I walked through the Factory on a cold night in January. When I walked through, all my olfactories felt a tingle. I looked around at the people for a symbol. This was no Willy Wonka chocolate. Past athletes from my childhood, married men committing infidelity, singles... This was a whole different kind of thing for your sweet tooth.Nonetheless, I still walked through the Factory with thoughts that can fill a diary. What was I doing here? I know I always wanted to do this. But I guess no matter how much rap music you listen to, glamour and stripping don’t mix. I looked up on the stage. I saw a familiar attractive face. They named her "Charlie." But I knew her from a different place...At a different phase, she had a different name. It's like her identity got replaced As I stared at her chocolate round ass with a haze. She dropped down low sexily on stage. She looked back for a second. Our eyes met, recognizing me. Her friendly eyes were exactly the same as I remembered. I never would’ve. Without a word shetook one step, grabbed the gun, and yanked. The bullet went past my ear,nicking my scalp, then hit the ceiling, making a huge hole. Almost deaf fromthe report of the gun, I could not hear a thing when dad knocked the doordown and came in. Seeing that I was alright, he took the gun and stomped outof the room without a word.My sister quickly took me to her room, stuffed me in the shower, andinsisted that I wash up. Then, when I was done, she gave me one of her robesto put on. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. Then she asked me to tell her whyI wanted to kill myself. I resisted, but Ellen and I were always close, andshe finally managed to get me started. Then it was like rainfall as my wordspoured out. Every torment, each poke at my masculinity, the constantteasing, then, finally, I told her what had happened, how I was unable toprotect myself from being used like a woman. Laying there in the dirt, mymouth with the taste of the still lingering seed of my tormentor, I.
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