In a bustling city, an 18-year-old boy awoke in the small dormitory of the orphanage. The early sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow on the worn-out furniture and faded walls. This was his familiar space, though it rarely felt like home. Each morning, his routine unfolded the same way: a quick stretch, a brisk jog through the awakening streets, and a return to the orphanage where the simple smell of breakfast wafted through the communal dining area. But the other kids eyed him with something less than kindness. Their laughter, casual and echoing, held a hint of contempt that never went unnoticed. The caretakers’ indifferent gazes and the orphaned children’s quiet ridicule lingered behind him like shadows.
Once breakfast was over, he navigated the busy streets on his way to college, weaving between towering skyscrapers and the relentless pulse of the city’s traffic. Yet the judgment followed him there too. At college, where he thought he could escape the orphanage’s shadows, he found himself surrounded by students who looked at him with eyes that seemed to cut right through him. Some eyed him with open superiority, as if they saw him as an outsider in their world. Others shot him sidelong glances filled with contempt, muttering to each other as he passed. Even in laughter, their smiles were twisted with something unkind. And then, amid the sidelong glances and disapproving stares, there was one girl who looked at him with something different—guilt that flickered in her eyes.
Each day, after his college, before he returned to the orphanage, concealing the weariness that lay underneath with a small smile on his face, he makes his way to the serene monastery nestled atop a small hill.
The monastery, run by compassionate monks, offered a sanctuary of peace. Surrounded by lush greenery, the monastery stood as a haven from the chaotic city below. With a determined stride, he climbed the hill, leaving the noise of the city behind.
As he entered the monastery gates, a profound calm washed over him. The monastery courtyard, adorned with vibrant flowers and ancient stones, became his refuge. With a broom in hand, he undertook the daily ritual of cleaning the sacred grounds.
In the tranquil silence, he swept away the dust, symbolically cleansing his own spirit. The monks, recognizing his dedication, welcomed him with nods of gratitude.
After he finished cleaning the monastery, he walked to the edge of the hill. There, on a cozy bench, he had a perfect view of the sunset. The air was calm, and the city below started to slow down.
Sitting on the bench, he felt a gentle breeze on his face. The sky turned into a painting of warm colors—orange, pink, and a hint of purple. The buildings in the city seemed to stop their rush for a moment, joining the silent admiration of the setting sun. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the city lights began to twinkle.
Copyright © [2023] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved.
While he enjoyed the serene view from the bench, a monk quietly approached and sat beside him. The boy was taken aback, for this monk was no ordinary one—he was the most esteemed monk of the monastery. Throughout all the years he had spent here, he rarely witnessed this monk speaking or initiating conversations with others, let alone himself.
In the presence of the revered monk, a sense of awe and curiosity enveloped him. He had seen this monk engaged in silent contemplation and dedicated rituals within the monastery, but personal interactions were scarce.
As they sat side by side, the monk's tranquil presence spoke volumes. Without uttering a word, he conveyed a silent understanding, as if the sunset, the monastery, and the bench were all part of an unspoken connection.
The monk, breaking his usual silence, began to speak, "I have watched you for many years. You are not at an age where normal people would come to a monastery to find peace. Why are you here?"
The boy was slightly taken aback by the monk's unexpected words and the depth in his voice. After a moment of gathering his composure, he took a deep breath and replied, "I come here to calm my heart," the boy confessed.
The monk stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Realizing that the monk was serious about engaging in conversation, the boy continued, "I am an orphan. I have lived in an orphanage all my life. The people around me scorn me and silently mock me. Some pity me, while some are disgusted with me. But I am not bothered by them. I don’t hate them."
The boy paused, and the monk, listening intently, responded, "Then why is your heart not calm?"
"Ever since I gained awareness, I... My thoughts and desires are a bit different from normal. I have a strong yearning for something, someone. Something which even I do not know. They aren't exactly moral or normal. Even though I know that it might be wrong. So, I come to this place to try and calm my heart and thoughts," the boy admitted.
"I tried to calm my mind, but it is of no use. My desires and restlessness only seem to increase as days pass. I don't know what to do, where to go," his voice tinged with frustration and confusion.
The monk, still holding a serene gaze, nodded understandingly, “The teachings of this monastery are that you need to cut off all desires and strive for enlightenment. If someone has wrong thoughts, they usually do meditation to calm their nerves. As they practice this, they will slowly start to change," the monk explained. After a short pause, he continued, "Everyone has a specific role in this universe—both good and bad, right and wrong, moral and immoral. If you are still unable to find a way to calm your heart even after all these years of practice, then it might mean that you have a different role to play. Why don't you try to unleash your inner desires and act according to them for some time?"
The boy, taken aback by the unconventional advice, stared at the monk with surprise.
Before the boy could speak, the monk continued, "You surely have a different role to play. Your karma is yet to be complete. The meaning of normal and moral is different in different circumstances and for different people. The same immoral concepts might very well be normal. I am sure you will find what you desire.
“But, when one is flooded in the thunderstorm of their desires, it is very easy to lose oneself. So, as a safeguard, remember what I tell you:
1. A weapon is never good or bad; it is its wielder who determines it.
2. Evil and good are the faces of the same coin.
3. Desires are endless. Fulfilling desires is like throwing oil into fire to put it off.
4. Desires are the root of all evil.
5. You should determine if you want to let your desires control you or if you want to be the one who controls your desires.
6. Every being in existence has a specific role to play. Find your reason for existence.
7. Play your character, just like a character on stage.
8. When you have enough of what you wished for, find your path to enlightenment.
9. Fulfill what you are meant to do."
With a gentle smile, the monk ruffled the boy's hair. Standing up, the monk walked away, leaving the boy on the bench in contemplation.
The boy sat on the bench for some time. As he watched the light fade and stars begin to twinkle, he stood up and descended down the hill back to his orphanage.
As the boy descended, the old monk observed from the top of the hill. Another monk standing beside him remarked, "He is a good kid. But the world is too cruel to him. Soon he will have to leave the orphanage. Maybe we should try to take him in if he is interested. Shall I try to ask him tomorrow?"
“No need. From tomorrow onwards, appoint someone else to do what he usually does. He will not return again," the old monk replied with a serene certainty.
"What do you mean by that?"
"His destiny lies elsewhere," said the old monk.
With that, he turned and left to attend to his own duties, leaving the other monk in puzzlement.
As the boy walked through the bustling city, the neon lights of storefronts and the sounds of traffic surrounded him. The rhythm of life in the urban landscape carried on, with people hurrying about their business. The towering buildings, crowded streets, and diverse faces formed the backdrop to his introspection.
“My desires…”
As he walked along the footpath, the night's air cool against his skin, and now the moon hung above, its pale light casting elongated shadows on the path.
As he walked, lost in his thoughts, a monologue began to form in the recesses of his mind. It was as though the night's quietude had become a canvas for his deepest desires and vulnerabilities to paint their truth.
"I have always wanted to be born as a girl," he acknowledged to the solitude of the night. The words lingered in the air, and for a moment, they felt like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
‘It wasn't about my sexual orientation – it was something deeper, more intricate than that.’
His heart raced as he confessed to the moon above, as if its distant light held the key to unlocking his hidden thoughts. "I wish to dress up like a woman," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper carried away by the wind. It was a confession he had never dared to utter, even to himself.
‘The thought of wearing those clothes that felt like they belonged to a world where I truly felt myself was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.’
"I like being seen by others in lustful gazes," he admitted, a flush of warmth coloring his cheeks as the words slipped from his lips. The idea of being desired for who I am, not who others assumed me to be, was intoxicating.
The confession deepened as he allowed himself to explore the corners of his desires that had long remained hidden.
"I wish to be tortured and pleasured by my master," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. It was a secret fantasy, a submission that existed in the realm of his imagination. “But it is only to a specific someone, someone who understands and cherishes me for all that I am.”
"To serve someone, to offer myself to someone, to be devoured by someone" he continued, his voice growing steadier as the words flowed.
"It's not that being a man is bad, but something about being a girl always excites me." He reveled in the honesty of his confession; the weight of the truth made his steps feel lighter.
“I wish for someone to whom I can belong to.”
Yet, even as he bared his soul to the moon and the night, a cloud of fear loomed overhead. "But I cannot share my thoughts with anyone," he murmured, a trace of sadness tingling his voice. The thought of being mocked or ostracized kept his desires locked away, a hidden part of himself that he was reluctant to expose.
As his gaze lifted to the sky, he saw an eclipse forming, the moon's glow dimming as a shadow passed over it. He stood still; his thoughts momentarily suspended in the moon's muted light.
Then, an intrusive sound pierced the silence – the blaring horn of a truck. In his daze, he had wandered into the middle of the road, lost in the currents of his own mind. The screeching of brakes was the last thing he registered before impact, darkness descending as suddenly as the eclipse above. The world became a fleeting memory, and in those final moments, as everything faded away, he held onto the monologue that had been his silent confession, hoping that somewhere beyond, his truth would find the acceptance that had eluded him in life.
The impact was swift and brutal, a moment that shattered the fragile balance between life and the unknown. As his body lay on the cold pavement, a hushed chaos erupted around him. Voices, distant and frantic, wove a tapestry of concern. Figures materialized from the shadows; their faces etched with worry. Someone shouted for an ambulance, their words a desperate plea for salvation.
But amidst the flurry of activity, the world seemed to retreat. The sounds became distant echoes, fading into an indistinct hum. His vision blurred, and in that fading moment, his gaze fixed upon the moon, its gradual transformation into an eclipse, a mesmerizing dance against the canvas of the night sky.
As the eclipse reached its zenith, a supernatural shift occurred. An eerie aura, a spectral cloud of purple and darkness, began to coalesce around the moon. It was as if the moon itself had become a portal, a cosmic eye that peered into the depths of his being.
He felt a strange connection, a current of energy that extended from the depths of his consciousness to the enigmatic eclipse moon above. His breath grew shallow, each heartbeat a distant echo, as if he was suspended in a space between realms. Time lost its grip, and he felt as though he existed in a threshold between life and whatever lay beyond.
As the eclipse moon completed its transformation, its gaze upon him intensified. It was as if it held the power to peer into the recesses of his soul, to see every truth he had dared to acknowledge and every desire he had kept hidden. The weight of its stare bore down on him, a sensation that transcended the physical and tapped into the essence of his being.
With the moon's eye fixed upon him, he took his final breath, the world around him fading to obscurity. His gaze remained locked onto the moon, the portal, the eye. And as he exhaled for the last time, a sense of closure washed over him, as if the universe had witnessed his unspoken confessions.
The saying echoed in his mind, "When one looks into the abyss, the abyss looks into us." In that moment, he felt a profound communion with the unknown, a connection that bridged the boundaries of life and death. As his consciousness waned, he surrendered to the eclipse's enigmatic embrace, his essence blending with the cosmic dance unfolding above, in a symphony of twilight and transcendence.
Copyright © [2023] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved.
*****
In a European-style room. Dark wooden furniture with intricate carvings adorns the space. The room is bathed in the gentle glow of a chandelier. Heavy drapes frame tall windows, allowing a glimpse of the moonlit night.
Within this setting, a woman experiences the intensity of labor, as a wet nurse, clad in a simple, yet clean gown, provides comfort and support. The scent of herbs and oils, chosen for their calming properties, lingers in the room.
Amidst the labor, the culmination of the woman's efforts brings forth new life. The boy, now reborn, takes his first breaths and finds himself in a new place. The air feels different—clean and fresh. Wrapped in snug blankets, he senses the warmth around him. Opening his eyes, he sees soft light filtering through, creating a gentle ambiance. Unfamiliar sounds murmur in the background.
With each passing moment, his senses become more attuned to the world around him. The sounds grow richer, the colors of the room more vibrant, and the scents more intricate. As his senses awakened, he slowly remembered his previous life. After some confusion and contemplation, he understands that he has been reborn after his death.
As he grasped his new reality, his first thought emerged: 'Had my wish to experience life as a girl been granted?'
As he looked around, the voice of the wet nurse caught his attention. As the wet nurse spoke, he listened with curiosity and anticipation, eager to understand more about his new life.
"Congratulations," the wet nurse said to the woman. "You have given birth to a boy."
“….”
‘Fuck’
******
Copyright © [2023] [The Rainy Imp]. All rights reserved.
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