The utility closet was just about the dumbest place I could’ve chosen to hide in. You’d think after watching all of those B-horror flicks I would’ve known better. But when there’s a pair of knife-wielding maniacs running you down, you do what you gotta do.

My lungs burned like they’d been doused in gasoline and lit ablaze. I should’ve been used to running by now but I’m not. It never occurs to me that each new town will be just like the last; that every new group of so-called neighbors would be so closed minded and ignorant. But they are. They always are. And I always wind up making the same plea.

I am only as God made me.

I’d hoped that in 2016, in an ultra blue state no less, that someone like me would no longer be considered queer or broken or a monster. I don’t care what their ignorant so-called holy books say. I just wanted to find someone else like me, that shared my interests and filled in my missing pieces.

So here I am, panting like a dog in heat crouched behind a janitor’s cleaning cart. I barely had time to throw my shoes on before the door had exploded into the apartment and these thugs barged their way in. You should’ve seen them: wide eyed, practically salivating at the prospect of snuffing me from existence. Fortunately, I’ve grown accustomed to such intrusions. For the past ten years I’ve kept every window over every fire escape open and a bug-out bag in the trunk of my beater.

I should never have stopped running. This time I’m dog meat and I know it. It was a panic move running into the apartment complex’s garage. But it was outright stupidity stopping on the first floor and breaking into the utility closet. Now, the only thing I can do is wait and hope they give up for the night. I know they won’t though: I’m never that lucky. The deck is always stacked.

A terror-soaked breath choked its way free. Footsteps pound the concrete outside, growing like a coming thunderstorm. The light snaking in underneath the pathetically humble closet door paints a grim prospect for survival. The room is devastatingly devoid of weapons. Nothing sharp hanging on the walls. A locked toolbox. A single mop in rust bucket.

Not exactly the armory I had counted on.

The bar of sterile white light beneath the door was doused by approaching shadows. I cringed as far back into the closet as I could go, slipping on some spilled grease and barely catching a falling aluminum can of paint thinner before it ratted out my hiding place. I held my breath as the shadows stopped in front of the door. With any luck, they wouldn’t notice the jimmied lock.

“You think that piece of shit ran in there?” A muffled voice said.

I don’t recognize the voice. It’s not angry enough to belong to the giant who had gone through the trouble of smashing down my door. That voice had been the primal roar of a rabid grizzly.

“No. No one could be that stupid. Did you see the look on his face? He nearly fell out the window when we rushed him. He knows I’m gonna skin his sorry as alive for what he did.”

There’s Grizzly.

“C’mon. He couldn’t have gone too far,” Grizzly said.

The telltale sound of keys being dangled from a forefinger brings a surge of bile into my throat. My hand shoots to my hip pocket. The realization twists my stomach into knots.

Of all the God damned days to leave the keys on the kitchen table.

My thundering heart threatened to punch a hole through my chest wall as their footsteps thumped away from the door. I waited a few extra minutes for good measure and then slowly pulled the door open a crack. One of the garage lights blinked on and off to the sound of electricity humming. I stepped out of the utility closet and gently closed the door.

Something hard crashed into the back of my skull. The pipe’s clang echoed through the garage as it hit the pavement. Stars exploded in my eyes and the floor got really close, really quick.

“I got him!” Someone shouted. “Get the hell over here!”

My limbs felt like water-logged jello as I tried to push myself upright. A boot to the ribs convinces me to stay down. I vomit over a pair of grimey construction boots to thank him. My vision blurred around the edges and I thought I saw the heel of a boot coming down at my face. I raised an arm. It was a feeble block, but cut me some slack. I’m not freaking Batman.

“Wait. He’s mine,” Grizzly called.

Grizzly’s goon grabbed me under the arms and pulled me up. I managed to pull my head up from a slump just in time to see him barrelling down on me like his namesake. My God he’s an ugly mother: built like a refrigerator, shaved head with tribal flames tattooed on one side, and iron cross medallion dangling from his tree trunk neck. His ham-sized fists wrapped around my throat. A wet gurgle squeezed into a gasp gagged its way free. I’m sure it’s my last breath.

He sneered at me through a mouth full of broken, yellow teeth. “You’re a dead man, you piece of shit.” Grizzly spat a sticky glob onto my face. “You’re gonna hang for what you did. But not here.”

My lips quivered a mile a minute. “I am only as God made me.”

Grizzly’s backhand split my lip and rattled the roots of my teeth. He leaned in until his nose was about an inch from mine. His fetid breath reeked of rotten eggs. “Then God messed up.”

He jabbed a finger at his buddy who cold cocked me. The man looked like he weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. His plaid button-down shirt was three sizes too big and hung limply from his frame like a scarecrow’s.

“Bring the van around,” Grizzly said. “We’re gonna finish up somewhere nobody will hear him scream.”

They tossed me into the back of a contractor’s van. You know, the type you all warn your kids to stay away from with the panelled windows and rusty wheel wells. The ride was rough and I’m pretty sure that if I survive a tetanus shot is in my future. Again the armory gods have forsaken me: there’s only a worn out old dirty magazine and a blanket I don’t dare touch rolling around the metal floor.

The van grinded to a stop fifteen minutes later. I work down the mental list of where we could’ve gone in such a short time. I’ve heard horror stories about the outskirts of this town; about horrible things that happen to people like me in abandoned factory complexes. Things I should have seriously reconsidered before I signed my lease.

Two doors thump closed and an instant eternity later, my suspicions is confirmed. The van’s rear doors are yanked open, flushing it with moonlight. The stench of raw human waste and chemicals instantly snakes through my nose, burn down my throat and into my gut. Moonlight bathes the hunting knife in Grizzly’s hand.

“Get your ass out here so we can get this over with.”

I scuttle away from horrible sight and smell of the nightmare outside. Scarecrow grabbed me by the ankle and yanked me flat. I threw a few kicks his way but it did little good. He dodged them easily while still managing to drag me closer to Grizzly’s blade. Apparently these animals have done this before.

Scarecrow’s whiny voice cut the night like nails on a chalkboard. “You had this coming, freak. Every last one of you deserves everything you get.”

Grizzly brandishes the knife while I struggle, running his fat thumb up and down its edge. The big man stalks a tight circle, like a caged tiger expecting a hot meal. Cold sweat pours down my spine like a waterfall. My breathing is a ragged staccato of laboring breaths. Scarecrow finally wins the tug of war with my ankle and drags me out into the night. Grizzly’s massive silhouette hovered over me, knife gleaming by his side.

I’m trembling but manage to raise my hands in a futile defensive posture. My voice practically whimpers. “Please, I’m only as God made--”

The giant stomped my chest, driving my back into the ground. He leaned on his giant boot heel until something cracks. I gasp and a spurt of sticky blood explodes from my mouth.

“Go ahead and say that again. Go ahead. Go ahead and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

I nod. It’s all I can do.

Grizzly gestures with the knife towards the cluster of squat buildings that used to be the town’s industrial plant. The tip of the blade finds its way behind my chin. I winced as the blood trickled down my throat. “On your feet. Start walking.”

He shoved me hard and I stumbled a few steps. Terror froze my eyes forward. They’ve brought me to the rear of the complex; far from prying eyes. Grizzly and Scarecrow follow closely behind, but out of reach-- as though I could do anything even if I dared. Grizzly barks instructions every few steps, driving me like cattle to slaughter.

I look at the abandoned plant and know for certain that I am going to die here. The old brick walls are covered in overlapping layers of colorful graffiti and steel girders peek through portions that have long since crumbled to rubble. A lingering smell of sulfur permeates everything.They prod down an alley flanked on either side with giant, rusted tanks that cast bulbous shadows on the moonlit ground. A few of them look like they have exploded under the weight of their neglect, metal strips peeling and pointing in all directions like steel flowers. Halfway down the alley, Grizzly ordered me to stop.

“You forgot the damned rope,” Grizzly said through a clenched jaw.

Scarecrow feigned patting down his pockets. “I didn’t forget shit. You didn’t say nothing about no rope. I figured you had one with you.”

“For Christ’s sake, if you want something done right…”

“Hey, up yours, pal. If it were anyone but you and for anyone but Adam I wouldn’t even be here. You have any idea what we’re in for if we get caught? We’re not looking just looking at time here. We’re looking at the chair.” Scarecrow lets his point hang for a moment, his chest puffed out as far as his namesake-sized frame would allow.

Grizzly sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He put a hand on Scarecrow’s shoulder. “I appreciate you coming out tonight. But you know this whole thing is bigger than Adam and this piece of shit. He made his choice and now he’s gonna pay for it.”

He stared straight through me. My blood runs frigid. “If the sorry ass police and limp-wristed courts wanna let you walk around free carrying on like you do, living the way you live, destroying good, honest families, than I guess it comes down to people like us to do the right thing.”

My knees are finished. I collapse to the ground. The sharp edges of brick and stone cut through my jeans but it barely registers. I suck in a breath, ready to beg for forgiveness but Grizzly’s earlier threat echoes through my head and I wind up just blubbering. Grizzly scoffs and kicks a cloud of dust and dirt my way. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll grab the rope from the van.”

Scarecrow tips an imaginary cap. “You got it, boss.”

The corner of the building casts a long triangular shadow over the alley leading back to the van. Grizzly stalks off and then disappears into a sea of blackness. Scarecrow gives me the once over and nods at the stain on the front of my pants. “Yeah, I’d have pissed myself too. The big guy’s no joke when he’s pissed.”

The fire in Scarecrow’s eyes betrays the apparent frailty of his build. Even unarmed he’d probably scrap me in less than a minute. Or at least I used to figure. I figured that until a little voice whispered from the deepest part of my subconscious. They have no right to do this to you. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are as God made you.

And then it hits me. I don’t have to be ashamed of what I am. Tears streak down my face, carving deep lines in the grime. My whole life I’ve had to look over my shoulder for monsters in the dark, unable to be myself with so-called peers. The voice gently blows on a glowing ember way down in my gut. I lower my hands to my lap and wait for the sobs to come. But they don’t. Instead, a snicker arrives. Then a chuckle. And then an outright raucous fit of side-splitting laughter that lances my ribs.

“Hey. Dickhead. What’s so funny?” Scarecrow asks. There is amusement on his face, like he knows he’s missed a joke and wants in on the punchline. His bony hands are deep in his pockets. Any move I make at this point will likely see them wrapped around my throat. I need to draw him in closer.

The dull, thump of the van door sounds in the distance. Grizzly will be back any moment. If I’m going to survive I’ll need to take care of them one at time. And quickly. I lean forward, still laughing, pounding my fist against the pavement. The laughter has built to hysteria now, but all Scarecrow does is inch closer. He’s close enough now that if the mood suited him he could plant his boot heel through the bridge of my nose and be done with it. But he doesn’t.

And it costs him.

I spring up from my knees, driving my shoulder deep into Scarecrow’s gut, lifting him from his feet. He struggles to free his hands from his pockets but it’s over far too quickly. There’s a sickening sound as metal impales fresh meat. I stagger backwards, nearly falling, but my eyes anchored on the grisly scene keep me upright.

Scarecrow wraps his fists around the jagged metal protruding from his abdomen; a steel blade from one of the neglected storage tanks. Adrenaline, precious adrenaline, pumps through my veins. I’m no longer a victim waiting to be tortured by a society that hates me for being different. What I do behind closed doors is my business and I’m sorry if that included someone these two animals knew, but it’s still my business alone. I press my hand on Scarecrow’s chest. I can feel his frantic heart dying beneath its breast plate. I grin as I shove him deeper into the metal. “How’s it feel? How’s it feel to know that someone like me got the best of you?”

Blood gurgled from Scarecrow’s mouth in little wet bubbles that spattered the front of his shirt. His eyes rolled up into his skull, and with a final tug on the metal shard, he was gone. The voice in my head roars for me to cut down the little man’s friend. Shadows beckon and I obey, disappearing into them as easily as an old man slips into a favorite fireside blanket.

Grizzly’s scream rattles a few birds from their perches. He drops a filthy coil of rope by his side and stumbles through the puddle of blood that used to belong to his friend. His fingers are outstretched as though he meant to pull Scarecrow back into the world of the living. But it’s too late for all of that.

The voice saw fit to that.

The big man is pawing at his eyes as he weeps. Whatever pity I had left in me for people like he and his friend dies as I pick up a hefty length of broken rebar. I strike from the shadows like a wraith hellbent on revenge. The collision is spectacular: bone snaps and skin tears. Grizzly goes down in quivering heap, but manages to remain conscious.

Good. I want him to see it coming.

Grizzly’s jaw all but dangles from a broken hinge. His swollen tongue makes it sound like he’s speaking through a mouth full of wet paper towels. His glossy expression is equal parts terror and confusion.

“Adam... Why Adam? He was just a boy. He was my son and you took him away from me. You killed him. Why?”

I reach into my pocket and toss the memento I usually take, a cadaverous pinkie, onto Grizzly’s chest. The white’s of his eyes cut through the shadow of my rebar club. I can’t help but smile as I swing the club overhead.

“I am as God made me.”