Author's Note: Hello everyone! So I'm Queen of The Clouds. and I decided to start my writing thing on this forum by posting a short story I wrote for my creative writing class that I am currently taking. Please leave a review if you can, and yeah enjoy the story. 
(Edit: And then I sadly realize that this is barely over 900 words.)
"Are you done washing your face yet, Malcolm?”
“Almost! Give me a sec, Kim!”
Malcolm placed his hands under the running water and washed his face for the fifth time in the past minute. Pain was tickling his fingers that were grasping the sides of the bathroom counter. His heart was violently ramming against his rib cage. He was losing a staring contest with an imposter: his reflection.
His body was wrong. He felt like he was in a costume he couldn’t take off. He was forced to see everything that he didn’t want to see, everything that didn’t belong on his body.
It was excruciating.
Malcolm jumped when the bathroom door swung open. Kim was in the doorway. Her eyebrows were raised as she leaned against the frame. She was holding a tall stool against her left side and on top of it was a black strapless bag.
“You’ve been in here for a while, so I just assumed you were nervous.” Kim closed the door and placed her things on the tiled bathroom floor. “So I decided to bring everything I need here. We just have to deal with the bad lighting.”
“You know me too well,” Malcolm laughed. He couldn’t do this without her.
“Well, we’ve been friends since kindergarten,” Kim said. She looked at him and sighed, “However, there seems to be things that I don’t even know.”
Malcolm flinched.
“Yeah, sorry, low blow,” Kim apologized. She pulled out moisturizer from her bag. She dabbed it on her fingers and began to apply it on his face, “I’m just… I can’t believe you couldn’t tell me this sooner.”
“I thought things would end badly if I did,” Malcolm explained, “I didn’t want you to shun me. I couldn’t lose my best friend. I—”
“You’re an idiot,” she interrupted. “I’ve been by your side for what seems like forever. Like I said on a bent knee in the third grade, I’ll always have your back.”
“Yeah, I am an idiot.”
“Yup,” Kim said. She pulled a brown squeezable bottle from her bag and waved it in front of his face, “Concealer.”
Malcolm hummed in acknowledgement. He felt Kim’s fingers paint concealer on his face. She put the bottle back in her bag and pulled out a brush and a small circular jar.
“None of the things I have match your skin tone,” Kim said. “Yay for being cheap!”
He laughed in agreement. Malcolm was unwilling to stop by the local Target to buy new makeup products that would actually compliment his skin tone.
“Never thought I would be able to do this,” she sighed, running her brush against his face.
Malcolm hadn’t either. He wanted to be the person he was in his dreams. His face was painted, eyelids lightly shaded with color, eyebrows were drawn on, eyelashes curled, and his lips were red. He looked like those girls who could pop off a page on fashion magazines.
“You know, this explains a lot,” Kim said, scraping her black eyebrow pencil against his skin.
“What?”
“It does,” she repeated. “You’ve gotten better at hiding it, but you flinch whenever you, or someone else, calls you bisexual or gay. It’s because you are technically straight.”
“Technically.”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed either,” she continued.
“Noticed what?”
“What you do with girls,” Kim answered.
“And that is?” he asked, pretty sure he knew the answer himself.
“Well you stare at them a lot,” she began, “like their chest, legs, waist, hair, and especially their makeup. You want what they have.”
“I—”
“And don’t deny it either,” Kim sassed, “you already came out to me. You’ll get nowhere denying me.”
He blushed. “Like usual.”
“It explains why you cried in journalism today,” Kim was treading lightly on troubled, sensitive waters. “Explains why you broke down in the middle of class after reading Kathy’s article.”
Malcolm winced. She was right.
“Close your eyes,” Kim ordered. Malcolm felt her fingers patting his eyelids. “Open them,” she commanded. Malcolm saw a mascara brush in her hand. She moved it up against his eyelids and began brushing.
“I felt so insulted,” he confessed. He curled his hands into fists. “She changed that person’s struggle, that person’s story, on a fudging whim. It was like she was playing God with real people.”
Kim put her mascara brush away and pulled out lipstick. She opened the bottle, rolled the stick up, and traced his lips. Kim frowned. “A journalist should never do that.”
She closed her lipstick container and placed it in her bag. She then forced Malcolm’s eyes to look in the mirror to see the final product. He saw a darker face, colored eyelids, curled eyelashes, the changed shape of his eyebrows, and ruby-red lips.
Tears began to spill from his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Kim immediately asked.
“It’s just,” Malcolm began, “for so long I’ve been Malcolm, the boy afraid of the world. Now, for one moment, he’s the person he always wanted to be.”
Salty tears were slowly washing away Kim’s magic, but he didn’t care. For years he stood in a violent storm, and now the rain no longer mattered. His true self was beautiful.
“I feel like I’ve become the woman inside of me.” Malcolm choked, “I’m finally Malia.”
Kim hugged her as she cried. In that moment inside Kim’s bathroom, Malia was no longer Malcolm. He became a she in a tiny space with horrible orange-gold lighting.
For once in her life, she felt so right.
(Edit: And then I sadly realize that this is barely over 900 words.) Malia
"Are you done washing your face yet, Malcolm?”
“Almost! Give me a sec, Kim!”
Malcolm placed his hands under the running water and washed his face for the fifth time in the past minute. Pain was tickling his fingers that were grasping the sides of the bathroom counter. His heart was violently ramming against his rib cage. He was losing a staring contest with an imposter: his reflection.
His body was wrong. He felt like he was in a costume he couldn’t take off. He was forced to see everything that he didn’t want to see, everything that didn’t belong on his body.
It was excruciating.
Malcolm jumped when the bathroom door swung open. Kim was in the doorway. Her eyebrows were raised as she leaned against the frame. She was holding a tall stool against her left side and on top of it was a black strapless bag.
“You’ve been in here for a while, so I just assumed you were nervous.” Kim closed the door and placed her things on the tiled bathroom floor. “So I decided to bring everything I need here. We just have to deal with the bad lighting.”
“You know me too well,” Malcolm laughed. He couldn’t do this without her.
“Well, we’ve been friends since kindergarten,” Kim said. She looked at him and sighed, “However, there seems to be things that I don’t even know.”
Malcolm flinched.
“Yeah, sorry, low blow,” Kim apologized. She pulled out moisturizer from her bag. She dabbed it on her fingers and began to apply it on his face, “I’m just… I can’t believe you couldn’t tell me this sooner.”
“I thought things would end badly if I did,” Malcolm explained, “I didn’t want you to shun me. I couldn’t lose my best friend. I—”
“You’re an idiot,” she interrupted. “I’ve been by your side for what seems like forever. Like I said on a bent knee in the third grade, I’ll always have your back.”
“Yeah, I am an idiot.”
“Yup,” Kim said. She pulled a brown squeezable bottle from her bag and waved it in front of his face, “Concealer.”
Malcolm hummed in acknowledgement. He felt Kim’s fingers paint concealer on his face. She put the bottle back in her bag and pulled out a brush and a small circular jar.
“None of the things I have match your skin tone,” Kim said. “Yay for being cheap!”
He laughed in agreement. Malcolm was unwilling to stop by the local Target to buy new makeup products that would actually compliment his skin tone.
“Never thought I would be able to do this,” she sighed, running her brush against his face.
Malcolm hadn’t either. He wanted to be the person he was in his dreams. His face was painted, eyelids lightly shaded with color, eyebrows were drawn on, eyelashes curled, and his lips were red. He looked like those girls who could pop off a page on fashion magazines.
“You know, this explains a lot,” Kim said, scraping her black eyebrow pencil against his skin.
“What?”
“It does,” she repeated. “You’ve gotten better at hiding it, but you flinch whenever you, or someone else, calls you bisexual or gay. It’s because you are technically straight.”
“Technically.”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed either,” she continued.
“Noticed what?”
“What you do with girls,” Kim answered.
“And that is?” he asked, pretty sure he knew the answer himself.
“Well you stare at them a lot,” she began, “like their chest, legs, waist, hair, and especially their makeup. You want what they have.”
“I—”
“And don’t deny it either,” Kim sassed, “you already came out to me. You’ll get nowhere denying me.”
He blushed. “Like usual.”
“It explains why you cried in journalism today,” Kim was treading lightly on troubled, sensitive waters. “Explains why you broke down in the middle of class after reading Kathy’s article.”
Malcolm winced. She was right.
“Close your eyes,” Kim ordered. Malcolm felt her fingers patting his eyelids. “Open them,” she commanded. Malcolm saw a mascara brush in her hand. She moved it up against his eyelids and began brushing.
“I felt so insulted,” he confessed. He curled his hands into fists. “She changed that person’s struggle, that person’s story, on a fudging whim. It was like she was playing God with real people.”
Kim put her mascara brush away and pulled out lipstick. She opened the bottle, rolled the stick up, and traced his lips. Kim frowned. “A journalist should never do that.”
She closed her lipstick container and placed it in her bag. She then forced Malcolm’s eyes to look in the mirror to see the final product. He saw a darker face, colored eyelids, curled eyelashes, the changed shape of his eyebrows, and ruby-red lips.
Tears began to spill from his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Kim immediately asked.
“It’s just,” Malcolm began, “for so long I’ve been Malcolm, the boy afraid of the world. Now, for one moment, he’s the person he always wanted to be.”
Salty tears were slowly washing away Kim’s magic, but he didn’t care. For years he stood in a violent storm, and now the rain no longer mattered. His true self was beautiful.
“I feel like I’ve become the woman inside of me.” Malcolm choked, “I’m finally Malia.”
Kim hugged her as she cried. In that moment inside Kim’s bathroom, Malia was no longer Malcolm. He became a she in a tiny space with horrible orange-gold lighting.
For once in her life, she felt so right.