Behold, a Lady. She's dressed up today; she squeezed herself into a dress a little too small in an attempt to accentuate her budding breasts. Her hair hangs down, and smells of leave-in conditioner. Vanilla scented. Her make-up is heavy, her liberal application attempting to make up for her lack of technique. She hadn't had the opportunities to learn that other girls had. Her youth had been spent building up other skills. Skills she wished she could forget. She wore heels in attempt to make her feet look smaller. Her toenails shone brightly, the result of a recent mani-pedi. A good friend had gone with her. She hadn't been confident enough to go alone. She was freshly shaven, and she would enjoy this one evening of smooth skin before she had to deal with the ingrown hairs and razor burn. Tonight, at least, she felt beautiful.

Behold, a Lady. She wanted to feel pretty, and had dressed accordingly. She wore a plated skirt and a button up top, trying to amalgamate all of the schoolgirl fantasies she had heard her friends joking about years ago into an outfit. Those friends didn't like her anymore. Not now that she had changed her name. The skirt was a little too short, and that was thrilling. She knew it was wrong of her, but she wanted the people around her to notice her bare legs and the shape of her ass. She wanted people to look at her, because she finally felt like she could look back at them without her eyes apologizing. She had gone with more natural make-up, it's goal only to cover the imperfections of her face. Pink lipstick, concealer, brown eyeliner, more concealer, bronzer, and yet more concealer. She needed to get out of the sun, or else her make-up would start running. And then people could see what she really was. What she was underneath the hope and the coy flirtations.

Behold, a Lady. She'd woken up late, and had to choose between her morning routine and making it to class on time. She had chosen making it to class on time. She hadn't gotten to shave, and bristly hairs clung to her chin. She hated it. She hated the feeling of them, and she avoided touching her face so she didn't have to feel them. Without make-up, she couldn't disguise her heavier brow, her larger nose, or her blocky chin. She couldn't hide the Adam's apple bulging in her throat. It killed her to swallow. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater. It was androgynous enough for her, although it did very little to banish the specter of masculinity that clung to her. She spent all of her class wishing it would end so she could return to her room. So that people didn't have to look at her. So that they wouldn't know how wrong she felt.

Behold, a Lady.

To The Man Who Almost Raped Me, 

I don't even know your name. I remember you asking me for mine, but I'm sure you don't remember it. I want you to know how grateful I am to you. Because you made me choose. I had a choice, a moment where I decided the course of my life, and I chose to live.

I remember that night excessively well. I hear that happens with traumatic instances. I was feeling depressed, more so than usual, and decided to take one of my late night walks. Before I started my medication, this was one of the ways I would cope. Anywhere from two to four in the morning, I would strike off, put on some classical music, and just walk. Just walk until my problems felt a little further away. Just walk until I eventually felt better, enough to face another day.

I have a terrible sense of direction, and so to avoid this becoming a problem, I would choose one direction after leaving my residence and walk until I couldn't anymore. I left my dorm, and on a whim, I went left instead of right. I had gone down the right recently, and wanted to see some new things.

I walked, letting Vivaldi and Mozart guide me. The music helped me just be, and I enjoyed the cold air, the way the street lights carved out oases amongst the darkness. I walked down residential streets, and then left campus. I kept walking, finding myself in the Square, a collection of stores and restaurants arranged in a square. I saw a couple walking arm and arm, and wished that someone would talk to me. Would reach out. It wouldn't have to be anything major. Even just a "Hello" would've made my night.

But they didn't. They walked on, and so did I. No one spoke me, not once. No one, that is, except you. I kept walking, and the Square gave way to something else. This was further than I had been before, and I was aware of a sort of economic curtain that I had passed. I saw smaller houses, I saw shops and buildings with chain link fences crowned with barbed wire, and I saw the street lights grow fewer and fewer in number. I was fascinated, in my own morbid sort of way. Here, there was suffering. Here, there was hardship. Here, there was hopelessness. Just like me.

This is where I belonged; not amongst the hopeful, future-looking college students or the smiling consumers of the Square, but amongst the downtrodden, the forgotten, and the dispossessed. Or so I thought.

I kept walking. I passed the police station, an imposing building with a staircase leading up to the glass door. I stopped by the door, and looked inside. There was one man at the desk, working on the computer. I considered going in, but decided against it. He was busy, and I didn't want to bother him. He had a purpose, a reason. I didn't. I felt awful.

I kept walking, and went through a tangle of small houses. The road continued, one straight line, and I remembered from whence I had come. I checked my phone, and discovered how late it was. I don't remember what time it was, but I know that I needed to return soon or else I wouldn't make it to class tomorrow.

I kept walking. Finally, I reached a large business building, and the street curled into a parking lot. I nodded decisively. Now, it was time to turn back. My reprieve was over, and the mundane horrors of daily life awaited me. Grades, money, my family, and a thousand other things lurked on my periphery. I thought they were horrific, but I know now that I hadn't tasted real horror. Not yet.

I walked back, and returned to the maze of houses. As I walked, I could hear a woman talking angrily. It was the first interpersonal experience I had undergone since leaving the Sqaure, and I slowed down, craning my ears. It was an argument about money or something. How human; if nothing mattered, what use did paper currency possibly have? Merely to extend our wretched existence, and to buy distractions to make life livable.

I heard something then, something that wasn't part of the woman's conversation. I wasn't sure what it was though. It was just a sound. A phoneme given life by someone's lungs. I kept walking, but kept listening. I was sure it was addressed to someone else, but I was curious.

I heard it again, and again, and then one more time. Finally, I turned. After four tries and no response, I figured the only recipient could be someone wrapped up in their own thoughts. Someone like me. I turned, and saw a man walking after me. I saw you. You were large, a mix of muscle and fat, and looked shabby. As you got closer, more about you became apparent. Your facial hair had grown out into a small beard, and was mostly black with a wiry texture. I remember you gestured a lot.

I said hello, nervously. I didn't know what you wanted, but I was delighted that someone was noticing my existence. It gave my life a little meaning. You apologized for being so upfront, but asked for money. You needed $10 to pay someone for something. I can't remember the details. I decided to give you $20. I remember saying with a smile that it was enough to pay the other person, and get a meal. You smiled, and thanked me profusely. I felt good. Whatever else, I had made this man's life a little better.

You asked if I wanted to wait for you; you were going to go pay the person or whatever, and then come back. I said sure without even really thinking about it. I didn't have anywhere I needed to be, not really, and the promise of human interaction was too good to pass up. I stood there, waiting patiently, and then sat down on the curb and pulled out my phone. I wasted a few minutes, and then I heard you return.

I hopped up, and we started talking. You asked about me, and I answered. I only asked a couple of questions about you, and I remember you avoiding each question. I didn't think anything of it at the time; I completely understood not wanting to talk about yourself. I told you I was in college, I told you I lived in a dorm.  I had enough wherewithal to keep things vague, and I still wonder what would've happened if I had told him more. I told you why I was wearing girl's clothes, that I was a Transwoman, and what that meant.

Suddenly, you grabbed my by the back of the head, and pulled me into a kiss. Your tongue crawled, worm-like, into mine. I was in shock, and all I could think to do was reciprocate. I kissed you back, my tongue working over your cracked lips and tasting the foul air within your mouth.

I wanted to buy myself time. I knew that if I pushed him back or resisted, he might grow violent. I had been living a sedentary lifestyle since I started college, and I was sure he would win if it came down to a struggle. What could I do? Part of me gave up, and let it happen.

I could feel his body start to heat up. I could taste his breathing change, becoming more rapid and shallow. I remember you roughly fondling my chest, and chuckling between kisses that I didn't have breasts yet. I remember you digging your fingers into my crotch, feeling for a woman's genitals.

Suddenly, you pulled away. You asked if I smoked. I was stunned, but had enough sense to shake my head. You smiled, and told me to stay here. You would go, smoke a little, and then come back. I remember perfectly how you said it, how you put that little bit of threat on the command. You walked away, around one of the nearby houses.

I sat there, shaking, and tried to organize my thoughts. Really, I thought, I have two choices: Do I wait for you to return, or do I leave? Do I let life do this to me, or do I seize control? Do I fight, or do I give up? Free Will, or Fate?

I chose. I stood up, and ran. I ran and ran and ran. I ran until the air curling in and out of my lungs felt like glass shards along my throat. I ran until a vice started to close around my chest, crushing me. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. And then I walked. I walked past the police station.

I glanced back, and wondered if I should talk to them. I decided against it. I can't really give a reason for it. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be that my higher functions had been replaced by the animal instinct to flee. I didn't want help, not if it meant facing you again. 

I walked across the square, I walked across campus, and I walked until I reached my dorm room. I turned on the light in my room, and then I just stopped. I collapsed onto the bed, and tried to get my breathing under control. I couldn't. I stepped quietly into the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. I drank it all, refilled it, and returned to my room with the glass. I put it on my desk, and tried again to get my breathing under control. I couldn't.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I realized I was in shock. I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what time it was, but I was still worried about getting to class tomorrow. I dug through the recess of my mind, and finally stumbled upon something that might calm me down.

Whenever I was sick, too sick to go school, I would ask my mom to put on the 1960's Dr. Doolittle. That always made me feel better. I opened my laptop, and put on the soundtrack. I listened, and slowly, my breathing calmed. My hands stopped shaking. And fatigue hit me like a train. I dragged myself to my bed, and went to sleep. I wouldn't realize that I'd forgotten to turn off the lights until I woke up.

I will never know why you chose to go after me. Was it because you thought I was girl, and decided to go with it once you realized my body's sex? Was it because I was vulnerable? Was it because I gave you money, and you wanted to see what else you could get? Was it even a choice? Were you a slave to desires you couldn't control? I'll never know. What I will know, until I die, is that this is My life. My choices. And that's a wonderful thing.

When I took this diary with me, I had no idea this is what I'd be using it for. I had planned to use it to chronicle my first year of college, to cement the memories that I would look back so fondly on later in life, but those thoughts seem so far away now. It's not that I'm different; it's that everything around me is different.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Aemaeth Morrow. I know, it's a weird name: my mom and dad were both huge fans of the Ghost in the Shell movies, and they decided to name me this crazy word instead of something like Stephanie or Jessica. I think it means Truth, or has some other occult meaning. Anyway, at least I have some pretty funny memories of substitute teachers trying to pronounce it. It's important not to forget things like that; there's so little joy and humor in the world around me that if you lose what you have inside of you, this world will eat you up. Literally.

The world as we know it has ended. I don't know that much, but the reign of humans is over. There are invaders that have come into our world, and their weapons are far deadlier than ours. Because the weapons they use are us. The group I'm with calls them Anthropophages, but that's just a fancy name for what they really are: Zombies.

I'm going to be perfectly honest; there are only two reasons I'm alive right now. The first is that people think I'm pretty. I have a slender build, wide hips, and people have always liked my eyes and my long hair. The second reason is that I took 8 am classes. School has always been important to me, and I figured High School and College couldn't be that different. I wish this wasn't the case; I'd love to say I'm alive because I deserve it, or because of some skill I possess, but I know that's not true.

I'm going to write down, as clearly as I remember, what happened today. If you are reading this diary because you found it in the backpack of an Anthropophage or you found it discarded int he woods somewhere, it's because I'm dead. I owe the world this much, at least, for sparing me. It deserves to have what happened recorded.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm, that awful screeching one, and jumped out of bed. I'd had trouble going to sleep the night before, but a little tiredness wasn't going to keep me from making the most out of my first day at college. I'm a student at the University of North Texas, although I'm originally from the Dallas area. Anyway, I showered, got dressed, ate breakfast, and reread the syllabus for the class just in case. I had already purchased my textbooks, and so I used the extra time to do a little reading. I was working my way through The Scarlet Letter, with the goal to read 12 classic novels in the year.

I walked to class, earphones in and just enjoying the weather. It was sunny, not too hot, and there just enough breeze to make my hair dance and to rustle my skirt. I followed a map of the campus I had printed out to my class, which was on the second floor of the English building. It was Introduction to Psychology, which begs the question of why it was in the English Building, but I'm sure there was an academic reason or something.

Anyway, I came in, chose a seat in about the middle of the class, and looked around. The teacher wasn't here yet, and the students who were here seemed universally exhausted. A few people stood out to me; two lanky guys chatting casually, a full-figured girl sitting in the back, a youngish looking guy on a laptop, and an older man with a dog. He was a veteran, probably; the rugged jeans, the tired look in his eyes, and the nervous habit he had of tapping his fingers all pointed to severe stress earlier in his life.

I put my headphones away and pulled out the Scarlet Letter, deciding to make use of the fifteen or so minutes before class started. It was maybe a minute or so later I heard footsteps, and looked up to see the two lanky guys. They had noticed me, I suppose, and immediately set off on the prowl. They had a practiced confidence about them; they had talked about this, planned and strategized for it, and both of them felt ready to take me on and hopefully take me out. I wasn't sure who was the wingman, though; maybe they were both going for me? I don't want to sound cold, but I saw through them immediately. They wanted my body, not me, and I felt nothing but contempt for them. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I also have a catty streak, and I decided to play with them a little before class.

We chatted a little, I don't remember specifically what about, and I learned a little about each of them. Their names were Howard Martin and Demetrius Laster. Howard wore glasses, had short black hair that framed his angular face, and was dressed in a polo shirt with khakis. He had a very serious countenance, although this was offset by his warm smile and his ability to manipulate the English language in his favor. He was a charmer, and conversing with him was like a game; he'd talk, setting up ideas or questions like chess pieces, and I'd respond in kind.

Demetrius, meanwhile, wore an unzipped jacket over a graphic tee (some band logo, I think), with jeans. His mouth was large for his head size, and his eyes were bright with an energy. It was the same brightness that you find in fire or lightning; the brilliance of action. He had long, blondish hair, long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail, and possessed a sort of animal quality. If Howard was like a machine, calm and analytical, Demetrius was his opposite. He was brash, emotional, and more than once interrupted Howard to make a point or something. However, what made him interesting was that he was very difficult to predict. Throughout the whole of our ten minute conversation, I never had any idea what he might say, if anything. Adding to one of Howard's stories, chiming in with some witticism, or pointing out something random that somehow contributed to the conversation. I was really glad I wasted the time talking to them; they were interesting, and who knows? Maybe we'd go get coffee sometime and I'd get to enjoy their company again. But, I had to remind myself, these guys were interested in me for my body, not for me.

The first time I suspected something was wrong was when Mrs. Appleton didn't show up. From what I had read in the syllabus, Mrs. Appleton was very serious about Psychology, and I had read on RateMyProfessor.com that she was always on came and was very hard on late students, even dropping them from the class after a few absences. Being late on the first day didn't seem like her. But I guess more importantly, I got this sixth sense feeling, like I knew something was wrong. By now, the class was full, fifty or so students in all, and all of them seemed unaware. I gathered all of my things together, and waited as the minutes rolled by. The class started conversing quietly, and many pulled their phones out.

Suddenly, an alarm started ringing all across campus. I could hear it from a number of different places, and the klaxons all overlapped and bolstered each other. The students jumped up and started rushing for the exit, some with a look of delight and others with a look of panic. I stood up, but couldn't make my body move. I was so sure that something terrible was happening, so sure that something was wrong, and I spent perhaps a full minute just trying to make my body move.

There was a crowd around the door, and there were still twenty or so people milling about when I first noticed it. It was like someone was crumpling a piece of paper, but that paper was, like, reality. It's hard to put into words, but it was terrifying to look at. It didn't make a sound, as far as I can remember anyway, but all of our attention was drawn to the disturbance. A moment later, the space that was the whiteboard suddenly ruptured, and maybe half a dozen humanoid creatures spilled through. I didn't get a good look at them, but they were grey-skinned and moved with a clumsy, feral gait.

I probably would've kept staring at them in a fascinated stupor, but I felt a hand on my wrist pulling me. My head snapped around, and I found Demetrius dragging me towards the back of the class. I was in shock, I think; I wasn't really processing anything, I was just lost in the screams of the students, the stamping of feet, the harsh barking of the dog, and the low growls of the Anthropophages. While Howard and Demetrius yelled at each other, I just kept staring, watching the scene unfold before me. I was powerless to do anything about it, and I was sure watching it would be bad for me later on, but I couldn't stop watching.

Thus far, everyone was okay, and this was only because of the efforts of the veteran. I feel bad for not knowing his name, but I never had a chance to speak with him. He had interposed himself between the crowd and the Anthropophages, and he was trying to direct the crowd though the door while the Anthropophages tried to get past him.

Suddenly, I heard a scream. My head snapped, and I saw the heavy girl rushing towards us, pursued by one of the Anthropophages. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and Howard snarled for me to go. I wasn't sure what he meant until I looked over my shoulder, and saw that Demetrius and him had forced open one of the windows. I didn't see Demetrius, and I figured out later he had already jumped out. I turned my head back, and realized that if I broke away and tried to help her, Howard would leave me. Could I save her? What could I do?

Holding back tears, I plunged through the window, the girls screams following me as I plunged into the open air. The alarms were louder outside, and I could hear choruses of other screams all across campus. I hung in the air for a moment, and then I hit something solid. I can't believe Demetrius was able to catch me; I'm sure my limbs were all akimbo, and I wasn't thinking about making it easy for him at all, but he managed. He set me down, and not a moment later he caught Howard. I heard him grunt this time, a scream that he refused to let out of his throat, and I started to grasp how hard he was working.

Everything after that is a blur. I was hyperfocused on the classroom, but once we got outside my attention started to waver. If Demetrius and Howard had left me, I don't think I would've made it. In fact, if they hadn't grabbed me from the classroom, I'm almost positive I would've died. The girls screams changed while I was falling from a high pitched expression of fear to the guttural verbalization of pain. I'm sure she's dead, and it's my fault. I didn't save her, and she's dead.

I wish I knew what happened to that veteran. Did he make it? Or did he die, saving the lives of twenty people who probably didn't know his name? He's a hero, and no one knows what he gave up for others. I'm going to make sure his sacrifice is remembered, at least in my own small way.

There's not really much else to tell, for now. We made it to Howard's car, and right now we're hiding out on a side road. Howard warned us that the road will be clogged, and that the looting is probably in full swing right now. I have my backpack, and Howard has his bag plus what was already in his car. Between us, we have my lunchbox, a twelve pack of soda plus a package of granola bars. Demetrius has a knife, and Howard had a machete in his car. I wanted to question him about it, but I can't help but be glad.

I had one of the granola bars, and I'm finally feeling better. Enough to write in my diary, anyway. Demetrius is resting, letting his arms recover. Howard is on his phone, doing all of the research he can before the Internet goes down.

To be perfectly honest, I don't know what's going to happen. I know why Howard and Demetrius saved me, and I don't know how long its going to be before they start turning on me. I'm trying to stay positive, but I mean, it is the apocalypse. Right?

I'll write again about what happens tomorrow. I don't know what our plan is, but I know that eventually we're going to see what we can scavenge, and then set out towards a rural area. I want to try to save more people, but the time I brought it up they both seemed against it. That worries me, more than anything else, I think.

She shook her head, a sort of severe heaviness clinging to her eyes that once piqued my curiosity and caused shivers of nervousness to run down my spine like a Mongol horde charging across the steppes, and said,

"Byron, this essay you've written has a lot of potential, but I think it needs some work; it reminds me of the early works of a prodigy- something along the lines of Mozart's early works, only using the written word instead of musical notes..." there was a pause, and I dared to think she was done, a clear indication of my folly,

"What you are looking for is a way to expand the ideas being conveyed while not compromising the original intention of the work- The saga of Odysseus spans pages upon pages, and yet the audience follows one word at a time, giving the work a sense of progression..." her breath rushed in and out, something which should have warranted the use of a pause but due to her haste fell just short, before the words continued to pour out,

"This essay has a lot of potential, and I want to help you make the most of it--"

I stopped her with a wave of my hand, and asked slowly, the fatigue hanging heavy on my voice, "Miss Atkins, are you all right?"

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes. They were intelligent spheres with an harsh beauty in them, the kind that caught your gaze and held it. His dark hair was cut short and styled nicely, a sort of easy grace that left very little to chance. His perfect white teeth glistened from behind well-formed lips, and ragged breaths escaped past them like spirits fleeing towards heaven. A button up shirt and slacks covered his muscular physique, and a book bag hung from his angular shoulders. He was a student, no doubt. I approached nervously, something within me pulling me towards him.

He was struggling to get the book bag off his shoulder. It was only then I noticed a plain white cast on his arm. No wonder he was having so much trouble. I chanced a glance around me, and found that of the few students nearby, no one was helping him. I resolved that I would help him, even if no one else would. I stepped forward lightly, and called, "Excuse me, do you need help?" He glanced up at me, smiled with something like hunger, and purred, "Oh, thank you ever so much, my lady."