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The Narrator was completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind.
He had no idea what was the problem. There was like a stone piercing his heart.
It felt uncomfortable.
On an ordinary Tuesday, the atmosphere in Youngblood Academy was buzzing with activity. Inside the classroom, the Narrator was engrossed in studying English, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the academic environment.
His throat was beginning to feel a bit parched all of a sudden.
So, he strolled out of the classroom and found a vending machine. Finding every memory related to how vending machines work, the Narrator inserted two quarters into the machine and pressed the button labeled: “Water. 0.50.”
The Narrator equipped the water bottle that fell onto the collection tray, putting his hand instead of the usual wire onto the bottle cap and twisting it.
He took a sip of the water, his mouth relishing the freshness and coldness of the liquid he was drinking.
Talking.
The Narrator thought he had heard his name. Amy was over there at the end of the hallway chatting with her cheerleader friends. Yes, Amy was in the cheerleader club.
“Yeah, I made an awesome new friend. His name’s Narrator, he’s cool!” Typical Amy, she was just showing him off.
Something’s wrong.
Something is definitely wrong.
The Narrator put his face onto his hands. It was like a harpoon just stabbed through him.
Amy's use of the pronoun "he" caused significant pain. It seemed inexplicable. Even the mere thought of referring to the person as "he" caused discomfort.
Just ignore it, the Narrator, ignore it! Just go on with your day.
“Oh, Narrator, you're here! My friends really wanna know you.” Amy exclaimed excitedly.
“You wanna go shopping with us after school?”
“Uh, yes, I’d love that.”
He eagerly anticipated the upcoming shopping trip with Amy and her friends. It would be interesting to see how everything unfolded.
.
With a blink of an eye, it was already the end of the school day.
“Hey, Narrator, are you coming or not?” One of Amy’s friends said in a sarcastic tone.
The Narrator felt like he was merely playing a role, standing idly by and not actively engaging in the activities around him.
When everyone met up with the cashier, they paid the money for the products they decided to buy.
“Hey, why does this young man here have boobs?” The cashier commented on the Narrator’s chest.
The Narrator looked away with some pink appearing on his cheeks, trembling with nervousness.
Amy looked at the cashier with anger, glaring at her like she just committed a deadly sin.
“Um, excuse me? Can you please be a bit more judgemental-free? Our friend here’s not a girl.” Amy said angrily.
“So? Are you gonna pay for your stuff or not?” The cashier said, seemingly ignoring entirely what Amy said.
“Ugh, so disrespectful,” Amy mumbled under her breath as she rummaged through her purse, eventually pulling out the cash and handing it over to the cashier.
“Have a nice day.” The cashier said sarcastically, seemingly like she wanted to get it over with.
The group left the store, their faces leaking the emotion of anger and despair.
“Are you okay, Narrator? You look kinda sad.” Amy asked with sincere concern in her voice.
“Yes, I’m fine, really. Just a bit offended.”
The Narrator didn’t know how to describe this feeling. A swirl of anger, sadness, and anxiety was bundled up into a box of emotions.
.
Once the Narrator reached home, he threw himself on his bed and let out a massive groan.
“Uh, Narry, did you have a stressful day or something? Because you don’t sound okay.” Stanley acknowledged.
The Narrator was truly in a state of mental chaos.
“Yes. A cashier pointed out that I had breasts. Made me so uncomfortable.” The Narrator confirmed in a worn tone.
“Oh, yikes. Got dysphoria or something?” Stanley asked.
“Dysphoria? What’s that?” The Narrator asked in confusion.
“Wow, you don’t know what that is? Is a feeling where you feel uncomfortable about your gender.” Stanley explained.
“Really? That's a thing? I didn't know that.”
The Narrator was astonished.
“So, how are you feeling about your gender right now?” Stanley asked, beginning to figure out how the Narrator felt.
“I feel like that sometimes I’m a boy and other times, I feel like I’m a sentient object. Is that out of the ordinary?” The Narrator explained with slight anxiety in his tone.
“Hmm, sounds like a case of genderfluid!” Stanley yelled, mocking a British accent.
“Sorry, was I being racist?”
“No, not at all. But what’s genderfluid?” The Narrator inquired for more details.
“Genderfluid is when you will change your gender based on situations or just, anytime!” Stanley explained cheerfully.
“.-- .... -.-- / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / ... --- / .... .- .--. .--. -.-- / .-- .... . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-..-. .-. . / - .- .-.. -.- .. -. --. / .- -... --- ..- - / --. . -. -.. . .-. ... ..--..” Bucket asked.
“I just love explaining stuff, okay?”
“Okay, so-”
“Like I was programmed to do.”
“What?”
“Alright, got it?”
Stanley's behavior was becoming increasingly erratic, showing signs of changing his personality and saying strange things.
“Uh, yeah. Got it.” The Narrator said in an awkward tone, holding up a thumb and closing an eye.
“So, what are your pronouns? I can’t wait to hear them!” Stanley's eyes sparkled with anticipation as he spoke.
“Most of the time, my pronouns are he/him, but sometimes, my pronouns are it/its. Which is how I’m feeling right now.” The Narrator confirmed.
“Ooh, interesting! I love your pronouns!” Stanley let out a loud, exuberant yell filled with excitement.
“Heh. Thank you.” The Narrator muttered calmly.
The Adventure Line™ unexpectedly appeared out of the floor, with everyone backing away in shock.
“Bloody Hell, don’t scare us like that!” The Narrator yelped.
‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to check out what you guys were doing.” The Adventure Line™ signed.
The Adventure Line™ noticed the loose shoelaces hanging from the Narrator's shoes.
‘Um, your shoes are untied?’ The Adventure Line™ signed, reminding the Narrator.
“Oh, I’ll tie them for you!”
‘Oh, come on, let him tie them by himself, he’s not a baby.’
“Hey, Adventure Line™, it’s not “himself”.”
“It’s “itself”.”