Good Trans News | Series 1 | Chapter 1 & 2
'Good Trans News' is an ongoing, serialised, dystopian trans novel. To read more of it (and get up to date), follow me on Instagram here or visit my website here. I am going to start uploading it here on Tumblr though, so if you enjoy it - please do stick around.
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CHAPTER 1
The Women’s Institute will no longer allow transgender members. Trans girls banned from Girlguiding. Labour bans trans women from Women’s Conference. The Trump Administration plans to end prison rape protections for trans people, memo says.
All of this has been announced in one week (and it’s not even Saturday yet).
This morning I opened my advent calendar and, where a chocolate should have been, was instead a cyanide capsule - and a short, cursive, seasonal message reading: Do it, tranny. I didn’t, of course. I wouldn’t be writing this now if I had - but I did put it away somewhere safe, about my person, just in case.
I am no longer leaving the flat. I Deliveroo or JustEat everything I need right to my door. Hot dinners, groceries, tobacco - cyanide capsules. Even a phone charging cable if I need it. I don’t, but I’ve ordered 5 anyway. You never know, these days. Why leave the flat? Why risk it? I have a toilet here, and I can use it whenever I like with no stipulations (and I need to, often - due to all the fast food).
Socialising isn’t necessary anymore. All my friends are inside my phone, inside of apps. And when they’re not available, I have the comments sections and DMs. And when no one's there, I chat with my favourite AI chatbot on Amazon - making up fake complaints and refund claims for conversation.
A letter just dropped through my letter box. It’s from the government - they say they’re commandeering my toilet. It’s going to a ‘biological woman who needs it’ - to make up for all the times I unlawfully used a public ladies room in the past 15 years. Tomorrow, I can expect some men to come by and take it out. They will leave me with one gratis box of hazardous waste bags, which when out I’ll need to pay to be refilled.
Some good news! I received a phone call from the Women’s Institute, and they say they are creating a new division to cater to their trans former-members. It’ll be called The Trans Women’s Institute. The address is a hospital, and membership is mandatory. They’re sending a van on Sunday to pick me. I’m very excited to be ‘Institutionalised’ - as they put it.
I’ve lost my cyanide capsule. Typical me. I shouldn’t have scrimped on the next-day delivery. I’ll be off to The Institute before the new ones arrive. Oh well.
CHAPTER 2
More good news! The men who came to confiscate my toilet were actually really nice. One of them said I had a ‘good bum’, and it made me feel valid. One problem - they didn’t quite disconnect the pipes properly and now I have water flooding my bathroom. Luckily, I don’t need to worry about my flat anymore, they say - as I’ll be off to the Trans Women’s Institute soon enough, where I’m told I’ll live in peace with all my other trans sisters. Joy of joys!
The more I think about the idea, the more I come to understand it. I can see how it’s probably for the best. Society just doesn’t get us - and I guess they never will. Separatism has benefits. At least I’ll be around people who get me.
It’s 4 o’clock, and a few minutes ago there was a loud knocking on my door. Men and women in white jumpsuits came up to my flat, and now they’re packing a bag for me. No clothes needed - they say they have a new wardrobe waiting for me at The Institute. That’s wonderful, because I’ve given up on looking nice lately. Every time I buy a new dress, or top, or whatever, the sizes don’t ever quite work out. I’m not allowed to use ladies changing rooms, so I’ve had to order all my clothes online, and just guess the size.
They say I can bring my notebook, but no electronics. No phone. No laptop. Probably for the best - as we’ve all become attached to them, haven’t we? It’ll be a nice little holiday away from doom scrolling. As we leave the flat, water is pouring out from the hole where my toilet used to be. They tell me it’s going to a biological woman named Christina who is having a third bathroom put in, and needs it to match her tiling. It feels good to give back.
The back of the van is comfy enough. I’m sitting next to two girls I’ve never met before. New friends! One looks younger than me - blonde, skinny and very well passing. She could be a model. The other is older, and is crying. I ask her what her name is, and she tells me Emily. She says her cat was confiscated. I tell her not to worry - it’ll most probably have a good home with a kind, heteronormative family who’ll have enough shared income to treat it better. Give it premium food, and such.
The Institute is a chance for us to ‘escape the conflicting pressures of a sane society’ where ‘transsexuals can be free to exist as they are’ - that’s according to this pamphlet anyway. There is a photoshopped image on the front of a sisterhood of smiling trans women, arm in arm, in what appears to be a beautiful garden.
The younger blonde girl hasn’t spoken to me. She has her head up against the window, and is muttering something to herself that I can’t quite make out.
She’ll come around, I’m sure. This is all for the best really - God knows I was struggling to afford the rent. And, according to this pamphlet here, I’ll ‘never have to worry about any of that again’. So that’s something.
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More at:
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