Flash Fiction : TwoPenny Wood


Twopenny Wood wanted a normal life.

She wasn’t an average teen though. Twopen, as her biological mother gave her tended to call her, had one light blue eye, and one deep green eye. A pixie cut of hair which tended to defy any hairstyling products and stick out in dandelion tufts. She also tended to paint only the one side of her face, but never the other. Her spiritual mother/trans/father let her know that being more than one wasn’t such a bad thing, as it opened up other experiences beyond the mass normal.

Twopen was tired of travelling with the alternative circus and freakshow. It had become quite mundane being around these people. She had grown up with them, and had become quite accustomed to the many rituals of the travelling show. She knew what order the boxes and travelling kits went so they would not waste so much space in the vans. The smell of antiseptic and familiar groans were the prelude to a new piercing. She knew the routines of the fortune teller, and could fill in for the fire breathing act, and could tell which one of the rides were going to break down by the vibration alone.

Not that she was discontent with her life, it was all that she knew. The usual tuesday, wednesday, and thursday afternoons going over the school books and sending away her neatly written homework on the friday. In hopes that one day, they will turn into a high school certificate. There was a natural pattern to it all.

She secretly had a small stash hidden away in her belongings. A perfectly quaffed blonde barbie in a long tupperware dish, neatly wrapped in a silk handkerchief as not to ruin the carefully brushed hair. Three packages of glitter lipgloss, and a highly wrinkled and used Tiger Beat magazine. It was her own little place, where she could talk to her still imaginary friend Brittany, and wonder what movie they would watch for the sleepover.

It was these small thoughts, (while she prepared the surgical hooks for the usual Saturday night Freakout suspension hanging), that kept her in a little rebellion towards an imagined conformity. It was the imagined conversations on the phone with friends. Who was dating who, and ‘did you see Brett in class?’ and ‘Oh my god, did you see Dianne make out with that jock in the hallway?’ Those small imagined conversations made the henna paste preparation all the more tolerable.

But in the lifestyle of the bizarre and rebellious, there was no way for her natural teenage instincts to be expressed. Only by embracing the foreign conformity did she see the differences between the cultures. In those moments trying to fit in at every town and the small drug stores, and learn what the normals did. Those few overheard conversations were loveletters to her own lost childhood. The tragedy of it all, was that behind those eyelids, the mismatch eyes saw the truth. There was no other life, only the dream and wanting.

But she still enjoyed the flavor of the strawberry gloss chapstick.

<img style="border-width: 0;" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/2.5/ca/88×31.png" alt="Creative Commons License" »
TwoPenny Wood by Pearce Kilgour is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Canada License.
Based on a work at pearcekilgour.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://pearcekilgour.wordpress.com. But you should really ask him first… send someone to rub his neck, feed him a gin and tonic, that would be the best… in fact he thinks the world would be a better place if everyone got neckrubs.

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