Trigger Warning for Hate Crimes, Shootings, and Death

The day I died will be considered a tragedy. But in reality, it was the day I escaped. The day I ran from a body I hate, a world that hates me. Dealing with panic attacks because I wore something too tight is normal. And maybe that’s why, when that man walked into the club, I didn’t run. My intuition about people has yet to be wrong. As soon as he stepped through the door, the mood changed. The energy shifted. Then, the gun came out. Time froze then someone screamed. Everyone ran but me. I stood there staring him in the eye. He shot off bullet after bullet. The sound rang through the club. Glasses shattered, feet thudded, and people cried out. My muscles jumped back into action. Not to save me, but to save others. A woman in the corner. Bullet to the leg. Another person, a few feet over, shot to the arm. Then they pointed the gun at my head—Bang, gone. So now I stand over my own body, reflecting on what happened and what is to come. No one will see a young enby looking for a way out, not wanting to die and yet not wanting to live. I’ll be called a hero, but for what? For hating the bullshit that is our society? Seeing a way out and taking it?

Now, I’ll be added to the list of people who died because someone hated who they were. Just another name, just another life. Jokes on them, I escaped. I escaped a world where I am solely defined by my differences from others. No one ever thought that I might be someone’s kid, sibling, or friend. And artist, a writer, someone with a future. Someone who is protective over what they love, compassionate, empathetic, and stubborn. No one dared to give a damn. Till I died. Then suddenly, I was a person again. Not just some abnormal creature people have to pick apart and figure out. Now I stand here, over my lifeless body, wondering what would have happened if I’d survived.