saw Arthur kissing Anthony, and they knew he was just as much of a queer as the faggot in heels.
They punched and pinched and beat Anthony’s made up face with their thick thug fists and his makeup and blood smeared together across his cheeks. They tore open his black panties and made a million tiny cuts along the insides of his thighs and up and down his penis with a sharp switchblade. Anthony begged and pleaded for them to stop and eventually he starting screaming too loudly so they punctured his lungs with his own ribcage and slit his throat with the skinny, shiny knife. They left Arthur unconscious next to his lover’s dead body. When Arthur closed his eyes, Anthony was alive, but just barely.
When Arthur opened his eyes, Anthony was dead.
---
Arthur is crying. Arthur cries often. He has for about a year now. The other day he saw the first dead leaf fall from a tree and burst into heaving, wracking sobs, right there on the street, because that could only mean that fall was coming, and a new fall only meant one thing – the anniversary of Anthony’s death. Arthur is crying over the kitchen sink, letting his tears fall into the basin because he got sick of wasting tissues a long time ago. There is a faded red scar on Arthur’s cheek, from where the shiny switchblade that killed his lover sunk into the skin. Tears are falling down that scar now, hard and fast.
Ray is walking up Arthur’s front steps, shivering in the cold breeze. He knocks on the front door and Arthur chokes on his current sob, wiping his eyes with his sleeves and walking slowly to answer the door, trying to compose himself on the short walk to the front door from the kitchen.
“Ray?” he says when he opens the doors, and he sounds like he has a bad head cold. Ray doesn’t say anything; just pulls Arthur into a bone crushing hug and kisses the top of his head. They stand there in the doorway for a moment, swaying a little, until Arthur lets go and smiles, and Ray knows he’ll be okay for a little while.
---
Anthony’s lips are a lush, lavish, dark red, painted on in a beautifully feminine shape complemented by the spangly, shiny black of his eyes and the rosy red blush cutting up sections of his cheeks. Black fishnets wrap around his hairy legs and the tight, sparkled corset is laced tightly around his thin chest. His adam’s apple bulges slightly over the tight ring of white pearls around his neck.
“Ray?” he says when he opens the doors, and he sounds like he has a bad head cold. Ray doesn’t say anything; just pulls Arthur into a bone crushing hug and kisses the top of his head. They stand there in the doorway for a moment, swaying a little, until Arthur lets go and smiles, and Ray knows he’ll be okay for a little while.
---
Anthony’s lips are a lush, lavish, dark red, painted on in a beautifully feminine shape complemented by the spangly, shiny black of his eyes and the rosy red blush cutting up sections of his cheeks. Black fishnets wrap around his hairy legs and the tight, sparkled corset is laced tightly around his thin chest. His adam’s apple bulges slightly over the tight ring of white pearls around his neck.
His left foot is forward and his face is angled upward, lavish lips pulled back in a sneer, the whiteness of his teeth enhanced by the camera’s flash. The picture glows, even though Frank never edited it. All the lines and shadows hold a special softness that all the other pictures lack. This was the last picture of Anthony ever taken, and when he died Frank got it blown up as big as he could get it. It stands in the living room, where the TV used to be, and candles litter the shelf around it, always burning, always melting.
Arthur is now standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the picture of Anthony, illuminated by the flickering candles. The house is a living shrine to Anthony. It’s no wonder Arthur can’t get over him - his face stares up from every available surface. Arthur is a photographer and Anthony was his favorite subject. When he died, he got every picture he’d ever taken of him developed and found a place for it in the house.
“Arthur?” Ray calls softly from the doorway. “Arthur, we need to talk.”
“Arthur?” Ray calls softly from the doorway. “Arthur, we need to talk.”
Arthur looks over, a faint smile on his lips, and follows Ray into the kitchen, where a mug of hot chocolate is waiting for him, topped with marshmallows. If there was ever a good man on this earth, it’s Ray, Arthur thinks, his smile growing wider.
“I want you to come out tonight,” Ray says, putting his mug down carefully, biting his lip.
Arthur snaps his head up. “T-tonight? Ray, I…”
“You can, Arthur. I know you can. And I have a surprise for you. I just want you to come out - you don’t have to dress up, or anything like that, and it’ll only take a few hours… just please, get out of this house, come out with me?”
“I want you to come out tonight,” Ray says, putting his mug down carefully, biting his lip.
Arthur snaps his head up. “T-tonight? Ray, I…”
“You can, Arthur. I know you can. And I have a surprise for you. I just want you to come out - you don’t have to dress up, or anything like that, and it’ll only take a few hours… just please, get out of this house, come out with me?”
Arthur is silent. Ray should know better than to try and make him come out tonight, of all nights.
“Tonight’s your birthday, Arthur. It’s your birthday and you should be out of this house, celebrating it.”
Arthur goes from pale to red in a matter of seconds. He slams his mug down, spraying great big droplets of hot chocolate over Ray’s face and the table. “I am not,” he said in a voice so quiet it was dangerous, “celebrating his death.”
Ray paid no attention to the almost-boiling hot chocolate dripping down his face, leaving behind red marks.
“Neither am I. Arthur, please, just listen to me. You need to be downtown today, I’ve…”
“You’ve what?” Arthur asks, his eyes welling up with tears - it is so very easy to set him off.
“Nothing, just, please, Arthur, come with me? This is hard for me too, you know,” Ray says. He’s guilt tripping and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. It was crucial to have Arthur come tonight, to have him see-
“Fine,” Arthur chokes out, tears streaming out of his red eyes. “Fine, Ray, fine, whatever you say. But I’m not dressing up.”
---
So Arthur refused to dress up, but others sure didn’t.
Many others have - and all as Dr. Frank-n-Furter, Tim Curry’s famous character. Anthony’s costume of choice. The one that got him killed. There are Frank-n-Furters everywhere, women and men (though it was hard to tell), dressed in corsets and heels and red lipstick and makeup to the eyebrow. And almost each and every one of them carries a sign that reads “Remember Anthony,” or a rainbow flag of all different sizes.
As Arthur and Ray step out of the car, applause breaks out. Wolf whistles and catcalls fill the nippy Halloween night air. They all crowd around the car, watching as Arthur takes them all in, recognizing many faces, watching as Arthur turns to Ray and hugs him, tears clouding his vision. As he hugs Arthur, Ray begins to speak, loudly, and to all of them. A hush falls.
“Thank you all for coming. I know it’s Halloween, I know there’s fun to be had out there, but you came here. That’s… that really means a lot,” Ray kept his arms tight around Arthur, who was shaking into this side. A very short Frank-N-Furter right in front of him nodded encouragingly, and he took a deep breath and tried to remember what he wanted to say.
“Tonight is for Arthur and Anthony because that’s who we knew, who we’ve heard about, who maybe touched our lives personally and who probably gave us some sort of smile when we saw them kiss or touch, because… because we know it was love that they had. And all your flags and signs and beautiful faces, they remind me of how truly beautiful the word can be,” Ray stops for a moment, trying to compose himself, and Arthur finally lets go of him, casting wide eyes out over the crowd. A small cheer erupts.
“But in spite all of your beauty, I know there’s terrible things out there. Terrible people. I know bad things happen for no real reason. Anthony wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. We are living in a society where it’s still okay to scream “faggot” at someone when they’re walking down the street. We are living in a world where hate crimes are nothing but the norm and if you’re not straight, you’re strange.
“Tonight is also for every single person who has taken their own life because of who they are. Tonight is for every single person who has been killed because of who they love and how they love them. Every single person who has been bullied, teased, beaten, rejected for simply being who they were born to be. Those people left behind tears and heartbreak and pain, but they also left us with the passion and sense of injustice that fires our hearts and works our minds, and that’s why we’re all here,” More cheers follow this, with flags and signs waving above all the dark haired heads.
“The ability to get through all of this loss and pain and hate is another thing they have left us, and this special kind of strength is rampant in the man standing next to me, the strongest man I have ever known,” Ray looks over at Arthur, smiling sadly, and gestures out to the crowd. Arthur shakes his head violently.
“Please. Give them hope. You aren’t the only one who’s suffered,” Ray says quietly, squeezing Arthur’s hand.
Arthur looks out at the sea of made up faces and sees that some of them have tear tracks slicing through their thick makeup. A few Frank-n-Furters are hugging each other, holding hands, and Arthur thinks of that last night with Anthony, the last time he held his hand. He begins to speak.
“I am not strong, as Ray here wants you to think,” he stops as the crowd tuts and boos at his statement, but he waves his hand and they fall quiet. A horn honks in the fading distance. Arthur brings his hand back around his tiny frame and continues. “I am not strong, but I always felt I must have some sort of strength, because I kept going, you know? When I look at all of you, I finally know where it comes from. I loved Anthony. I feel Anthony still, in everything I do, everywhere I go. We were in love and we still are, in one way or another. And he was killed because of that love. And while I’ll never forgive myself, I am anything but ashamed.
“I want to thank you all for doing this for us. From the bottom of my heart. I want you to remember that hate is never right, love never dies, and… and I want you to remember Anthony, because I know I’ll never forget.”
And as if on cue, all the Frank-n-Furters crowd in, their arms flying everywhere, kissing Arthur and Ray and each other with their dark lavish lips.
“Tonight’s your birthday, Arthur. It’s your birthday and you should be out of this house, celebrating it.”
Arthur goes from pale to red in a matter of seconds. He slams his mug down, spraying great big droplets of hot chocolate over Ray’s face and the table. “I am not,” he said in a voice so quiet it was dangerous, “celebrating his death.”
Ray paid no attention to the almost-boiling hot chocolate dripping down his face, leaving behind red marks.
“Neither am I. Arthur, please, just listen to me. You need to be downtown today, I’ve…”
“You’ve what?” Arthur asks, his eyes welling up with tears - it is so very easy to set him off.
“Nothing, just, please, Arthur, come with me? This is hard for me too, you know,” Ray says. He’s guilt tripping and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. It was crucial to have Arthur come tonight, to have him see-
“Fine,” Arthur chokes out, tears streaming out of his red eyes. “Fine, Ray, fine, whatever you say. But I’m not dressing up.”
---
So Arthur refused to dress up, but others sure didn’t.
Many others have - and all as Dr. Frank-n-Furter, Tim Curry’s famous character. Anthony’s costume of choice. The one that got him killed. There are Frank-n-Furters everywhere, women and men (though it was hard to tell), dressed in corsets and heels and red lipstick and makeup to the eyebrow. And almost each and every one of them carries a sign that reads “Remember Anthony,” or a rainbow flag of all different sizes.
As Arthur and Ray step out of the car, applause breaks out. Wolf whistles and catcalls fill the nippy Halloween night air. They all crowd around the car, watching as Arthur takes them all in, recognizing many faces, watching as Arthur turns to Ray and hugs him, tears clouding his vision. As he hugs Arthur, Ray begins to speak, loudly, and to all of them. A hush falls.
“Thank you all for coming. I know it’s Halloween, I know there’s fun to be had out there, but you came here. That’s… that really means a lot,” Ray kept his arms tight around Arthur, who was shaking into this side. A very short Frank-N-Furter right in front of him nodded encouragingly, and he took a deep breath and tried to remember what he wanted to say.
“Tonight is for Arthur and Anthony because that’s who we knew, who we’ve heard about, who maybe touched our lives personally and who probably gave us some sort of smile when we saw them kiss or touch, because… because we know it was love that they had. And all your flags and signs and beautiful faces, they remind me of how truly beautiful the word can be,” Ray stops for a moment, trying to compose himself, and Arthur finally lets go of him, casting wide eyes out over the crowd. A small cheer erupts.
“But in spite all of your beauty, I know there’s terrible things out there. Terrible people. I know bad things happen for no real reason. Anthony wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. We are living in a society where it’s still okay to scream “faggot” at someone when they’re walking down the street. We are living in a world where hate crimes are nothing but the norm and if you’re not straight, you’re strange.
“Tonight is also for every single person who has taken their own life because of who they are. Tonight is for every single person who has been killed because of who they love and how they love them. Every single person who has been bullied, teased, beaten, rejected for simply being who they were born to be. Those people left behind tears and heartbreak and pain, but they also left us with the passion and sense of injustice that fires our hearts and works our minds, and that’s why we’re all here,” More cheers follow this, with flags and signs waving above all the dark haired heads.
“The ability to get through all of this loss and pain and hate is another thing they have left us, and this special kind of strength is rampant in the man standing next to me, the strongest man I have ever known,” Ray looks over at Arthur, smiling sadly, and gestures out to the crowd. Arthur shakes his head violently.
“Please. Give them hope. You aren’t the only one who’s suffered,” Ray says quietly, squeezing Arthur’s hand.
Arthur looks out at the sea of made up faces and sees that some of them have tear tracks slicing through their thick makeup. A few Frank-n-Furters are hugging each other, holding hands, and Arthur thinks of that last night with Anthony, the last time he held his hand. He begins to speak.
“I am not strong, as Ray here wants you to think,” he stops as the crowd tuts and boos at his statement, but he waves his hand and they fall quiet. A horn honks in the fading distance. Arthur brings his hand back around his tiny frame and continues. “I am not strong, but I always felt I must have some sort of strength, because I kept going, you know? When I look at all of you, I finally know where it comes from. I loved Anthony. I feel Anthony still, in everything I do, everywhere I go. We were in love and we still are, in one way or another. And he was killed because of that love. And while I’ll never forgive myself, I am anything but ashamed.
“I want to thank you all for doing this for us. From the bottom of my heart. I want you to remember that hate is never right, love never dies, and… and I want you to remember Anthony, because I know I’ll never forget.”
And as if on cue, all the Frank-n-Furters crowd in, their arms flying everywhere, kissing Arthur and Ray and each other with their dark lavish lips.
***
Siobhan Thompson is presently resides in the northern hemisphere in a city with a very distinctive skyline. Thompson pays a college a lot of money to teach her how to write stories. She believes strongly in conquering your dreams and chasing down your demons.
Siobhan Thompson is presently resides in the northern hemisphere in a city with a very distinctive skyline. Thompson pays a college a lot of money to teach her how to write stories. She believes strongly in conquering your dreams and chasing down your demons.
