The Show That Prepared Me For Life

Hello, hello!  I’ve been binge watching Sailor Moon Crystal the past couple of days and it got me thinking about how I would cope with life today if I hadn’t watched the original Sailor Moon growing up.  It’s one of those shows that prepared me for everything going on in the world today.  We all have a show like that.  Whether it was Ms. Frizzle and the Magic School Bus or X-Men or Batman or whatever you watched as a kid, we all have a show that has stuck with us and been a major influence on who we are today.  For me, that was Sailor Moon.  How could a magical girl anime prepare me for the turbulence of today, you ask?  Stick with me for a minute and I shall do my best to explain.

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One of my favorite pictures of all the Senshi.

Aside from a bunch of women kicking ass and taking names with the occasional backup from Tuxedo Kamen, this show was amazing for many other reasons.  Yeah, there was the obvious message that love and friendship can help you conquer any evil, including the evil that lurks within each of us (after all, if Small Lady can become Black Lady and Saturn can become Mistress 9, none of us can claim to be 100% good).  It reminds us that, ultimately, hatred and superiority complexes will fail.  It might take longer than we want, but as long as people don’t give up, good will eventually win.  We just have to believe in each other.

There are also more subtle messages that apply today more than ever.  There was the whole Uranus/Neptune relationship that the U.S. dub tried to pass off as them being cousins (everyone I knew saw through that charade and, honestly, the whole cousin storyline just made a beautiful relationship kind of creepy).  Not to mention Zoisite’s obsession with Kunzite in the original anime (again, no one I knew believed Zoisite was a woman in the dub).  Then came the Sailor Starlights arc where men transformed into women and back again (pretty sure they just cross-dressed in the manga, but I’m talking about the anime where they were biologically males until they transformed).  Early exposure to this kind of stuff wasn’t traumatizing.  If anything, it helped give me an open mind.

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The Starlights.  I wanted those boots, though.  That’s all I cared about as a kid.

The story arc that hit closest to home for me and, in all honesty, is probably the reason Sailor Moon stuck with me so much, was Sailor Saturn’s story.  She was a sickly kid and an outcast, but she had the power to destroy worlds.  It was the first time I remember seeing someone who had physical difficulties (granted, they were nothing like my own) who could be the hero (or the villain if she had chosen that path).  She proved that you didn’t have to be athletic or even normal to be powerful or even accepted by people.  For a kid like me, that was the best message I could have received.  If she could help destroy evil, I could put up with whatever life threw my way.

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The whole purple outfit didn’t hurt my love of Saturn either.

So yeah, Sailor Moon definitely helped shape who I was back then and who I am now.  It taught me about the power of women, the power of friendship, how to recognize evil, how to accept others for who they are, and how to accept myself.  What show helped turn you into who you are?

The One Who Got Away: A Christmas Flash Fiction

Hello, hello!  It’s almost Christmas, so I thought I would give you a little flash fiction that I’ve been noodling around with.  Feedback is always welcome.  This is just something I threw together real quick, so don’t expect perfection.  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

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The One Who Got Away

By: Shawna Borman

Her voice had the sweet ring of silver bells and wrapped itself around the mind like garland around the tree. It drew people to her. Hanging thick in the chilled December air, her presence lingered long after she disappeared into the night with her prize. It kept the others warm and coming back for another chance. They never noticed that the ones who went with her never came back. At least, that was how the rumors went.

On Christmas Eve, I made the mistake of cutting through the park on my way home from my parents’ party. It was late and I was drunk. Alcohol was the only way I could stand the façade my parents required. I wasn’t who they wanted me to be, so I hid behind suits and ties when I was with them.

According to the legend, she should’ve been gone hours earlier. But there she was, singing to the crowd of men stupid enough to wander into her path. Singing to me. My eggnog-soaked brain vaguely registered the song, I’ll be Home for Christmas. It was a lie. The man she chose wouldn’t go home ever again. My steps faltered, steering me away from my path and right to the front of the group.

Men fell to their knees at her feet, tears streaming down their cheeks as they pled for her to choose them. Her pull was strong. I felt it somewhere deep in my soul, like a star being dragged into orbit. It was something I had never felt for a woman. Disconcerted, I took a step back. The star dimmed and her voice gained a jagged edge, like a broken ornament. I wanted to run, to break away from the group, but my feet remained frozen in place.

She turned her attention to me, causing the star to flare bright once more. I swayed, refusing the urge to sink down in front of her. Her fingers, icy cold, brushed my cheek and trailed down my arm into my palm. Green eyes, like holly, stared up at me. A mischievous smile crossed her poinsettia red lips.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered.

I followed her deeper into the park, down paths I never knew existed, until we came to a house made of snow. A door of bleached white bones stood ajar, exposing the inky blackness inside.

“You must come in and warm me up.” Her skin glittered blue in the silver moonlight. “We can be together forever. What more could a man ask for?”

The word hit me like a thousand reindeer. I was a man to her, to everyone. The suit suddenly felt like wrapping paper, hiding the gift inside me. It was a gift I believed no one would actually want. The tie tightened around my throat, choking me. I tore my hand out of her grasp and clawed the tie away from my neck.

“What’s wrong, my love?” she asked, her voice nothing but shards of broken glass. “Let’s go inside and talk about it.”

Her beauty melted away like snow revealing a muddied mess underneath. The vibrant hue of her eyes drained until all that was left was the same creamy shade of that evening’s nog. I wanted to scream, but only a whimper escaped.

“Get in the house, before you ruin everything, you bastard.”

She grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the open door. Part of me wanted to let her take me, to let her extinguish the life of the man I was supposed to be. That was when I understood what needed to be done, what I needed to do in order to be happy.

I yanked away once more, shoving her across the threshold. She teetered, as if on the edge of a precipice.

“I’m a woman,” I said out loud for the first time in my life.

With that, she fell and the house collapsed into a pile of snow and human bones.

I left my small town that summer to transition fully into my new life as a woman, but I never heard rumors of the singing woman again.