that, young man?” She follows after me. What a tired routine, why doesn’t she just come out and yell at me from the start? ‘Typicals.

“It’s noon today, what do you expect me to wear?”

“People are gonna get ideas about you. Tomorrow we are getting up early and getting that hair cut!” Yeah right we’ll see about that.

Turn around and face her. She catches up to me in the hallway--stops less than a meter away--looks down on me, her face flushed red. I can smell the huangjiu on her breath. That’s pretty expected.

“I got your read receipt. So I know you read my message. Denying it won’t change anything!”

“This is a sick joke! Who taught you to lie to your mother like this!”

“You know I’m serious! Every time I’ve tried to tell you you shut me down but not this time! I’m your daughter! Deal with it!”

“Young man, look at me. Look me in the eyes. I know you’re lying when you can’t look me in the eyes!”

I never do, though, so of course I’m always lying.

I pull up the bottom of my shirt over the scars of my incisions, with the LEDs of my implants blinking red from inside. “There’s estrogen flowing through my veins! It’s done. This isn’t a discussion.”

Now the tears in her eyes. “What have you done to yourself?!”

“What I’ve always wanted more than anything!”

“You think I’m gonna let you go to that cyborg freak school in space?! Let them put wires in your skin and chips in your brain?!” She clutches at her necklace, a little piece of natural quartz, worn by members of the Traditionalist movement.

“It’s not your decision!” Pull up my student ID card on my terminal screen and turn it to face her.

Liáo Saffron   she/her
a 174   h 148   m 39
Qianshi, Earthside, Moon

Technopath Candidate 1st Year
Cybernautics Corp. Translunar Academy
sponsor: Blackstar Security

I see her reaching for my terminal and pull it back. Its screen flashes a message as her hand grazes it:

WARNING: damage to this Terminal or its registered user carries full liability to Blackstar Security Inc. enforceable by the Earthside Chamber of Commerce

“I’m not your property anymore!” I say. “Lay a hand on me and you’re in big trouble!”

This stuns her long enough for me to get into the kitchen and make for the rice bowl.

Sound--loud. She’s turned on the monitor in the living room. “History. Prosperity. Tradition.” Her favorite, some Traditionalist sermon. Maybe if she just turns it up loud enough I’ll come to my senses, she must think. Too loud.

Fill up my bowl. Rice. Soy sauce. She slaps my hand away from behind. Didn’t even hear her come up over the blaring video.

“It’s rude to insult someone’s cooking!” As if she was the one to cook it. If it weren’t for the autokitchen I don’t know what we’d eat--she can’t cook anything that’s for sure, and never taught me as it’s not a “man’s job.” Turn back to the counter to get a bowl of soup. Intercepted...

The video blares on from the other room, ”Man and Woman, the perfect family model, nature made no mistakes. This principle built all of human civilization. From stone tools to space colonies, all built by the strong hand of a man, fed and supported by a loving wife.”

“Do you think this is a charity? You tell me you’ve sold yourself to the military and then you expect me to give you free food?” She slaps the bowl out of my hand--rice all over the floor. “Clean up that mess you made!”

I stand here, finding anywhere to look but at her. “But you--”

“Clean it up!” Her fists are balled up and her face is redder than ever. Kneel down to do what she says--it’ll be a lot easier than keeping this fight up... “Pick up every grain!”

”A man built a house, and a woman made it a home. Thousands and thousands of years it worked just fine. A man built a spacecraft and a woman ran the calculations. Just like that, we orbited the Earth, no computer necessary, no hormones or implants or pronouns involved.” Sounds even louder now.

Pick up the plastic bowl--hands shaking as I try to pick up some of the rice she scattered. Haven’t eaten since last night, surgery upcoming and everything...

“You had all the luck in the world! Four in five Lunatics in your generation born female. Nature blesses you with manhood and you want to throw it away! Mutilate and mutate yourself! Did you even think about your family? Your home? The population decline?! The economy?!” Slamming her fist against the counter to punctuate each point.

Any answer will only make her angry--easier just to shut down.

”And our critics, those so-called Lunar Nationalists, call us a ‘political movement.’ No, there’s nothing political about science, about basic biology, an objective view of history.”

Got most of it back in the bowl. Look up at her--she pierces me with those hateful eyes--dumps her own bowl of rice right in front of me. “Missed a spot.” Paralyzed.

She fills herself another bowl--and a bowl of soup--takes it to the kitchen table. “If only you’d eat more, you might have some meat on your bones, son,” she says. “Yet you’d rather tell lies than eat.”

”A return to traditional Earth values, what could be better? The way of life that took man to the stars. It’s up to us to remember what it means to be human, so that wherever we go, we bring Earth with us. And one day, when She has healed from the mistakes of past degenerates, we can return to Mother Earth’s loving embrace.”

She sits down to stare at me while she eats--motions like keep going--takes another drink from the bottle on the table. “Have you applied to any schools yet? No, all you do is stare at that terminal, when you’re not sneaking out to do who knows what. Don’t have interests let alone skills, don’t have friends. If you’re not going to school, you need to look for a job. I’m not supporting a freeloader forever.”

Has she already forgotten, or is she just this deep in denial? “If you’re lucky you can go on to be a pretty tranny maid in a real man’s house,” she says.

I mean if I get to be pretty I’d do anything. But couldn’t respond if I wanted to. No more words. Back to collecting grains of rice. If I act like she’s not even there maybe she’ll talk less.

”A loving mother and father bringing up their children with traditional Earth values, can you imagine anything better?”

Even this plain autocooker rice on the floor looks appetizing, I’m so hungry. Maybe she’s too far gone to notice... Face away from her and shove some rice from the bowl into my mouth--hurry. Food...

“Ow!” Didn’t hear her coming up behind me before feeling her palm hit the back of my head.

“Thief! Who paid for that rice?! My food is for good honest boys!” she says.

“Y-you can’t--”

“You’re on my property! I can do anything I want!”

So loud--each syllable a stab of pain in my ears. My hands are shaking. Can’t grip the bowl. Try to stand--legs are weak. I don’t know what’s happening. She’s yelling so loud. The video is so loud. The lights are so bright. Can’t understand anymore. Can’t think.

“There he goes again! Can’t man up and do his job, just lays there and cries! How pitiful for me, mother of such a worthless boy, good for nothing. Should have thrown you in the recycler soon as you came out looking all scrawny and weak. But I took you home anyway, what’s it been, 150 months of food and water and clothes and air? And what did I ask in return? Nothing, and you somehow can’t even live up to that!”

I’m leaving. Slipped by her and I’m out of the kitchen. Going to my room before she can lay another hand on me. Lock my door. Only my old key will open it. She doesn’t know I patched its software, she thinks it’s just broken. Not like she could ever fix it. Fall onto my bed. Breathe.

Normally I’d be so angry, I’d want to punch something--I’d want to open up the nearest device and shock myself--again and again until it hurts more than malnutrition--more than her hands on my body, then at least it hurts on my terms!

It’s a little different now. I’m angry, but it’s different--not an explosive rage--a seething rage, almost a calm rage. I have a kind of clarity of mind I haven’t felt since testosterone started poisoning my brain. It’s really over now. It won’t hurt me anymore. She won’t hurt me anymore. And I don’t have to hurt myself anymore. I’m free of it all. I’m free. In just a few hours.

Lie here a while until the house is finally quiet.

Time to get ready to go now. My flight isn’t for a few hours, but I’d rather wait around anywhere else but here. There isn’t much to pack. They’ll be giving me clothes at the academy. My terminal fits in my pocket, and my neural interface stays around my neck. I only really need what I need for the flight, and it’s not like I have much to take anyway. Nothing in this place matters to me, it’s all going to be a bad memory soon. I’ll just take a few clothes.

Most importantly, I have to get my best clothing item. Pull out the top drawer of the dresser and reach behind it to my hiding spot. The door may be openable only by me, but a technopath can never have too many security measures. Pull out my skirt--purple and black, soft and flowy, it’s absolutely perfect, my greatest possession.

Once I received my new terminal from the academy, I had no use for the old one, so I finally had some money of my own, and finally could buy something nice for myself. Switch out my shorts for my skirt--feel much better already. Such a liberating feeling, like nothing else. Tradgirls take this for granted.

Look myself over in my mirror--brush out my hair until it’s as tame as it gets. Missing something. Reach back into my hiding spot and take my hair clip--blue, the shape of a butterfly. That completes my hair--completes the whole outfit. I’m cute! Just like I’m supposed to be. And no one will ever stop me from being cute ever again. I’m Saffron, I’m a girl, I’m cute, and I’m free.

She’s gone to bed, and I can easily sneak past to the front door. Once it’s open, I don’t care if she heard or not. She can’t stop me anymore--I’m free. I’m on Chamber of Commerce property now, and she’d be in deep trouble if she came out here and hurt the property of their biggest military contractor.

I’m back out in the scorching sunlight and that place is behind me now. Soon this whole world will be a memory.