Handicap.

Where is the soap? Where is the damn soap? If only there was a soap that could clean the mess he was. If only standing under a current of cold water could wash away the biological tendencies cast unto him by a matter of chromosomal arrangement. How unfortunate. To bleed monthly, much as a werewolf transforms without will every full moon. How troublesome to be handicapped in such a way for a few days. He wanted none of it. He wanted to move without worry of watching himself and what lay between his legs every month. He wanted to breathe without wrapping bandages taut around his chest for days on end. How suffocating it all was. No one should have had to go through the shit that he and countless others had to. His hands were growing numb. The cloth between his fingers was clean already. He decided to run it through again because the cold water was just oh-so-therapeutic.

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