Get Out of My Head

Once there was a young boy. Curly, muddy locks and a freckled face lent itself more towards beauty than handsomeness.

God would you just shut up already? I know you know I’m not a boy. And I know you know I know you know I’m not a boy. My face is supposed to be pretty, you jackass.

It was a sight to be seen last night, the first time Boygirl heard the mysterious voice. Peasants fled the tavern as Not Boy screeched at this imagined voice. Naturally the townsfolk were all terrified the child might be possessed by demons or spirits. Now, at least, the youth had begun to yell secretly with only their thoughts. Raging against the unseen force inside their mind.

Gahhhh, this is impossible. Where did you even come from? You know what? No. I don’t care in the slightest where you came from so long as you just go back there. Or anywhere really, anywhere that isn’t here. In. My. Head.

Lamenting their current plight as the subject of my unmercifully wondrous fascination, Boygirl nearly missed the glint of steel from the corner of their eye.

Seriously just go jump off a cliff, would you? And stop calling me they and Boygirl and whatever else you dream up in that sick head of yours. I. Am. A. Girl.

Now something you readers must understand is that Not Boy is extremely dense. Denser perhaps than the trees that the metal gleams from.

“Gods above, shut up!” Boygirl shouts aloud, immediately alerting the roving bandits to her presence. Not Boy whips their head around in startled confusion. There is no reason for such confusion of course as I have warned them numerous times about the lurking group.

Warned me? You call that warning?! Hell, now what?

Don’t ask me Boygirl, I’m just a figment of your imagination remember?

Alas Not Boy ignores this as well, instead sprinting to a more heavily wooded section off the trail they had been following.

Drawing a hunting knife from worn boots, Boygirl scales halfway up a tree to gain a better vantage. Not Boy scans the area beneath despite facing the wrong direction.

I am not looking in the wrong direction, that’s where they were. Ow, shit, the hell was that?

Boygirl has once again spent too much time arguing with their spiritual guide…

Spiritual guide my ass. God’s that hurts.

…and thus has received a crossbow bolt to the thigh. The force and pain has them tumbling from the tree.

I am not going to fa-

The concussive hit to the forest floor has dismantled their raging thoughts for at least seven precious seconds.

You twice boiled boot, I am going to find a way to kill you. Slowly. And painfully.

Alas, seven seconds has gone too fast. Ooo I’m so scared of the little not boy. Phooey Boygirl, I am absolutely the only reason you are still alive to have these murderous thoughts.

As they stutter about between miserable groans, the bandits draw closer to their wounded prey. Miraculously the child still holds their knife tightly grasped within shaking hands.

My hands are not shaking, I resent that, you addle minded fool.

In a surprising twist of fate, Boygirl does not immediately meet their pitiful end. Instead, seemingly beginning to learn the old adage of walking and talking, they strike out in a twist toward the nearest bandit. A yelp rings out as the unsuspecting man is caught around the ankles with Not Boys non injured leg.

And don’t think I’ve forgotten you called my hair muddy. At least I have hair. You don’t even have your own body…not that you have mine of course, you aren’t allowed out of my head. Except to leave. You can leave whenever you want.

Rage filled and weapon gleaming, Boygirl ignores the pain in their thigh in favor of thoroughly eradicating the offending group of attackers. Disemboweling is not very lady like young one.

Oh so now I’m a lady? You twat.

As the epithet left her not mouth, the girl swirled once again in a deadly arc. Where had this girl come from? Her kind are not supposed to be nearly so agile or lethal.

Gods above, just go back to calling me not boy if all you’re going to do is insult my gender.

And so seemingly defeating the renegade band, Boygirl sank to the ground to examine their wound. So lost were they in pain and victory, they once again did not notice the glint of steel from behind. Disemboweled didn’t always mean dead after all. This time though, the whip of their head was slowed by agony and exhaustion, only granting them the horror of watching as the blade came down.

Not Boy’s body slumped the rest of the way down, collapsing on itself. Their final attacker also dropped, life spent ending another. What a shame, Boygirl’s relief and confidence was at the cost of their own blood.

They will be missed. They will be missed so much in fact…wait…Not Boy will not be missed. They were a runaway after all. Already presumed dead by any who would have cared. No monument will be built to honor the foolish boygirl. I suppose this should be saddening. The curling, tangled hair never to shine in the sun again. The freckled face nevermore to beam with laughter.

Not missed indeed. I suppose it is time now to find another with which to tell an epic story. Goodbye Boygirl.

If I were dead, it would be entirely your fault, you raving moron.

Not Boy? You yet live?!

No shit dumbass and you knew it too. And what was with the poor woe is me rant anyway? More importantly, how am I still alive? That man was going to kill me…should have killed me. I know he struck me, I know I fell, so what gives?

Ahh Not Boy has begun to ask better questions in their newly confused and awkwardly alive state.

Boygirl’s precious benevolent overseer unintrusively waits for not boy to figure out they were being overly dramatic about the whole dying thing.

Boygirl grumbles under their breath, studiously ignoring the voice. Choosing instead to prod at where they knew the fatal blow had fallen. It was tender, yet there was nothing there, no blood nor rent cloth. It felt as if the attack had been delivered with a wooden sword and not the sharpened gleaming one in front of Not Boy.

Confused doesn’t begin to cover it. Now what happened?

If Boygirl stopped for a moment to examine their internal self, they would feel very obviously the new power of something that could only be explained as magic flowing through them.

Not Boy’s live in companion had protected them with magic

Blank, uncomprehending stupidity yawned across Not Boy’s face. As well it should. Magic is not something this world has after all.

Boygirl had asked where their compatriot came from. The answer lies in another plane of existence. But to burden their simple soul with a greater explanation would only be a cruelty. Suffice to say, Not Boy now has magic as fully as their helper does. Boygirl just had to be angry enough to use it.

Angry? Angry…at you? Is that what you being a nuisance was all about? Don’t think this means we’re friends. And what were you saying about epic stories?

The questions flow, sometimes internally and sometimes aloud as Boygirl begins to treat their one real wound. The muffled curiosities rush forth uninhibited as they rifle through pockets and bags, taking anything of use or intrigue.

With a forked branch and a much heavier bag, Not Boy begins to walk. Limping forward towards destiny with the only one who knows the truth nestled safely in their mind.

You know I’m still going to find a way to kill you right?

Boygirl may very well be right to do so, it may be the only thing to save them in the end.

The hell is that supposed to mean you antagonistic bastard?

It means ‘good luck’.