Voss’ melody weaver across the train station. So early in the five o’clock morning of the night’s shadow. He only played for an audience that wasn’t there, that no longer is there. Litter flittering with the breeze of the autumn wind, Voss’ tail feathers brushed along the broken tiled floor. Dried out, and dead weeds pushed through the cracks, in preparation for the foilage’s winter slumber. Darker days that Voss didn’t want to ruminate over. His beak peaked open and he began to sing.

“Mellowing my mind…”

His voice high pitched an octave too far for a male peafowl.

“Won’t you please,.. Pay me in kind,”

He had waited patiently, talking to Doctors for the drugs his manhood needed.

“I can’t sing … ” he finally croaked “I’ll never be King.”

The bow stroked the strings one last time, Voss tucking it back into it’s rugged case. A symphony only few knew of the transgender peafowl. Voss Vossinsky, half-Scot Half-Hungarian Java Peacock. Only his anatomy didn’t cover that per his species moniker. No grand plumage no irradiant blue feathers. Just there mere dull brown of a feminine peahen. The violin case against his back, and his back against the imaginary audience of rustling wind. The “king” the solitary platform, where another night in his mind’s eye he was the man he wanted to be.

The city was quiet with a few blurred lights of “sleazy” establishments, and the bird going down cooler paths, away from the blitzed crowd of scattering barflies. Voss’ mind grew restless. He only lived here a few months and besides the self-health group who’ve sole role thus far was holding an axe to the identity grindstone. Voss felt he didn’t belong, transversing the slippery lauded bricks of a road. They took measures and expended so much energy making sure the “wrong” transgender or transsexual person did not get their help. Friends were few and far inbetween, people he once met and steadily felt close, had moved away abruptly without warning or were misplaced through time, and bad directions. Voss didn’t keep much contact with people, hardly a blip, he muttered, stirring a gaze from passers by. The bird smelt of long unwashed days of grime.

introversion was killer; you loved the time you had by yourself. Your own room, and quiet abode from Society, you don’t here it knocking as it tears the walls of comfort and security down. Financial issues was one thing, Voss tweaked his beak akin to a grimace, he hated how he came across socially. Voss had applied for university late in a last ditch effort to have some lonely standing left. Their awkward shy voice very grating to his own ear. Dorkish mannerisms and the chronic anxiety that came with being social meant any friend Voss could find … Was worth the weight of the glibbonous moon plated in gold.

They found found a half-eaten sandwich near the park bin, and found s dry spot hidden amongst shrubs to rest. The church bells rung hours later, the the clockface pointing at 9AM. Blue skies with a thick haze of fog obscuring it’s steeple.

High expectations, Voss rose up and pulled himself towards the post depot, hoping just like the other days had gone by, that a letter will be waiting for his bloodshot and weary eyes to read.


About fvspath

I'm an Awkward Dyslexic Dork set out to prove themselves to a dismissive world. I'm learning to play Violin, speak German, and figuring out how to do accounts.
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