Oh no! Your home has caught fire! What is one thing you very pointedly do not save?
I cast my gaze to the corner of the desk, to a present from my grandmother from long ago; wooden blocks placed in order to spell out my deadname.
For ages it has lain in the corner. A white elephant small enough to be picked up by hand. As a teenager, it was embarassing. As an adult, it is a reminder of a person I no longer am.
The smoke alarm beeps around me. I close my eyes, grimace on my face. I pick it up, and exit my room.
It it flung into the raging flames. No one will see it. No one will remember it.
Maybe next year, someone will tell my grandmother, and I will receive another row of wooden blocks glued together to spell out my real name. But for now, the house is burning, and as I rush down the stairs, every step is one further from the reminder of a self I am trying to escape.
Sorry grandma.
