Trace

Trace walked the barely lit streets of hell with indifference written all over his beautiful face.

His brilliant black hair billowed in the stale wind, and his dull grey eyes scanned the murky expanses of ugly buildings. What he saw didn't delight him anymore.

Shadows danced around his bare feet and bulky build as he walked. Some shadows taller than his six foot three stance, while others belonged to the mangy rats that dared to come out of their homes.

The street lights flickered angrily at the man walking under them. Any normal person would have been scared beyond their wits by the bone made structure. The skull at the top with glowing holes topped off the scare factor. For any normal human that is.

No, this man was now used to the weird concoctions that made up Hell City.

Silvan

There was a smile on Silvan's face as he walked down the bright sidewalk of Noise. His red pumps flashed in the sunlight, causing dazzling light shows to appear on the ground where darkness still lingered.

A tall man brushed past Silvan quickly. One word escaped his lips. "fag." He ground out and kept walking.

"The correct vernacular is cross dresser my good sir." Silvan replied in a feminine voice and put his hands on his jean clad hips. He happened to think he looked positively ravishing this morning. He wore designer jeans, red pumps, and a blazing red v-neck that showed off his dainty arms.

The man recoiled visibly from Silvan, turned, and scampered down the sidewalk.

Silvan shrugged his small shoulders and turned on his way. He honestly couldn't care less about the words that got swung at him every day.

Who were strangers to judge the beautiful cross-dresser that was he? Who were they to say that just because he was born a man he could be a girl? They didn't know who he was on the inside, therefore they had no right to judge his outward appearance.