Sara
CW: transphobia, implied selfharm and suicidal ideation, violence, death, mentioned vomiting
I didn't have a better idea for my fiction assignment so here is Sara's sort-of biography. The story is after the bigass drawing and under the cut.
birth
Sara was born in 1990. Early in the morning, before the sun had risen, her mother finally got to rest. The doctors cut the cord and held Sara up for everyone to see. They cleaned her up, wrapped her in a blanket, and her mother held her as she let out her first cry. Then her father had a turn. Then her older sister Anh, five years old at the time, tried to pick her up. Anh was afraid of holding something so small and fragile. Afraid of what it meant for her own future. But she was only five, and she couldn’t tell anyone, not even herself, that she felt that way.
blue world
They named her Liêm Tiên Hải Ngo and gave her a blue hat to protect her head. Her crib was lined with a soft, striped blue sheet. Her first stuffed animal was a little blue cat, hand-crocheted by her father’s mother and sent all the way from Vietnam. Her first belongings were all blue. She always looked like she was about to cry, but rarely did.
Her first words were pink. Her sister’s name, cried out when Anh came home from school.
Her first haircut was done outside on a bright spring day, right before her first bee sting. Her first time smelling a flower. She stuck her whole head into the bush and the petals spread out to make room for her. The world opened up to tell her hello.
girlhood
Sara could never remember when she started feeling like Sara. But the older she got, the more she felt like her own skin didn’t fit her. The name Liêm burned her whenever she heard it spoken. In her head and in the mirror, she used her middle name instead. Tiên. In English it meant celestial being, fairy, immortal. It didn’t feel quite as bad.
She dreamed of growing up like her sister, letting her hair get long and tying it back with a bow. Wearing pink instead of blue. Spinning around in a skirt and watching it flare out around her legs. She made a wish before bed every night that she’d wake up as her real self. It never worked, but she never stopped wishing.
open the closet door
When she was older, Sara tried to tell her family that she wasn’t Liêm. After dinner, before they all went to their separate nightly routines, she sat at the table and looked them all in the eyes. Spilled the truth that had been eating away at her for years.
Her father asked why she’d play such a cruel joke on them all.
Her mother’s face turned cold and hard. “[No],” she’d said. “[You are my son, and you will never be anything else. You’re Liêm].” Anh couldn’t look at her. She stared at a crack in the table, tracing her finger over it.
Her parents told her to go to her room. Finish her homework. The next morning at breakfast, they barely spoke to her. They acted like it had never happened at all.
Every time Sara looked at herself in the mirror, she felt her throat closing up. It never changed, no matter what she told herself. If you just look longer, you’ll get used to it. Everyone wants you to be this. Can’t you do just one thing for them?
The harder she tried, the more she knew the answer was no.
hidden
Anh told Sara one night she’d always wanted a sister. She promised not to call her Liêm as much as she could. When their parents couldn’t hear, she used Sara’s middle name. It was better than the one that burned, but it didn’t feel so celestial anymore.
Sara’s best friend in high school called her Tiên too. Tala let her borrow dresses or do her makeup when they hung out, but Sara was too afraid to ever wear them in public. Someone who knew her parents might see. It suffocated her to keep everything secret, but whenever she was with Tala it was a tiny breath of air. Enough to keep her going until the next day.
Her grandma, her mother’s mother, knew she had two granddaughters and no grandson. She picked Sara and Anh up after school once a week to take them to their music lessons in Hazelwood. She called Sara by her middle name and treated her like a girl, and promised Mom and Dad would never know.
anh
She was never good enough for her parents. Anh was always better. And she was such a disgrace for wanting to be Sara instead of Liêm.
They were both in music lessons from a young age: Sara learning piano, and Anh learning clarinet. Anh hated it, but she only complained in secret. Sara loved it. She poured all of herself into the music. It was the only thing she did that wasn’t a disappointment to her parents, but piano alone didn’t satisfy them.
Sports, on the other hand, were terrible. She’d never been very athletic. And Anh, of course, exceeded expectations. It always happened and Sara could never get used to it.
Anh got better grades. She always knew the right thing to say. She made sure her friends were the right kind of people. And perhaps what set them apart the most, she never thought she wanted to be a boy. She never considered being anything other than what their parents wanted.
Sara avoided Anh, for the most part. They didn’t talk. They didn’t play games together or steal each other’s clothes or take turns picking snacks in the grocery store like they had when they were younger. Anh always called her Tiên when their parents weren’t around, but it did nothing to help. Sara still felt like she was drowning. There wasn’t anything either of them could do.
Anh was getting ready to graduate. She’d been accepted to the pre-med program at Washington University (in St. Louis). She’d been offered scholarships. Their parents were so proud. Their daughter was going to become a doctor, maybe a surgeon. Even a nurse would be acceptable.
Sara was left alone in that house where nobody could look at her. She hated Anh for leaving. Of course she never said a word out loud. But she shut herself down, stayed in her room, made excuses for why she never texted or called. Pretended she didn’t have a sister at all.
reach out
Some of Sara’s classmates knew about her. They listened too hard with ears that were too big to things that were none of their business. Some of them were waiting after school. They stopped her before she got to the bus. They dragged her into an alley.
She yelled and they tried to cover her mouth. She bit them. She thrashed around, hitting whatever she could, kicking her heels into their shins. They twisted her arm behind her back, bent her fingers the wrong way until she screamed. Her face scraped the ground and the gravel poked into her skull. They ran. She lay still, trying to remember how to breathe.
A teacher found her. She was sent to the hospital. They called her parents, who said they would come. She called her parents, and they told her they were far too busy. They said she could figure it out, and they would deal with her when she got home.
She didn’t want to cry. There were too many people around. She sat very still for a long time, going back and forth in her head. It smelled terrible. She wished to be anywhere but there, but not home either. She’d be in so much trouble. She didn’t know how to answer the questions she’d be asked. She couldn’t figure it out by herself. Hospital bills, explaining what happened, apologizing over and over..
Her mouth went dry waiting for the phone to ring. She thought about hanging up. Her sister was busy. Her sister was in school. Her parents would find out and then she’d be in even more trouble for interrupting Anh’s studies. But the call connected and she was so afraid of being alone. She sounded like a kicked puppy, begging her sister to come.
Anh was there in twenty minutes.
She pestered the nurses for information and once they told her, relayed to Sara exactly what was happening. She sat on the edge of the bed until someone brought her a chair. She took hold of Sara’s hand, squeezed it, and refused to let go. Even after they were allowed to go home.
Anh kept Sara by her side as they left the hospital. They’d still barely talked to each other. Not a word was spoken on the bus ride home. But Anh kept hold of Sara’s hand, and it meant everything. [I’m sorry. I’ve got you. I’m here now].
Anh tucked Sara into bed and told her not to think about their parents for now. [Don’t worry, Tiên. Just rest].
She got up to leave, but Sara pulled her back. She missed her sister so much. She didn’t want to let go of the only hand that promised never to hurt her.
Anh squeezed her wrist again, as gently as she could. She sat down on the floor by Sara’s bed and let her hold on.
Before she drifted off, Sara saw Anh start to cry.
sara
Sara was given her name a week after her birthday.
She went out with Anh and Tala to the thrift store with the big changing rooms and they tried on the silliest outfits they could find. Tala bought Sara a skirt and a sweater to wear for dinner, and Anh found a flowery hairclip at the 99-cent store. They went to Sephora and convinced Tala’s friend to do everyone’s makeup at a discount.
Over dinner at her favorite restaurant, Anh kept looking at Sara. Studying her. She whispered to Tala and Tala whispered back, and after their plates had been cleared away, the secret was finally revealed.
When Sara heard her name for the first time, it felt like coming home.
Tiên had lost its sparkle. It held the same meaning, but even thinking it felt strained. Like a dream that could never be reached.
Sara fit so nicely inside her. It felt like crossing a threshold. The beginning of something that would last.
college
Sara went to WashU, just like her sister. She studied music and art history. She got as many scholarships as she could, but her parents wouldn’t give her a dime. So she worked. She worked herself to the bone, balancing classes and jobs and living off of energy drinks and estrogen, but she truly loved it. For once in her life, she wanted to keep living.
She moved in with Anh and they split the rent. It was cheaper than the dorms. Her grandma sent her money under the table. It was never easy, but it was better than before.
becoming
When she went to college, she didn’t have to please her parents anymore. She stopped cutting her hair. She didn’t tell anyone her old name. She donated all her old clothes and shopped for new ones in the women’s section. She started HRT and went into puberty for the second time.
Slowly, she was able to look in the mirror again. Her hands didn’t have the constant urge to close around her throat and squeeze. She learned how to do her makeup and couldn’t help but smile at her new self. Her real self. Sara.
seafood city
She got a second job off campus, stocking shelves at the grocery store she went to nearly every week. Just a couple blocks down from school and the Delmar Loop, reachable by bike or bus. She cut open boxes of dried shrimp, rearranged the instant noodle aisle, and pushed around a pallet cart of huge bags of rice.
Sometimes she saw her parents come in for their weekly shopping. She tried her best to avoid them. She didn’t want to hear whatever they might have to say. If they recognized her.
Once she heard them approaching her while she was stocking cut melons. She was on her knees, rearranging the bottom shelf. She kept herself still, her breathing even, refusing to look up. And they walked right past her.
Being unrecognizable to them was more affirming than any dose of her hormones. She was her own woman. She belonged to no one but herself.
promotion
She kept working at Seafood City after she graduated. In 2019, she was promoted to manager. Her grandmother embroidered her a sweater for the occasion. The store’s logo and name on the front, and on the back its slogan: Fresh. Live. Seafood. She only wore it to work, but it made her feel special.
By then it was her only job. She still shared the apartment with Anh, who worked nights in the university hospital’s emergency room. They visited their grandma every other week. Sara did the grocery shopping after her shift, taking full advantage of her employee discount. She and Anh shared meals whenever they could. They relied on each other. Held each other up when things got hard. Seafood City was struggling, but Sara kept herself hard at work. Everything would be fine. It had to be.
final day
Sara went to work on March 30, 2023, like usual. It was windy. She wore her sweater because she couldn’t get rid of the chills. The bad feeling deep in her stomach.
That morning the health department came. They brought city code enforcement with them. The staff were ordered to clear out. Condemned signs were slapped on the door. No one was to come back inside.
Sara stood in the back room as their footsteps faded away, staring wide-eyed at all the stock. At the leaking ceiling. All the problems she couldn’t fix. Wondering if there was some last-ditch effort she could make to save the place. Knowing deep inside that it had been too late for a long time.
rotting
She never made it back outside.
She lay on the dirty floor, staring up at the ceiling as if it would tell her the solution. She laid still until her eyes closed, letting the dirty water drip onto her, welcoming the mold inside. She began to decay with the building around her, unable to wake up.
The rotting seafood took over her body and brought her to life once more. And she wasn’t the only one. Phillip didn’t make it out either. He’d worked behind the fishmonger’s counter, chopping off heads and clearing scales. Called Shrimp because at 4’11 he was almost too short for the job. Now he trudged along with a mop, blind and nearly mute, a slimy fish-head where his skull had been. He kept to himself. Sara felt sick looking at him. If only she could’ve seen herself.
And there was Vex. He was almost all fish. He stood on two legs and had working hands, but he had gills and scales and a head that was in no way human. A hard, cracked fin instead of hair. He told Sara he was the store. He hated her. He was terribly ill and couldn’t go a few hours without throwing up, sometimes even less. Sometimes he couldn’t get up off the floor. Sara did her best to take care of him, to clean up his mess when he couldn’t, knowing it was her job. She was still the manager. He was still the store.
Sara looked the most human of them all. She wandered with squid and octopus clinging to her, drenching her in dirty sludge, spreading mold through her insides. Lobster antennae stuck out from her forehead and a tail dragged behind her feet. One hand turned into tentacles, the other fell off in a pile of guts. Her limbs ached and it never went away.
fog
The fog in her brain was so thick. All she was sure of was herself, and even that wasn’t much. She knew she was Sara. She knew it was her job to keep the store, and Vex, from getting any worse. She knew what the store was and what was happening to it. But all the other things, the bits and pieces that make someone a someone, she couldn’t hold onto them. She couldn’t remember her favorite food, her favorite color, her favorite song. She didn’t remember that she had a sister, or a grandma, or parents who refused to speak with her. Even if she’d had the strength and courage to break out and run away, she wouldn’t have remembered how to get home.
Sometimes Vex reminded her. He knew too much about her. He’d seen her walking through the store with her family when she was only ten, and he’d remembered her every year after that. He would remind her who she was connected to, but only in tiny sentences spit through gritted teeth. And every image he brought to the surface faded back into the fog.
aero
A mad scientist walked into the store one day. He found Sara in the back, trying to keep Vex from choking on vomit. She was so lost, she couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t right in front of her.
Aero said he was from the future. He said he could give her somewhere comfortable to stay. He said there were others like her, people who died and decayed and woke up again in their abandoned stores. He said they could all work at a new store, together. He said he could help Vex get better.
She went with him through a door into an old house. Aero said it was in another world. She carried Vex into an office and laid him down on Aero’s bed, and Aero promised everything would get better from there.
He lied.
work
She kept it together for a long time. Took care of Vex and tried to protect him through Aero’s meddling. Made sure to remember Phillip, who refused to go through the door. Kept the Rot Market running to Aero’s standards and made sure everyone’s jobs were getting done. He’d made her manager of the little store, a role she knew well, and even through the fog she refused to let the quality of her work slip. She didn’t sleep. It felt like she didn’t need to. She drifted along, doing as she was expected, her tangled mess of thoughts fading away if she tried to hold on too tight. The others didn’t seem as lost as her, except maybe Lucia. They all kept to their own jobs. Sara filled in wherever she was needed.
vex
Vex got used to Sara after a while. She was always by his side when she wasn’t working. It must have been like a “mother”. He grew to relax against her touch, to let her hold him up when he couldn’t sit on his own. He trusted her more than Aero, but part of him always wished she could do more.
Sara was bound to him. He was still the store. She was still the manager. Vex was her responsibility and she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t hate him like she thought, but it wasn’t quite “love”.
But even if she did have a choice, she would’ve stayed by his side.
reese
Sara didn’t sleep. Most of the time, Reese didn’t either. They were hypervigilant, always on the lookout for the next bad thing. The quiet of the house at night made them uneasy. They wandered around, the floorboards creaking under them, always ending up in the living room to stare through the window at the moon. Sometimes Sara was there too.
She laid on her back in the square of light from the window, looking from the ceiling to the sky. Reese curled up closer and closer to her each night, until they rolled over and pressed their back into her side. Sara didn’t move. She heard Reese start to snore. They were still a child. They needed the rest more than anyone.
period
The Rot gave Sara a third kind of puberty. Every month she laid down and couldn’t get up, suddenly immobilized by a thick sludge of fish guts and ceiling water. The tentacles on her hand swelled with mold and the squid on her torso sent painful shocks through her skin. The other Rotlings dragged her to the window where the sun came in, stretching her out like a cat and leaving her to sweat it out.
Whenever it was someone else’s turn, she helped bring them the sun too.
