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by Beau Johnson

“It breaks my heart is what it does. Because of this, I think it’s fair I keep this little sermon short.”

Under overhead lights, upon stainless steel tables, my words bring tears, convulsions, and a pleading which never had to be. Lean and wiry, the man to my left goes by Collins. On my right, heavier, lay Jebidah Meeks. Each is restrained. Each is intubated. The pair of them as far from inheriting the earth as they were from believing in our Saviour above.

“What you boys took from me wasn’t just an integral part to my life, but an investment years in the making.” Big bills by the time everything was said and done. This included pre-op, post-op, and the actual reconstruction phase being a two-part process. Two and half years later and my brother had become my sister, requisite D-cups and all. “It means you two pieces of garbage owe me not just for taking Kevin’s life but for the eighty-six grand you used your dicks to destroy.”

I look to their penises. Lost in a tangle of pubes, I assume Meeks is the guy who did the least amount of damage. Not that being small would save him.

“For truth, Kevin was never comfortable in his skin from the get go. And maybe I never came to understand my brother’s situation as maybe I should have, but I never turned my back on him either.” True: I could never fully comprehend what Kevin was going through. What I could do, however, was respect his decisions as any brother should.

“And the courage it takes for a man to transition in the world of today. I mean, I hate to say it, but the balls on that guy …”

They would never understand this though, not without help. Each being the kind of man who took what they wanted and consequences be damned. It’s why we were where we were and why the type of surgeons behind me no longer had letters trailing their names. “Brings us to the main event, once you’ve been put under and once you’ve been shaved. As it should, it will be in honor of the woman each of you raped and left to bleed out behind a dumpster last New Year’s Eve. Smart guys like you, you’ve probably already guessed what it is though, right?”

More tears now. Followed by shakes and a style of vein reserved for heavy lifting.

I step closer, reach out, and from each of them I take a hand into my own. “My brother, all his life, he always said he felt he was something he was not. This here, forging new equipment from old, it will ensure you come to understand it as well.”

A little extreme, sure, and somewhat in reverse, but dick or no dick, Kevin deserved no less.


Beau Johnson has been published before, usually on the darker side of town. Such fine establishments might include Shotgun Honey, Out of the Gutter Online, HST, and this place right here, Spelk. His collection, A Better Kind of Hate, is available now via Down and Out Books. Connect with him through Facebook and twitter @beaujohnson44.

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