Prosper-the-XVIII

“Sorry I puked in the taxi.” Nothing about that statement was in any way apologetic, Farrah giggling at her own sentence despite the fact that she hadn’t been joking at all, before pausing to burp, and laughing again at that like a child. Seraphina sighed through her nose, rolling her eyes. “To your credit, you did get most of it out the window.” Phina curled her lip, somewhat disdainful as she dragged Farrah through the door of the apartment - the queen with her high heels in her hand, stepping on her own bare feet as she stumbled. Seraphina had been lying through her teeth - Farrah had managed to aim at most a

1983 Farrah had left the club at two am on Wednesday night. She knew that much for a fucking fact. She had left the club in King’s Cross at two am, after the lights came on, and she got a proper look at the boy whose face she had just deposited most of her lipstick on. He didn’t look half as pleasant in the stark fluorescent lighting as he did beneath strobe and disco ball, and Farrah was making note of this seemingly at a similar rate to him realising that she was a drag queen and not an actual female specimen. She had made for the door fantastically quickly, elbowing her way through the crowd - destined probably for the kebab s

Bernice extended herself along the length of the bench, reclining catlike with her back stretched and a newly-lit cigarette between her fingers. Sheltering from the oppressive sun of the first day of summer, underneath the Harbour Bridge, she rested her head in Lenore’s lap. The older woman placed a hand atop it, stroking her sweat-slicked fringe from her forehead. The bright light still had the blonde’s eyes reduced to slits, but she lay back like a lizard basking on a rock, drinking in the heat. “Just make yourself comfortable there, darl.” Lenore said with a small chuckle, the laughter lines at the corners of her m

By the time I was seventeen I had convinced myself that I wasn’t bothered by homophobia any more Because I thought it couldn’t get any worse than it had been in school But since living with you, sweetheart, I realised that  I was still very fucking bothered. “I never said I was straight” That one phrase that rears its hideous visage to me Whenever I try to talk About my girlfriend, Or about being called a dyke in the streets. To an group where I was me, and they were themselves Entirely a different breed. But you couldn’t stand the utter heartbreak Of not being the centre of attention So you didn’t a

Although there’d been another body next to her when she’d drifted off, Seraphina had fully expected to awaken in an empty bed, as per usual. True enough, men hanging around to the morning after wasn’t exactly standard, so she’d grown accustomed to falling asleep in company and waking up to lonely mornings. It was a tough fucking existence, spending so much time alone. But then it was better than the alternative - actively seeking out company had proved dicey in the past. The loneliness wasn’t exactly something that was exclusive to her; most people she knew couldn’t hold down a bloke for an entire night ei

You’re three years old And your mother catches you playing with her lipstick For the third time that week And she smacks it out of your hand And tells you that that’s not what boys do. And even though you barely know what the word means Apart from that you are one It stings - Not the smack, but the accusation Now you’re seven, And you just got home from rugby Despite telling your dad that you didn’t want to go And he told you that your black eye would impress the girls And you think to yourself as you sit in the bath Struggling to distinguish dirt from bruise on your knees If this is what being a boy is, then