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အတက်ရောဂါ: တည်းဖြတ်မှု မူကွဲများ

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မြင်ကွင်းဝီကီစာသား
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စာတွဲများ: မိုဘိုင်းလ် တည်းဖြတ် မိုဘိုင်းလ် ဝက်ဘ် တည်းဖြတ်
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စာတွဲများ: နောက်ပြန်ပြင်ခဲ့ပြီး မျက်မြင် တည်းဖြတ်
စာကြောင်း ၂၁ -
| deaths = 125,000 (2015)
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ဝက်ရူးပြန်ရောဂါ ဖြစ်ရသည့် အကြောင်းရင်းကို ယခုတိုင် မသိကြသေးချေ။ သို့သော် ဆရာဝန်များသည် Mira
ဝက်ရူးပြန်ရောဂါ ဖြစ်ရသည့် အကြောင်းရင်းကို ယခုတိုင် မသိကြသေးချေ။ သို့သော် ဆရာဝန်များသည် ထိုရောဂါဖြစ်နေသူ၏ ဦးနှောက်မှ ဖြစ်ပေါ်စေသော လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းများကို ဦးနှောက်၏ လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းမှတ်သည့် ကိရိယာတွင် တွေ့မြင်နိုင်ကြလေသည်။ ထိုရောဂါအတွက် ထိုကိရိယာကို သီးခြားတီထွင်ထားခြင်းဖြစ်ရာ ရောဂါကျရောက်နေစဉ်၌ ဖြစ်ပေါ်လာသော လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းများ၏ ပုံသဏ္ဌာန်များ ထူးခြားစွာပြောင်းလာ သည်ကိုတွေ့ရသည်။ မေ့သွားပြီးလျှင် လဲကျသွားနိုင်လေသည်။ သူ၏ ကြွက်သားများသည် လှုပ်ရှားလာပြီးလျှင် တက်တက်လေသည်။ ထိုသို့ ဖြစ်ခြင်းသည် နှစ်မိနစ်မှ ငါးမိနစ်အထိ ကြာတတ်ပြီးနောက် တွေဝေနေတတ်သည်။ ဝက်ရူးပြန်ရောဂါသည် မပြင်းထန်လျှင် သတိလစ်သည့်အချိန်သည် အလွန်တိုတောင်းလေသည်။ သို့မဟုတ်လျှင် ထူးခြားသည့်ခံစားချက်များ ရှိတတ်သည်။ သို့မဟုတ်လျှင်လည်း စိတ်အနှောင့်အရှက်များ ရှိတတ်သည်။ ထိုအခြေအနေမျိုးသည် ကလေးများတွင် ဖြစ်ပေါ်လေ့ရှိသည်။
 
Mira
 
by riley weills
 
== //prologue\\ ==
 
== 1:// 4,242 Miles ==
----Our rental car rolls away from the airport as I look out at the snowy ground. It bumps over and over, nausea slowly setting in. I usually can do long car rides. But this time is… different. Maybe it’s because I’m far from home. Does homesickness make you sick? Or is it another dumb American metaphor? I genuinely can’t tell. I’m not gonna actually vomit. Probably. I just feel extremely nauseous. A sign welcomes us.
 
“Welcome to Heimdall, Minnesota.”
 
I whisper the same text to myself six times. I don’t feel welcome. I feel sick. I’m almost 5000 miles away from where I lived. Sure, Hørsholm wasn’t a magical sunshine and rainbows town, but I’d prefer living there for the rest of my life. I was born and raised there, and now all of that is gone because Mom wanted to move to America on a whim. And took her trans daughter with her.  To the least inclusive place on earth. Why the US?
----
 
== 2:// Introduction to the Snow ==
----Guess I can’t change anything. We’re moving to America, and I just have to deal with it. Guess I should introduce myself. I’m Miriam, most people call me Mira though. Or faggot, depending on who you are. The clouds look dark and murky, snowflakes hit our car fast and hard. At least I can hug my blåhaj. That’s the only person who cares about me, other than my parents sometimes. My parents care, just sometimes do stupid stuff like this. Good thing I took English before I came here. Probably would have been a lot harder if I didn’t know that. It’s not good English, but it’ll have to do. My thick accent still pushes through, no matter what. I sound like a damn Viking. I like my accent, though. I’m not sure how Americans will react. We still have… 20 minutes until we get to the house. Lightning round. I’m a bi, transfem butch who’s the size of a bridge troll. I’m a ginger, 16, and massive because I used to play hockey. And I used to be a man. That also. I’m 6’9. I have a ton of acne. I take estradiol every day, (I brought enough here to last a year, I hear American doctors SUCK), and I like slipknot. In other words, I look like a monster. Oh hey, we’re here. Oh. '''''Oh.'''''
----
 
== 3://Unwelcome Home ==
----Did I mention we’re living with another family? A very… right-leaning family? There’s a conservative flag in the window. If that doesn’t tell you it all, what will?
 
I try and slip anything that would give me away into my duffel bag and pass as well as possible. I can usually pass pretty well, but my size gives it away a lot. Either I get called a dyke, get silently judged, or get found out and kicked out. Silently judged or dyke is the best. I try and stay quiet, usually, the way most people find out is I talk too much so might as well just scuttle through. The family opens the door, the dad in front. He looks like he hasn’t seen a shower in years and is always in a truck. He’s wearing a cap. You can imagine what it says. Other than that, he looks like Joe Rogan and Tiger King had a lovechild, wearing a gray tank top stained with sweat, and cargo shorts that have like six stains on them. He judges me a bit, before shouting “Come on in!”.
 
Phew. Crisis averted. Now we just see what the mom thinks. We walk into the house, and immediately I get a heavy whiff of sweat. It’s extremely hot inside the home. I love the cold personally, so I’m immediately uncomfortable. If I wasn’t uncomfortable already. There’s a very short mom, a son, and a baby daughter. They all look sweaty and faking smiles, silently judging me. I’m not an only child, by the way. I have a 10-year-old brother, his name is Linus. None of them even noticed him. All eyes are on me.
 
I’m very uncomfortable. But after a bit of staring, the son says something.
 
“You’re… um… big.” The dad slaps the son for saying this, and he continues. “What? I’m just pointing something out!” I chuckle and the mom talks, sounding bored.
 
“Sorry about him. He’s a little… rude to new people. I’m Mary. This is my husband, John.” The most boring names, of course. “This is Joey, and this is Zoe.” God, have Americans given up on names? The kids rhyme? Very uncreative. But, I listen on. “Welcome to our home!” They all smile, still silently judging me. “And your home, as well! Just don’t be… um..” She seems to be disgusted with the words she’s choking out. I already know what she’s going to say. “...gay.” The son tries to keep a straight face, but he looks… sad. Hmm. Is this like… Chekov’s White Guy? The mom keeps yapping on. “And in this house, you will be Christian. No matter what. We go to church on Sunday, you will never miss a day. And we pray after dinner. Every night.”
 
…Oh god.
----
 
== 4://”Lord and Savior” ==
----I could deal with it if it was like... Every Sunday. I could just pretend to pray... But every night? God damn it.
 
The heat is blistering and I feel like I’m going to have an attack. I’m shaking but I can’t cry. If I cried, they would see and kick us out of the house. It’s like Germany. In 1943. I’m going to have an attack. Someone help me. My mom notices me and comes up with an excuse. “Sorry, she needs to take a break. She’s on the spectrum and she seems uncomfortable.” All of that is true. I am on the spectrum. I do need to take a break. I am uncomfortable. Because of other reasons, though. She leads me out of the room up into our new room, my dad and brother getting acquainted with them downstairs.
 
My mom closes the door and whispers to me peacefully in Danish. “Hey. Hey, it’s ok.” Tears flow down my face as I hyperventilate, whispering hysterically. “Why them!? Why!?” She calms me down, whispering. “Breath with me, alright?” We do our breathing exercises together, and I manage to calm down. My mom whispers to me. “I don’t like this either, alright? I’ll try to get you out as much as I can. But we have to do this. This is our last chance at life. I’ll keep your secrets secret, alright?” I nod, my mascara running down my face. She gives me a makeup remover cloth and I quickly rub all the stuff off my face. I hug my mom, the house blisteringly hot. I speak, calming myself down. “C-can you tell them to turn the heat down?” She calmly speaks. “I’ll try. I know you like it cold. If you need to, you can take a break outside, alright? It’s like.. Fucking 6 degrees outside. Make sure you wear a coat, at least.” I chuckle and nod. “Thanks.” I hug her and say, “I love you. You’re the best mom ever.” She goes back to English. “Love ya too. Now go get some air. I’ll come up with an excuse.” I nod and go outside, the cold snow pattering on my face. It’s so nice. I love the snow. It calms me down so well. It’s like, the opposite of sand. I can hear noises from inside, my parents chatting with the… other people. I’m gonna have to Anne Frank for the next.. 2 years. Until I go to college. Just got to make it to then.
 
Just have to make it to then.
 
''Sigh.''
----
 
== 5://Dinner With The Franks ==
----Speaking of people with the last name “Frank”, the family I’m forced to live with is the Frank family. Mary and John Frank. Creativity doesn’t exist anymore, I guess. They managed to turn down the temp a bit, but it’s still hot to the point I’m sweating constantly. For dinner, some “hamburger helper” and mashed potatoes. That’s what they told me. What’s a hamburger helper? Does it... Help hamburgers? It’s just macaroni and cheese and meat and seasoning. English is weird. I stab my fork at the plate, a little weirded out. None of this is healthy. At all. I shove some into my mouth, it’s very basic. I swallow it down, it’s fine but it’s just weird. My mom seems to be having the same trouble, picking at the food. My dad is graciously gulping it down, however. He always was kind of a pig. My brother is very disgusted by the plate, and it shows on his face. He hasn’t even taken a bite. My mom is glaring at him, but he doesn’t back down. The table is very quiet and awkward, everyone still staring at me like I’m some freakshow. They inch away from me. I’m just a tall and muscular girl. Is there something wrong with me? Is there a bug on me? My anxiety shows on my face. I’ve never been a particularly social one, is it because I’m quiet? But no one else is talking? What’s wrong with me? Is it me shaking? I have natural tremors. I’m not a freakshow. It all boils inside me. Eventually, I spoke up. “Is there a bug on me or something? Why are you all staring at me?” They all looked away and ate their food after that. Occasionally catching small glances at me, judging me. They whisper to each other intelligibly. They’re judging me. Then, the dad asks me a question. “So, uh... Mira. What’s your opinion on the… gay folk? Just making sure you’re not… y’know.”
 
I try to not let the disgust spill to my face. I answer quietly. “I’m not personally one of them,” a big red “WRONG” buzzer goes off in my head. “But I think people can do what they want. I don’t care, as long as it doesn’t get in my way.” They accept it and ask me another question. “What ‘bout those damned transvestites?” I stare into his eyes, trying not to yell at him to shut up, keeping my anger in. His thick southern accent pisses me off, along with what he’s saying. I lie, faking my appearance. “I think that’s… uhm… a dumb idea. You can’t possibly,” I fake a laugh. “Change your gender!” everyone at the table breathes a sigh of relief for different reasons. My family is happy I didn’t get them kicked out, and the other family is happy that I’m not “sacrilegious”  or whatever. The father goes on a long political rant about trans people, and I keep my anger in as much as I can. Dinner eventually ends, and I now have to pray with the family. And they make ME say the prayer.
 
…What does that even mean???
----
 
== 6://Father in Heaven ==
----“...what?”
 
I am totally confused. Flabbergasted.  Dumbfounded. Befuddled. I know what it is… but like… how do you say it? What do you do other than hold hands and say some shit? I’m an atheist, so I wouldn’t know. What do I say? They stare at me, waiting for something.
 
“...what’s that?”
 
The dad explains loudly.
 
“How do you not know what that is? NO MARY I’VE GOT IT- I’LL EXPLAIN IT-” He yells at his wife, who’s just trying to help. Does he even love her?
 
Too lazy. Write it later loser
----
 
== 7://Lebensraum and Dried Tears ==
----I walk into my new room, wiping the tears from my eyes. The room is blank and white, with a small bed and a closet. Nothing else other than that. I set my bag down and unpack some clothes and a ton of plushies.
 
Lazy loser wants to write Viktor. WRITE LATER FUTURE LUMI
 
= //viktor\\ =
 
== 1://別の日,別のドル ==
----Another day, another dollar.
 
That’s what my dad always used to say. Before he died. Now it’s another day, another suicidal ideation. God, that makes me sound so emo. I look like I’m in an emo band though. My skin’s so pale, I may as well be a whiteboard. And with the amount of Sharpie I draw obsessively on my left arm, I probably am one. Speaking of Sharpies, that’s the same color as my hair. And since I barely talk, you can see how I get the emo accusations. :p
 
A new girl came into class today. A ginger. She’s cute. She’s like… 7 feet tall.  Reaches the fucking ceiling. Sits in front of me. She seems nice. She has a lot of acne. I really wanna talk to her. I can barely see the screen. But she’s cute, so I’ll let it pass. She can’t sit normally. She shifts every minute. Oh my lord. :0
 
She’s just like me. For real. '''''For real.'''''
 
'''That was cringe. XD'''
----
 
== 2://Burned and Blinded ==
----Fun Fact. I’m missing an eye. Wanna know why? Too bad, you’re learning anyway.
 
I was 13. Which already makes it sound like a villain origin story.
 
Anyway, here’s another fact. I’m trans-male. I didn’t know what that was 3 years ago. I just thought I was a tomboy or something. So I wore progressively more and more masculine outfits. Eventually, my ex-stepdad saw me and he was drunk and thought I was trans. So he attacked me with a broken bottle. Then my mom saw and promptly got him arrested. That guy went bye pretty quickly. So now I’m missing an eye! :D
 
That kept a lot of people away from me. They think I got in a fight or something and lost it. And I do tell people that. Because it’s funny. Or the eye wizard stole it. I’m honestly not traumatized, surprisingly. I’m happy to tell the story. But no one ever asks. I don’t have the confidence to initiate conversation, so I just… don’t talk to people.
 
The bell rings, and as I wake up from my daydreaming and pack up my stuff, I hear a surprisingly feminine voice for a giant stature.
 
“Uh.. Hi.”
----
 
== 3://Syncopated Thoughts Rotting in my Cranium and the Death of Modern Emotion, Combined with a Lack Of Common Empathy (Why Yes I Do Have Three Rats, Why Do You Ask?) ==
----I hear the sound of platform boots clomping near me and I look up at the tall girl. Her soft, acne-ridden face stares at me. She isn’t ugly, however. Her nose is pretty big compared to her face, and her fiery orange hair shines in the bright classroom. She speaks slowly.
 
“Are you Viktor?”
 
Her lips move with such precision- AM I F**CKING PATRICK BATEMAN OR SOMETHING
 
I respond quietly, “Yeah. Why?” She steps a little closer.
----
 
== 4://A Continuation Of Syncopated Thoughts Rotting in my Cranium and the Death of Modern Emotion, Combined with a Lack Of Common Empathy (My Three Rats Died [Of Cancer]) ==
ထိုရောဂါဖြစ်နေသူ၏ ဦးနှောက်မှ ဖြစ်ပေါ်စေသော လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းများကို ဦးနှောက်၏ လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းမှတ်သည့် ကိရိယာတွင် တွေ့မြင်နိုင်ကြလေသည်။ ထိုရောဂါအတွက် ထိုကိရိယာကို သီးခြားတီထွင်ထားခြင်းဖြစ်ရာ ရောဂါကျရောက်နေစဉ်၌ ဖြစ်ပေါ်လာသော လျှပ်စစ်လှိုင်းများ၏ ပုံသဏ္ဌာန်များ ထူးခြားစွာပြောင်းလာ သည်ကိုတွေ့ရသည်။ မေ့သွားပြီးလျှင် လဲကျသွားနိုင်လေသည်။ သူ၏ ကြွက်သားများသည် လှုပ်ရှားလာပြီးလျှင် တက်တက်လေသည်။ ထိုသို့ ဖြစ်ခြင်းသည် နှစ်မိနစ်မှ ငါးမိနစ်အထိ ကြာတတ်ပြီးနောက် တွေဝေနေတတ်သည်။ ဝက်ရူးပြန်ရောဂါသည် မပြင်းထန်လျှင် သတိလစ်သည့်အချိန်သည် အလွန်တိုတောင်းလေသည်။ သို့မဟုတ်လျှင် ထူးခြားသည့်ခံစားချက်များ ရှိတတ်သည်။ သို့မဟုတ်လျှင်လည်း စိတ်အနှောင့်အရှက်များ ရှိတတ်သည်။ ထိုအခြေအနေမျိုးသည် ကလေးများတွင် ဖြစ်ပေါ်လေ့ရှိသည်။
 
အထက်တွင်ဖော်ပြပါ အခြေအနေနှစ်မျိုးမဖြစ်ဘဲ ထူးခြားသည့် အခြေအနေ တစ်မျိုးလည်း ဖြစ်တတ်သေးသည်။ ထိုတတိယအမျိုးအစား အခြေအနေမျိုး ဖြစ်သောအခါတွင် ဝေဒနာရှင်သည် သာမန်အခါကဲ့သို့ လုပ် ရိုးလုပ်စဉ်အတိုင်း လုပ်၍နေလေသည်။ သို့သော် ထိုဝေဒနာရှင်သည် သူပြုလုပ်နေသည်ကို သူသိလေ့မရှိချေ။ တစ်ခါတစ်ရံတွင် ဝေဒနာရှင်သည် အထက်ဖော်ပြပါ အခြေအနေ သုံးမျိုးအနက် တစ်မျိုးမက ဖြစ်ပေါ်တက် လေသည်။
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