Title: Pink
Fandom: Original
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: OCs
Rating: Strong PG-13/T
Summary: Four different outlooks on one color.
Word Count: 700
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 476. Pink
Date Written: 16 April 2025
Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Issues, Child Non-con, LGBTQ Abuse Issues
Disclaimer: This one, for better or worse, is all mine...





They laugh at me at school because I like pink, but they don't understand. None of them could. They don't see how pretty it is, and they don't see how small I am in the big frills and bows. They lose sight of me in all the bright and bold colors. And maybe, just maybe, if it's pretty enough, girlish enough, if the bows and ribbons are big and fluffy enough, maybe they won't see the fingers prying underneath the pretty, pink panties you bought me.

My lip pulls back. I can't stand the thought of pink, and cheerleaders make me want to puke. They're nothing girlish about me. I was born wrong. I know; you've told me that often enough. We were both born wrong, and I was born to you. I was born to you to be the man you always wanted, the man you could never have, the man I'd make myself be if I could only cut out the thing in my center that makes me be a woman... Maybe one day I can afford to do so, but until then -- until then, no matter how much I cut away, no matter how much I try to be something I'm not, no matter how much I shroud myself in black and death, I cannot be what you want...

I cannot be what you want. I was not made to be yours. I was not made to be a man. I was born a woman, and born for a reason beyond being your slave. I wear pink now; it's become my favorite color. I wear dresses, and I like. The prettier, the frillier, the bigger the bows, the better. I am no man. I am the woman I was born to be, and that woman is not, and will never again, be yours.

I hate coming to school. The other kids always sneer and jeer at me. They don't understand me, don't understand why I'm such a freak. I'm a pretty, little freak; Mum always says so every morning when she sends me out with a kiss. I'm still a freak. I'm not supposed to be in a dress, but she won't let me wear anything but in her sights. Thank God for the teachers who give me trousers and let me change. If she knew, she'd rip me out of school, rip me away from the one time I'm away from her, the one time I might actually be able to figure out who I really am and how to be me.

I know I'm not supposed to be in a dress. I hate these bloody things! But she won't buy me trousers or even let me keep the ones I'm given freely. She paints my face too, and she pitches a fit if I show up without any of the smelly, oily stuff still on my skin. So I keep the makeup on but wear the trousers anyway, and the teachers -- They've learned to keep the dresses for me for when the final bell rings.

They learned that the hard way, with my school history and my mum's connections. They learned it when I showed up that day with marks on my body, always in places where no one's supposed to see. They want me free of her, but they're afraid of her. They're all always so bloody afraid of her. If she finds out, she'll just take me out of this one too. There's no sense in telling her, no sense in trying to wag my tally in her face. I've tried that too, but she just laughs and teases me, talking about cutting it off one day.

She might. I'm very well aware of that. I fear seeing scissors or, worse yet, a knife in her hands. I'd run away if I could, but I've nowhere to go, and besides, she'd find me. She always does. I've got a dick! I'm not supposed to be in a dress! I'm a boy, for Christ's sake! But to her, I'll always be her little girl. To her, I'll always be hers. Heaven help me!

But the help never comes for long... I hate pink.



The End